2052 - The Hawking Plan

Chapter 1 -- Stephanie Goldenrod

2009-01-06T16:46:00.016-05:00

A brilliant diamond deeply flawed. An amoral schemer, lover of rough sex, accomplished street fighter, devoted mother, mission-driven corporate animal. I am obsessed by her endless facets. They sparkle brightly. They sting like a death-ray.

I met Stephanie Goldenrod ten years ago, Monday, January 22, 2052. It was the first day of my new job. My boss and I had been summoned to her top-floor office for a secret meeting related to the mysterious “Hawking Plan,” named for her great-grandfather.

January 2052

“Hola, Diego,” said Stephanie, shaking my hand firmly. English was the standard language for transnational commerce, but Inglañol, English peppered with Spanish words and phrases, was used for informal conversation in NortAmer. It was derisively called Gringoñal.

She was the youngest Branch Chief at TABB, the Transnational Alliance for Better Business that ruled the globalized world economy. Rumor had it she was an amoral bisexual dominatrix. Her husband, a functionary in another branch of TABB, was said to be her merkin. Some said beard might be more apropos than merkin, due to the reputation the “Queen Bee,” as they called her, had for high sexual aggressiveness, more common in the masculine than feminine genders.

“Ho…Hola Dr. Go...Goldenrod,” I stammered, flustered by her attractiveness and her height – she was almost as tall as me.

“Por favor, James, call me Stephanie, we’re very informal in this office.”

“Hola Estephania,” I replied, struggling to regain my composure. “It is a pleasure to meet you en persona. I will be happy to call you Stephanie. Please call me Jim.”

“Jim,” she continued in her most seductive voice, touching me lightly on my left shoulder. “Welcome to my Infinite Future Branch. Today, I’ll brief you on my Hawking Plan to save human life and civilization for an infinite future. For reasons I’ll soon make clear to you, the religion portion is muy importante. You will lead that part.

“As you well know, highly automated devices and artificial intelligence entities have displaced nearly all grunt labor. They’ve also made considerable inroads on intellectual work.”

She snapped her fingers and two white-suited robots came in. They were IRAs, Intelligent Robotic Agents, certified by tests to be intelligent at the human level. “Jim, meet VI, for ‘Vast Intelligence,’ my office manager, authorized to make financial decisions for me, and XI, for ‘Xtra Intelligence,’ my personal secretary.”

XI had nearly androgynous male features. He looked me up and down before shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr. James O’Brian. I’ll call you when Dr. Goldenrod needs you for a meeting.”

VI was female, but no competition for Stephanie. She nodded and looked down her nose at me. “I’ll manage your budget Mr. James O’Brian. Let me know in advance of any major purchase items and I will approve or discuss them with Dr. Goldenrod.”

“Hola and pleased to meet you VI and XI,” I replied. “Or should I call you ‘six’ and ‘eleven’?” My new boss, the Head of the Religion Research Department, cracked a broad smile at the joke but neither the robots nor Stephanie acknowledged it. I assumed they’d heard that one so often they were sick of it. Either that or they didn’t know what Roman numerals were.

“I…I...I, um,” I stuttered, put off by the failure of my punning verbalism, “I’ll work with both of you on this Hawking Plan as colleagues. I had some excellent IRA research assistants at Google University, with well-developed senses of humor.”

Stephanie snapped her fingers and the robots retired.

“Spaceships manned by IRAs,” she continued, “Have reached to the ends of our Solar System and beyond. Human space travel is considered unnecessary because robots offer better performance at much lower cost and zero risk to human life.” The RRD Head rotated up and down and I followed suit. I began to reply but she cut me off.

“Never-the-less,” she went on, increasing the pressure on my shoulder, “I am bound and determined to save the human race for an infinite future by reviving human space travel well beyond the Solar System. I am totalmente convinced, as was my great-grandfather a half century ago, that, sooner or later, humans are doomed to self-destruction. We will not survive on Earth beyond the year 3000.”

Stephanie turned away from us and walked towards the display wall behind her reclining chair. She had a forma perfecta figure. Her office was totally up-to-date. The walls were giant interactive display devices, some showing work-related materials and others scenic videos and classic statues.

She turned towards us, grasped the top of her chair, and bowed slightly. Her cleavage was ample, but not excessive. She pointed right to an electronic shrine to Stephen Hawking.
“I am his namesake and great-grand-daughter,” she said, “And I shall revive his plan for humans to survive by spreading into space." As she spoke, a famous quote from Hawking appeared on the display screen:

I don't think the human race will survive the next thousand years.

Unless we spread into space.

There are too many accidents that can befall life on a single planet.

But I'm an optimist.

We will reach out to the stars.

[Stephen Hawking, Physicist and Cosmologist, 2001]

Stephanie continued with great confidence, "As Chief of the Infinite Future Branch of TABB, I’m in the perfect position to carry his plan to fruition.”

After I was sure she had finished speaking, I replied in a modest voice. “Thank you for hiring me, y gracias por su confianza.”

She sat in her reclining chair and invited me and the RRD Head to sit near her. We each had a codip, short for “control and display panel,” a small pedestal that provided hand controls and displays for the devices in the fully electronic office. A small antenna and microphone protruded from each of our ear pods. They allowed us to participate in cell phone-like conversations and send and receive audio input or commands to and from various electronic devices. Our ear pods were powered by body heat and never had to be recharged.

“Jim, I believe this is the first time we’ve met en persona.”

“Yes, Stephanie, though I’ve seen you in news videos and we did have a conversación video during my job interview process.”

“Of course Jim, I recall our conversación. When they were thinking about hiring un profesor de la Universidad – a guy who teaches religious history and philosophy at the prestigious Google University – I must admit I was concerned we’d get a stiff-necked, fact-filled, ivory-tower type who couldn’t rub two sticks together to save his life. In the past, I’ve had negative experiences with academics educated beyond their intelligence!”

I shifted anxiously in my chair.

Stephanie grinned, turned sideways revealing her curves, and continued, “Despite your advanced degrees from the famous Wal-Mart School at McDonalds University I don’t think you are over-educated. Our conversación indicated flexibility and open-mindedness. I was impressed by your práctico frame of mind and your willingness to ‘speak truth to power.’ Our short conversación convinced me you not only knew the facts but also how to use them for propósitos prácticos.”

“Well, Stephanie ... You asked me some questions that, according to the old joke, ‘could cross a rabbi’s eyes’.”

“Yes, now I remember, Jim, you’re also a rabbi. Earlier in your career, you led a combined Unitarian-Jewish Congregation, but, like most modern clerics, you’re not a literal believer. I love that!

I felt my face flush. I shook my head vigorously, trying to dismiss my machismo-arousing thoughts. I reminded myself to concentrate on what she was saying, and not on what she was. She paused, smiled, and winked at me. I took that as an indication she knew exactly what I was thinking and was very much OK with it.

"So, where does religion and Rabbi James O’Brian come into this plan? I know you’re dying to find out! Well, your task will be to oversee the ethical issues of human space flight and pre-empt opposition from the remnant of religiosas locas content to let God worry about the long-term survival of humanity on Earth.” The RRD Head, and mine, nodded up and down. I still didn’t understand why the religion portion was muy importante, but it was my habit to get along with authority figures by going along.

“Prior to becoming Chief of my Infinite Future Branch,” Stephanie continued, “I was in the TABB Bureau of Investigation working with the secret contra-terror group. I interned at the TBI as a grad student and joined them after I earned my PhD seven years ago. Of course, that was a few years after the TBI finally won the war on religion-based terrorism, so I can’t take any personal credit for it. However, I had the opportunity to work intimately with some of the agents who were on the front lines of that war. Several of those ‘long-toothed barbas grises’ were my mentors in the TBI and still are.”

She looked deeply into my eyes. “People who don’t know the full story will tell you the ‘positive ID’ technology that deprived everybody of anonymity and privacy in exchange for security won that war. Largely true, but you don’t know the secret underside.”

She leaned forward and whispered, “The final nail in the coffin of religiosas terrorism was struck by secret techniques the TBI agents called ‘máquina del tiempo.’ These covert ‘time machine’ methods altered the past by covertly introducing subtle word changes into the scriptures of the religions whose belief in bombardeos del suicidio was encouraging young people to engage in terrorist acts. …”

I raised my eyebrows and interrupted. “Time machines? – Máquina del tiempo you call them? Don’t tell me the TBI covertly modified some of the ‘Holy Scriptures’ of Islam!” Stephanie’s head rotated up and down.

I sat bolt upright and spoke in a voice a bit too loud to be comfortable in a business office. “PARDON ME, but as an historian I’m committed to academic integrity. Historical documents should never be changed. I might add that as a cleric I will not condone any governmental or corporate interference with religion. Where did those ‘gray beards’ – ‘barbas grises’ you called them – where did they get the nerve? And you idolize them?”

“Jim, they saved millions of lives and cleared the clouds of terror that hung over western civilization for half a century. They ushered in the worldwide peace and prosperity of our ‘New Age of Confidence’ ...”

“PARDON ME Estephania!” I shouted, Latinizing her first name again to signify I had been introduced to a new personality. “Anyone who trades freedom for security deserves neither! Granted, religious scriptures are not the literal words of God, but where do you get the chutzpah to change historical texts that have survived unchanged for over a thousand years? …”

“Jim ... JIM! Please calm down. First of all, the whole máquina del tiempo aspect of the contra-terror project is still classified TBI-Secret. As one of the conditions of employment at TABB, you agreed to protect from public disclosure any secret information that might be revealed to you during your course of employment. Keep that in mind!”

“Yes madam, is this where I’m supposed to salute?”

“Diego, I’ll ignore that! The survival of human civilization is serious business – the Constitution and Bill of Rights are not a suicide pact. The Founders of the great American experiment in Democracy – which has spread worldwide in our lifetimes – wrote of ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’ in that exact order.”

Stephanie paused to let that sink in. Her use of my Latinized name "Diego" signified she had met a new, more challenging personality. I wanted to establish a good relationship before getting my new boss's boss more upset than necessary. I remained silent.

“Life comes first. The TBI preserved human lives! The damnable bombardeos del suicidio killed millions of totalmente innocent children, women, and men during the first decades of the 21st century. After life comes liberty, and only then pursuit of happiness.” I realized she was off on a lecture and I would have to listen. My eyes caressed her femininity and my imagination penetrated further. I adjusted my position to conceal my rising flag.

She went on, “In these peaceful and prosperous times some spoiled brats have it all backwards. They demand their own happiness be in first place. Then their liberty to do anything they please, no matter how it may offend others or put society at risk. Lastly, they put no value on life other than their own, and even that they abuse by self-destructive and risky behaviors.

“As for your objection to altering so-called ‘Holy Scriptures’ you know clerics and historians have a lurid record of doing just that in pursuit of their own agendas. As an historian you know ‘history is written by the victors.’ Is that not máquina del tiempo talk?”

I opened my mouth to speak but nodded instead.

“Jim, in your excelente book on the history of religious use of mind-altering drugs, which I enjoyed recently, you say proponents and opponents have each misrepresented the past history of drug use and abuse. Those you accurately accuse of manipulating the historical facts include historians and clerics and scientists and even, in your own admission in the epilogue of your book, yourself!

“As for the ‘Holy Scriptures,’ when I first heard the story of the Pharaoh’s daughter ‘finding’ baby Moses floating down the Nile, I thought to myself: ‘That’s what she says!’ What is it about scriptures that make them so God-damned sacrosanct? Surely you know the ‘Holy Trinity’ was interpolated into the First Epistle of John by some Latin scribe. At first, Erasmus rejected it because he couldn’t find it in any of the Greek manuscripts – until some ‘helpful’ monk back-translated it into a copy. It appeared in the Erasmus 1522 edition and even found its way into the King James Version of the Bible that religiosas Christians accept as the literal word of God.

“Just last week I had this locas conversación with a literal believer who works as an engineer – believe it or not – right here at TABB. This otherwise sane guy says the KJV, the King James Version of the Bible, is the Absolute Word of God! I asked him which version of the KJV, because it was revised several times over a hundred year period. Without batting an eye he said the 1611 version, the first one, edited – he sincerely believes – by none other than William Shakespeare in the flesh! All the other versions are suspect because the changes are the work of Satan, who corrupts political and religious leaders. His church uses photocopies of the 1611 version and refuses to even look at the e-texts, do you believe that?”

My mouth hung open. “How could TABB hire a religiosas locas literal believer? Unless it was like, like for a zoo exhibit! Are you serious this guy’s an engineer? Is he scientifically knowledgeable and technology-oriented? If so, the ability of the human mind to mislead itself is amazing!”
Stephanie grinned. “Even more amazing, you’ll be working with him on the Hawking Plan! He’s an expert in genetic engineering as well as artificial intelligence and electronic system stuff.”
I was too flabbergasted to reply. I still had no idea why she read me into the TBI-secret máquina del tiempo or why she thought the religion part was critical to the success of the Hawking Plan.

Stephanie’s face hardened a bit as she continued. “We shall marshal the capabilities of transnational corporations, TCs, to perform the research and technological developments necessary for the Hawking Plan. TABB has authorized funding for preparaciones iniciales.” She looked directly at me. “As un profesor de la Universidad, you may not know exactly how or why nation-states all but dissolved as governmental operations were outsourced to TCs.”

As an historian I was well aware of how TCs seized and currently held ultimate power in worldwide society – as well as the downside of that development – and how anonymity and privacy had been traded for security from terrorism and large-scale warfare. I was aware of the excesses of the TBI, which enforced what they called “free market, fair-play competition” and the “positive ID” society. However, she was not to be interrupted.

“The shift from nation-states to TCs,” she continued, “Started when nearly all local, state, and national government services were outsourced to management corporations, most of which were transnational. Of course, people still vote for officials in their political jurisdictions, but they are, in effect, voting for the managerial TC each candidate publicly designates as his or her sponsor.”
She smiled, turned sideways and lightly brushed her hair with her right hand. Pubicly, I said to myself, smiling. She paused, looked directly at me, and smiled back.

“Only a few jurisdictions have effectively direct elections of public officials,” she continued. “The Netherlands, the San Francisco Bay area, and parts of Sweden, Uruguay, and Afghanistan come to mind. Thus, TABB, working through TCs, has the authority to fund our Hawking Plan – this muy importante mission that benefits all.”

The RRD Head rotated up and down as she continued what appeared to be a rehearsed speech. I was amazed my new boss could show high interest in a speech he must have heard a million times.

“TCs effectively appoint nearly all officials at national, state, and local jurisdictions. You, Jim, are probably proud the TC-appointed President of China is Jewish. I don’t know how you feel about the Mayor of Tel Aviv being Japanese.”

I snapped to attention and smiled at the mention of my name and the Israeli issue and wondered if I was to be a token Jew.

“The judiciary,” Stephanie continued, “Is appointed by agreement of the executive and legislative branches. As both are under TC control, we effectively appoint the judiciary as well. The shift from nation-states to TCs has replaced large-scale military operations with economic competición. Of course TCs have grouped themselves into competing industry interest groups that lobby for especial benefits for their domain of the economy.”

I touched every curve of her body with my eyes. I hoped she would stand so I could get a better look. “This woman is a definite recruit for my autoerotic fantasies,” I thought to myself, though not in those exact words.

Stephanie droned on, “Some TCs are more prominent in some region: Africa, CentAsia, EastAsia, Europe, the MidEast, NortAmer, SoutAmer; or, some smaller sub-area such as the United States, Canada or México. A given TC will be a member of a diverse and interlocking group of TABB lobbying organizations, sometimes with conflicting priorities. The result has been a mostly happy compromise. The best policy for most TCs turned out to be strict auditing of their competición to assure proper payment of taxes as well as veracidad in advertising and adherence to contracts. Of course, ‘what’s good for the goose is good for the gander’ so nearly all TCs favor ‘free market competition’ within ‘fair play’ rules that assure transparency.”

She stood up and strode smoothly towards me. I was embarrassed as a blush came over my face. I shifted position in my chair and rested my hands on my abdomen in a vain attempt to conceal my uncontrollable bodily reactions. She winked at me, candidly acknowledging what I was thinking.

“Public support is muy importante for TABB. People generally favor the new economic and political order, especialmente the elimination of taxes paid by individuals. TCs are each assessed based on their gross value added. Nearly all government programs are thus totalmente subject to TC financing and therefore TABB control.”

“Yes,” I joked, “The ‘Golden Rule’ – them that has the gold makes the rules!”

Stephanie acknowledged my joke with a wan grin and plowed on. ”TCs are basically unhindered in their competición for resources, employees, and customers so long as they submit to TABB audits, comply with contracts, and advertise fairly. As a result, stock values are quite stable, not varying by more than ten-percent a year …”

As Stephanie continued, I recalled the major changes taken for granted by the new transnational generation. For one thing, cash no longer existed except in museums. If your net worth was positive, the whole world was like a buffet. You could walk into any restaurant or store with your positive ID device and take what you wanted. It was charged to your account.

Global warming turned out to be the result of a natural cycle of solar activity and the Earth’s orbit and tilt that increased solar radiation at the poles, augmented by human over-production of greenhouse gases. Average temperatures and mean sea levels increased by about a half degree Celsius and a half-meter between 2001 and 2031. By 2052, temperatures and ocean levels had gone down to the 2021 ranges. They were expected to slowly decrease towards normal values.

This stabilization was due to: 1) Social effects of globalization that reduced reproductive rates below replacement levels, 2) Several genetic engineering disasters between 2020 and 2035 that killed tens of millions of people, 3) A nuclear exchange in the MidEast in 2021 that lead to a mini-“nuclear winter,” cutting average temperatures by five degrees for a year, and 4) A punitive tax on non-renewable carbon-based energy quadrupled costs and led to more efficient use of energy resources. Worldwide population in 2051 as compared to 2001 was halved and greenhouse gas production quartered.

Many of the world’s great coastal cities suffered a fate similar to that of New Orleans early in the century, losing large portions of their populations. Levees and dams proved no match for Mother Nature. She reclaimed millions of acres of formerly high-priced coastal real estate. Most rivers were no longer artificially restricted as human population centers accommodated to Nature rather than the reverse. Agriculture suffered in areas closer to the equator, but was enhanced in some regions formerly too cold or dry.

The oil sands and shale of western Canada and the US became the primary source of non-renewable, carbon-based energy for NortAmer, along with coal liquefaction in the eastern and western coal belts. This greatly reduced the power and influence of countries in the turbulent MidEast, while it increased the role of large transnational corporations. Hydrogen-fusion-based nuclear power plants were used to drive the refining processes.

Many new renewable energy sources were successfully employed: solar, waste biomass fuels, geothermal, wind, tides, waves, and electromagnetic. It turned out the best way to reduce carbon pollution was to tax it heavily and let old-fashioned economics drive industries to invent, perfect and voluntarily adopt carbon-free solutions that cut greenhouse gases.

It was no longer fashionable to have more than one or two children. A third of the population had no children at all. The inexpensive “petite purple pill” prevented or safely terminated pregnancy when taken monthly. The PP-Pill, as it was commonly called, also protected against nearly all forms of venereal diseases.

Safe abortion-on-demand was available at the free choice of the mother during the first trimester for any reason or no reason. For the second trimester, a doctor had to certify some “significant” reason, such as the physical or mental health of the mother, or some abnormality of the baby. Abortion was prohibited during the third trimester, unless at least two doctors certified the mother’s life was in serious jeopardy, or the baby was “abnormal,” using standardized genetic and health tests. These tests were routinely performed during the first month or two of gestation, so it was extremely rare for a seriously “abnormal” child to be brought to the third trimester.

Genetic engineering turned out to be a mixed blessing. Millions died as a result of gene-based pest control programs that went wrong. Billions of acres were contaminated and remained unpopulated. On the other hand, once the kinks were worked out, genetic engineering made it possible to extend human life almost indefinitely, unless a person was badly crushed or burned.

But, there was a point at which even medical miracles could not restore what was called “a standard normal quality of life.” In most jurisdictions, any person who fell below an internationally-recognized set of mental and physical standards was expected to “voluntarily” accept euthanasia. Those who refused to end their lives were restricted to palliative measures to control pain. Prior to that limitation, more than half the total medical care costs for the average person were incurred during the last year of their life.

Sewer systems were modernized to eliminate curbside pickup, incinerators, and landfills. Solid garbage was dumped in a “grinder” and flushed down the pipes to plants manned by “sanitary IRAs.” Metals and other solids were recovered. Virtually all industrial and household waste biomass became bio-diesel fuel. Hydrogen-fusion plants and renewable wind and water completed the “green” picture.

An economic boom was triggered by the rebuilding of many seaside cities under strict standards that prohibited most types of structures from being built below high sea level.

“Jim, JIM! Are you listening?” Stephanie shouted as she tapped me on the shoulder.

I looked up at her and said, a bit sheepishly, “Yes, can you be more specific about religion portion of the Hawking Plan?”

“En un momento,” she replied curtly. The RRD Head nodded up and down. I also nodded and told myself, “She sure likes to talk. I like watching her talk. Listening is another matter!”

“So, gentlemen, what is the Hawking Plan?” Stephanie asked rhetorically. The RRD Head and I sat straight up.

“Ah, finally,” I thought, “The antipasto is over, and the carne roja is here!”

“Stephen Hawking,” she said in a reverent tone, walking towards the electronic shrine in his honor, “The famous theoretical physicist and cosmologist who happens to be my great-grandfather, said, some fifty years ago, the human race will not survive on Earth for a thousand years. He wanted us to spread out, mas rapido, to Earth-like planets beyond our Solar System! He embraced human space travel!” As she said “Human space travel,” a video of Stephen Hawking floating in zero gravity appeared on the display wall.

She gazed at the video and smiled broadly. “Despite his physical limitations, my great-grandfather accepted an opportunity, in 2007, to fly in a special airplane that went to high altitudes and plunged to Earth to allow him to experience zero gravity en persona! Unfortunately, by the time he passed away, human space travel had all but ceased, in favor of space probes ‘manned’ by robot IRAs.

“He warned a natural disaster or human-made accident could wipe life out on a single planet. He was concerned about global warming or nuclear catastrophe, and, especialmente, genetic engineering that might go wrong. As you are well aware, there have been several genetic engineering disasters, but they were contained at the last minute. In fact, genetic engineering has solved the problem of world hunger almost completely …”

“You can credit genetic engineering,” I interrupted, “For solving world hunger with disasters that killed millions of people and that favored social policies that discouraged indiscriminate breeding!”

“I agree,” replied Stephanie, grudgingly, “However, in return for the lives lost to genetic engineering, it is now commonplace to use genetically modified stem cells to regenerate organs, cure blood diseases, and repair broken bones using cells that perfectly match the recipient, because they are their own. Nearly everyone has their genome sequenced for susceptibility to genetic diseases so they can be treated early before serious symptoms set in.

“Use of embryonic stem cells was controversial because the main source was aborted babies. However, it turned out stem cells harvested from amniotic fluid and placentas were superior due to their greater availability and variety, as well as lack of ethical overtones. Even skin cells can be tricked into reverting to the stem cell stage. They are used in the manufacture of miracle genetic drugs. They perfectly match the recipients and have extended meaningful life for millions of people. Nanobots are regularly injected into the bloodstream to dispense these drugs exactly where needed. These tiny robots perform housekeeping duties such as clearing plaques and other obstructions from veins, arteries, and the digestive system.”

She returned to her reclining chair and moved her hand onto her codip. Animated charts appeared on the display wall behind her. “My Hawking Plan calls for nothing less than a massive effort to spread human civilization and genes far and wide throughout space. We’re talking about thousands of spaceships launched over a period of hundreds of years, starting no more than twenty years from today.”

As she spoke, a high-resolution satellite image of the TABB building in Orlando appeared on the display wall. Slowly the view zoomed out and all of the greater Orlando area filled the display screen. The view expanded to Florida and eastern NortAmer, and then the entire Earth. A label appeared:

Mother Earth – Our Big Blue-Green Marble.

The image zoomed out further and faster to contain Venus and Mars, and then our Sun and Solar System. A label appeared:

Our Solar System – Our Planet Neighborhood.

The zoom-out ceased when our galaxy filled the screen. A label appeared: Our Galaxy – The Milky Way. The view shifted a few degrees and slowly started to zoom in on what, at first, seemed to be a single star. A label appeared:

Alpha Centauri – Our Nearest Neighbor Solar System. (Only Four and a Third Light Years Away).

As it zoomed in further Alpha Centuri morphed into two stars, one quite bright and the other a duller, reddish neighbor. Further zooming split the bright star in two, one whitish-yellow, and the other yellowish orange. Those two large stars, together with the tiny reddish one, made for a dramatic triple star-system.

The zoom-in slowed a bit and more detailed labels appeared. According to the text, the largest star was:

Centauri A – A Bit Larger and Brighter than Earth’s Sun.

It was in a binary partnership with:

Centauri B – A Bit Smaller and Duller than Earth’s Sun.

The smallest star was:

Proxima Centauri – A Red Dwarf.

The view panned between the three stars and then slowly zoomed in on Centauri A, showing a number of planets.

The zoom descended towards the fourth planet out from Centauri A – a “big blue-brown marble.” A label proclaimed:

Planet Hawking – Fourth Planet Out from Centauri A. (First Target for Extra-Solar Colonization).

A peninsula, similar to Florida, jutted out into the ocean. The zooming concluded with a satellite-like view of an area near the coastline. Inland were the foothills and a chain of lakes. A river flowed from the largest lake towards the ocean. The land was bare – no grass or trees – mostly brown, with some large areas of gray and black. The view morphed into a “live” video image.

As it panned towards the ground, a large hangar-like structure came into view. It was parked on a promontory between the river bank and the ocean beach. The hangar was surrounded by a park-like area of grass, bushes, and trees. Further zoom-in revealed the words:

TABB, Hawking 0001 (First Extra Solar System Human Colony, circa 2100).

The Hawking Plan logo, a stylized DNA molecule, was visible on the side of the hangar. Behind it could be seen a bright-yellow Sun, labeled: Centauri A. In the distance, lower in the sky and to the left, a second and duller-yellow-orange Sun, quite a bit smaller, was labeled: Centauri B. Far to the right and low in the sky a sharp-eyed observer could see a dull red Sun labeled: Proxima Centauri.

“The first step,” Stephanie continued, “Will be to use our authorized funding for internal studies augmented by ongoing TABB-funded universidad research. We need to define the parameters of human travel over awesome distances and extended times to reach well outside our Solar System. We must use our imaginations to their utmost limits to figure the best alternatives for spreading human genetics and civilization. Do we send living people, perhaps in suspended animation? Or, will it be frozen embryos to be thawed, gestated in artificial wombs, and raised and properly socialized by robot nannies? What about plants and animals? Not since Noah’s Ark has there been a task as far-reaching as our Hawking Plan.”

I listened in awe of her energy, enthusiasm, and unbounded optimism. I was still not convinced the religion part was important. However, I assumed she would get to that issue sooner or later.
Stephanie flipped to a schedule chart and stood up. All this programmatic detail was of little interest to me, and I found myself daydreaming that she would “orbit” closer to my “star system.”

“Excuse me, Stephanie,” I said, “While I’m not an astronomer, I do try to keep up with the latest news in science. I don’t believe any planets have been detected orbiting the three stars in the Alpha Centuri system. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, the closest planetary system detected so far is about forty light years away, not four.”

“You are correct,” she replied, a bit sharply, “A planetary system of a star called 55 Cancri, forty-one light years away, has been detected, but the fourth planet out, in the zone where water may be in liquid form, is a gas giant, far larger than Earth, and not suitable for colonization. My animation is a marketing tool, not intended to be totally accurate. Science cannot yet detect smaller, Earth-sized planets orbiting remote stars. I believe there may well be an Earth-like planet in the Alpha Centuri system. It’s the closest and I’m optimistic.”

“There are a couple dozen other stars between four and twelve light years away,” said the RRD Head, trying to be helpful. “If the Alpha Centuri system lacks an Earth-like planet, one or more of them may be suitable. We know several have planets, for example, the tenth closest star, Epsilon Eridani.”

Stephanie looked towards him, and, for the first time shot a smile in his direction, then turned to her schedule chart and droned on, “Here is our roadmap.” With this muy caliente woman doing the presentation, I was happy to watch. The chart indicated launches would start in 2060, at one per year, increase to ten per year by 2100, and as many as 100 per year by 2200. She bent over and pointed to various parts of her chart. I heard hardly a word. Her body was a symphony and it was playing on my favorite organ.

“After TABB approval of major funding,” she continued, “Concept Development and Initial Test Launches to Earth and Mars destinations will go forward through 2075. Production launches to Alpha Centauri will start in 2075 and Advanced Launches, beyond our Milky Way galaxy, will extend out to the year 2200, when I will be about one-hundred seventy-five years old!” Stephanie laughed energetically at that joke and the RRD Head and I joined in. “Jim, how old was Moses when he led his people to the Promised Land?”

“Moses was one-hundred twenty years old, when the Lord allowed him to view the Promised Land from the nearby mountains of Moab. However, he passed away before his people entered the land.”

“Bummer!” replied Stephanie. “Of course, that was well before medical nanobots and stem cells!”

The road map zoomed in on the Concept Development and Initial Test Launch Phase, from 2052 through 2075. “By next month, February 2052,” she continued, “We will issue a ‘Request for Information’ to all TCs who may wish to participate with products or services. This information will be compiled and analyzed by you gentlemen and the rest of my staff and will be incorporated into formal ‘Request for Proposal’ documentation.

“Within five months, by July, I want us to be ready to formally request approval from the TABB Planning Board to go from the Planning Phase to the Conceptual Study Phase of Research and Development. We will give funded Conceptual Study Contracts to a number of well-qualified TCs, representing diverse geographic and technological areas of expertise. These Study Contracts will run for two to five years. However, after a year or two of study, I believe we will be in a position to go back to the TABB Planning Board for approval of some specific Development Phase Contracts for the spaceships, the human life support mechanisms, and so on.”

I was still wondering where religion came in. However, taking my cue from my new boss, the RRD Head, I held my tongue. Stephanie sat down and frowned briefly. “I expect the main oposición to my plan to come from the anal conservadores fiscales in the TABB bureaucracy, led by a Mongol miscreant named Tsar Sahbaka.

"There are also some TCs who oppose any public spending not directly driven by market forces.

"My allies will be the TABB scientific and technological community who will benefit from the production contracts for the spaceships, human life-support systems, and more. The scientific community is satisfied with space exploration using IRAs, but I am totalmente confidente they’ll enthusiastically go along with any project that directs funding to science and technology.”

“Stephanie,” I interrupted, “I’m still not sure how the religion part fits in, and why is it so important? Do you expect oposición from the religiosas locas? Those nut cakes have no power! With the decline in true believers, even among the clergy like me, they are neither well organized nor radicalized anymore. Why stir up a hornet’s nest?"

“Jim,” said Stephanie, slowly and deliberately, “If my mentors at the TBI learned anything from the decades it took for their contra-terror program to control religion-based terrorism, it is the awesome risk posed by the ‘God delusion.’ It lies dangerously close to the surface in every human being, no matter how strongly they profess to be non-believers.

"When the ‘jungle drums’ start beating, our emotions take over, fe drives razón out the window, and we are all in danger of becoming jihadists for one faith or another! Religioso becomes locas before you can bat an eye. All human brains are wired to feel part of something greater than any individual one of us. We gain pleasure when we give of ourselves to some grand purpose. For example, I am devoted to the Hawking Plan and intend to get popular opinion behind the great objective of saving human life and civilization for the infinite future. In the ultimate battle for public opinion, all other faith-based beliefs are in potential opposition to mine.

“I am concerned the conservadores fiscales, who oppose progressive TABB policies, will ally themselves with the religioso remnants, and, together, constitute a real threat to the Hawking Plan. We must pre-empt that threat! As a rabbi, you can use your title and knowledge to beat the drum for the Hawking Plan in religious circles.”

I sat silently, worried about what I had signed up for.

Stephanie went on, “Jim, I’m not familiar with the historical veracidad of the Hebrew Scriptures. Are any are word-for-word the same as the originals? I’ve heard even the Ten Commandments, for goodness sake, are different in the Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant traditions. Are the Jewish scriptures we have in hand now, the so-called Books of Moses, actually true to Moses’s words, Jim?”

“Well, Stephanie,” I began with a smirk on my face, “According to Genesis, the first book of Moses, in the beginning there was nothing, and God said ‘Let there be light.’ At that point there was still nothing, but you could see it a lot better!”

The RRD Head laughed at the joke, but Stephanie hardly cracked a smile.

I quickly lost the smirk. I cleared my throat and continued in a more professorial demeanor. “I doubt Moses actually wrote the first five books of our Hebrew Bible in his own hand. Particularly not the last verses of Deuteronomy in which his own death is recounted!”

“Not Deuteronomy,” interrupted Stephanie, “Isn’t it Exodus?”

“Yes … yes, of course,” I stammered, my face red with shame, “The last verses of Exodus recount Moses’ death.”

“I’m sorry Jim,” interrupted the RRD Head, “Moses’s death is recounted in Deuteronomy 34, the last chapter of that book. I’m afraid you were correct in the first place.”

“Of course, you are right,” I said, my voice trembling, “I should have known better. Yes, I can quote it by heart. Deuteronomy 34:7: 'And Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died: his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated.'”

“Jim … JIM,” shouted Stephanie, shooting a glaring frown towards the RRD Head, “Let us focus on my original question, about the historical veracidad of the Hebrew Scriptures.”

“We religious historians believe,” I continued, trying to regain my intellectual balance, “There were a few different versions of our scriptures transmitted by a combination of oral and written documents dating from the time of Moses, between the twelfth and fifteenth century BC. When the Jewish exiles to Babylonia were returned to the Holy Land in the fifth century BC, courtesy of the King of Persia, our scribe Ezra struggled with at least two and probably three or four different written versions, dating from at least the tenth century BC. He regarded all of them as sacred, and combined them to form a single scripture.

"For example, in our Hebrew Bible the Creation fable is told two ways: once with the lower animals created first then with humans created first.

"The story of the giving of the Ten Commandments by God to Moses is told three times in our Bible. The Ethical Decalogue – the version most of us are familiar with – appears in similar but not exact form in Exodus and Deuteronomy. However, in a later portion of Exodus the story is told with a mostly different set of Commandments, called the Ritual Decalogue.”

Stephanie turned her gaze from me to the shrine to her great-grandfather. Worried I had lost my audience, I decided to cut my exposition short. “So, to get to the bottom line,” I concluded, “The Books of Moses we have today are not the literal words of Moses nor what we used during the period of our Kings or our Prophets. Our tradition teaches that the version of the Bible we have in Hebrew today is virtually word-for-word identical to the one Ezra compiled in the year 444 BC. I personally believe that part of our tradition is true.”

She looked back at me and smiled. So I went on.

“We have a strong prohibition,” I continued, “Against making any changes to the Hebrew text, even to correct obvious typographical errors due to inadvertent copying mistakes by the scribes. For example, there’s one place where our patriarch Jacob’s name is spelled wrong. In English, it would be like putting in an extra ‘C’ making it ‘JACCOB.’ Well, if you look at the Hebrew text – even in the modern e-texts – you’ll find the extra Hebrew letter in Jacob’s name, and then in parenthesis, the ‘correct’ spelling. In English it would be like ‘JACCOB (JACOB)’.”

“OK,” said Stephanie, “Please go on if you have more to say”

“Changes are prohibited because God, in effect, held Moses’s hand as he made the typo! Our rabbis and scholars have interpreted copying mistakes like these and what appear to be contradictions as secret messages to believers from God. Of course, in my opinion, it is all finely sliced baloney!”

“Jim, I’ve wondered about the ‘Septuagint’ translation from Hebrew to Greek. There’s a legend about a miracle?”

“Yes, Stephanie, the Septuagint was translated from Hebrew to Greek for the famous library at Alexandria Egypt around 285 BC. Our Jewish historian Philo, who lived in Alexandria and was born about thirty years before Jesus, comments positively about the Septuagint. The legend is that some seventy-two translators worked for seventy-two days, each in a separate cell. By a ‘miracle,’ all their translations turned out to be identical, every word and sentence and jot and tittle the same. Of course all this is more finely sliced baloney except for the fact of the translation and the approximate year.”

“You don’t think seventy-two scholars working independently could come up with the exact same translation? If they did though, you would count that as a miracle?”

I grinned broadly. “If seventy-two scholars working together, all agreed on the translation, that would be a miracle!”

The RRD Head began to laugh but arrested it at the broad-smile stage, and just as quickly doused that. Stephanie greeted that joke with a bland smile and continued, “Thank you Jim. OK, now that that’s settled, let’s get back to the purpose of this meeting.

“Your assignment, Jim, is to find passages in all major religious scriptures that predict or favor extra-terrestrial expansion of the human race. If necessary, you are authorized to modify the e-texts used for day-to-day religious services. For example: Genesis 22:17: '…I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven …' Could be read as: Genesis 22:17: '…I will multiply thy seed upon the stars of the heaven …' Be quite careful to make the changes subtle, but be sure the message is crystal clear: It is God’s plan for humans to populate the entire Universe by any means necessary.”

“With respect, Dr. Goldenrod ...” I began as I finally started to understand the scope of the task she had assigned me.

“I asked you to call me Stephanie, Jim,” she interrupted curtly.

“OK ... Stephanie. Regardless of what you and I think, the believers believe their ‘Holy Scriptures’ are the literal words of their Gods. They’ll notice changes and verify them by reference to hard-copy sources. For example, some Jews still know how to read directly from our Torah scrolls. Some Christians, as you have mentioned, make a point of reading directly from photocopies of the original version of the King James Bible. True believers among the Muslims, Hindus, Confucians, and so on do the same...”

“Jim ... JIM!” interrupted Stephanie, “If the religiosas locas don’t use the e-texts, they won’t notice the changes! Will they?”

“Perhaps not. Not the really dedicated ones. You have a point there. However, there’s the problem of the scholars – religious historians like me. We may not believe the scriptures were written by God; but our commitment to academic integrity is quite solid. We’ll notice any changes and verify them by reference to originals, such as the Dead Sea Scrolls. Also ...”

Stephanie pounded her codip. “Integridad Académica!” she shouted. “You scholars have no fe in God but all the fe in the world in human razón and Integridad Académica. That is your religiosas locas! Climb down from the ivory tower and join the real world!”

“I am in the real world,” I insisted.

“Fix it! Diego! Fix the real world! The Hawking Plan will save the real world! God-damn Integridad Académica! You are authorized to alter the e-photos of the originals of every God-damned so-called ‘Holy Scripture’ you think necessary, with the help of the TBI Cryptographic Bureau. When required, make the same changes to the actual relics stored in museums.”

I was too flustered to speak. In fact, I was so confused for a moment I no longer enjoyed looking at Stephanie.

“On the TBI contra-terror project,” she continued, “Our máquina del tiempo, a TBI agent encouraged some obscure Imam to expose one of the changes. The TBI had a Muslim Committee of Scholars investigate and prove, by reference to the hard copies and museum relics they had also modified, the cleric was ‘mistaken’.”

I objected again. “But, madam, surely other traditional clerics came forth to support the Imam ...”

“They were all old men with ‘memorias culpables.’ They were hallucinating, a common malady of religiosas locas! The TBI contra-terror agents spread the story that Imams themselves were making changes to the printed copies of their so-called ‘Holy Books’ to make it appear the e-texts and photos and relic hard copies had been modified. Even today, some radical churches, mosques, temples and synagogues are the last vestiges of oposición to corporate governance, plotting against TABB, etc., etc. I leave the details to you.”

Stephanie turned away and spoke into her scepter, a pen-like device carried by sixteen-hundred high TABB officers to document secret programs and authorize extra-legal activities. “Reference the Hawking Plan. RRD is onboard and O'Brian is authorized ...”

As she continued to document the task to her scepter, I looked to my right and met the gaze of the Head of the RRD. He gave me a big smile and an enthusiastic thumbs-up! That helped me regain my intellectual and emotional footing. I decided to go with the flow and give respect to proper authority – at least for my first week at TABB.

Stephanie rose from her seat and approached us. My libido returned and, once more, I appreciated how muy totalmente atlético y caliente she was. I pointed to the wall to my left.

“Stephanie, I’ve been watching your celi. It’s quite a ‘living’ shrine to your great-grandfather.”

The celi, short for “celebration of life,” was a common electronic appliance. At the center of the celi was an aromarama, a fog machine that produced an aromatic ball of mist into which lasers projected a three-dimensional animated talking head, in this case modeled after Stephen Hawking. The celi stored and displayed audio and video recordings of Hawking as well as all of his writings. As a user option, the speech could be in any major language and in the easier to understand male or female “anunciador de radio” voice.

The celi monitored conversations in the area and determined the main topic of discussion. It then searched for applicable audio, video, or writing clips. The celi could be set to operate automatically, in which case “Hawking” would speak up whenever there was a pause in the conversation and he had something to say on the topic, or in question and answer mode in which case he would respond only to direct questions. Behind the aromarama was a display wall that showed videos, still photos, and text displays coordinated with the talking head.

“Thanks Jim,” replied Stephanie. “I was an infant when we met en persona. His ability to speak was gone and mine was yet to develop.” A tear formed in her left eye. She paused, let it trickle down, and wiped it away. “Now, I speak to him every morning when I come in, and every evening before I leave. He is my oracle.” As she spoke, the display wall behind the celi showed a photo of a very old, bedridden Stephen Hawking with a bawling infant lying on his chest.

“Look,” I said, “Is that a photo of you the time you met him?”

“Yes, my dear grandmother left that photo to me.”

I scratched my head and hesitantly spoke up. “You said you hired me because of my tendency to ‘speak truth to power’?”

She nodded her head. Her lips tightened a bit.

“Well, as you know, I’m an historian. If I’m not mistaken, Stephen Hawking passed away a few years before you were born.”

She thought for a moment and replied, “You are probably right, Jim. We can check the celi – it has all the information about my great grandfather. Most likely, that image has been photo shopped.”

“But Stephanie,” I asked, “If it’s photo shopped, why didn’t they use a smiling photo of you as an infant?”

“My dear old grandmother probably thought an unhappy baby would add to the veracidad!” She looked at the photo more closely. “Perhaps that’s why I hate crying babies so much. I really have a phobia about anyone who can’t control their emotions, even infants.”

“You know Stephanie, there’s a classic story about a Chasidic Rebbe who supposedly could climb a ladder and ‘see all the way into the future.’ Someone asked him, if he had this magical power, why he needed the ladder. He replied he could see the future while standing on the ground, but the ladder made it more impressive!”

Stephanie hardly acknowledged my story. Instead, she stared intently at the Hawking head in the celi.

“You see, the Rebbe’s ladder added to the veracidad ...”

“Did you notice?” Stephanie interrupted, “How ardently he followed our discussion? Alte-zeide Stephen had something to say about nearly every topic we raised!”

“Alte-zeide – that’s Yiddish. Are you Jewish too?”

Stephanie stiffened a bit. “Jim,” she said quietly, “You know how the old saying goes '…Things are seldom what they seem.'”

I smiled. “That’s from W.S. Gilbert’s HMS Pinafore! It continues '… Skim milk masquerades as cream. 'In grade school we had to memorize all the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas – an effort by Anglophiles to stem the tide of Inglañol! That was a lost cause, wasn’t it? In any case, members of our generation have their heads full of wonderful English patter.”

She tapped her forehead and said, “My great-grandfather had to memorize Shakespeare, so we had it pretty good. It continues, '… Pretty girls are often cold. / All that glitters is not gold.'”

I recognized an error in the last quote from Pinafore. I was about to say something when the Hawking head in the aromarama became animated. It spoke through our ear pods in that distinctive synthesized voice Hawking was forced to use due to his lifelong battle with motor neuron disease. His words were on the display wall:
There was a young lady of Wight / Who traveled much faster than light / She departed one day / In a relative way / And arrived on the previous night.

Stephanie smiled. “Great-grandpa Stephen included limericks in his writings.” The Hawking head continued:
So all we need for time travel is a spaceship that will go faster than light. Unfortunately, Einstein showed that the rocket power needed to accelerate a spaceship got greater and greater the nearer it got to the speed of light. So it would take an infinite amount of power to accelerate past the speed of light. … So writers of science fiction had to look for ways to get round this difficulty. In his 1915 paper, Einstein showed that the effects of gravity could be described by supposing that space-time is warped or distorted by the matter and energy in it. We can actually observe this warping of space-time, produced by the mass of the Sun, in the slight bending of light or radio waves, passing close to the Sun…

Stephanie interrupted the Hawking head. “He does go on sometimes,” she said, laughing. “My great-grandfather was probably triggered by our talk of máquina del tiempo. Of course, he doesn’t know we were talking about a totalmente different concept of ‘time machine’. We were talking about the warped minds of the religiosas locas rather than the warping of space-time. We were talking about playing ‘time machine’ with the supposed words of God and …”

The Hawking head interrupted her:
God might have created such a warped universe, but we have no reason to think that He did. All the evidence is that the universe started out in the Big Bang without the kind of warping needed to allow travel into the past. Since we can't change the way the universe began, the question of whether time travel is possible is one of whether we can subsequently make space-time so warped, that one can go back to the past. I think this is an important subject for research, but one has to be careful not to be labeled a crank.

Stephanie used the codip by the celi to quiet the Hawing head. I took the opportunity to press for an answer to my question. “Excuse me, Estephania, are you avoiding my question? Are you Jewish?”

“All right,” she said condescendingly. “My mom’s mother was Jewish. That’s why mom called my great-grandfather Alte-zeide Stephen. I guess that makes me one-quarter Jewish?”

“Well, maybe biologically one-quarter.” I smiled. “But, according to Jewish law, Judaism is inherited exclusively through the female line. So, if your grandmother was Jewish, and neither your mother nor you renounced your Judaism for another religion, you are one-hundred percent Jewish. Felicitaciones! …and mazel tov! I might add. By the way, I am also a biological mish-mash. My father, as you can tell by my name, was British. He claimed to be an Irish Catholic but his background was British Protestant. My mother was Jewish ...”

“Thanks for the information, Jim, but I never acknowledged nor did I renounce any religion.”

With that, Stephanie shook hands with the RRD Head. She then, quite unexpectedly, gave me a full body hug – one that was much too tight and lasted at least ten seconds too long. Her well-toned left leg was pressed between mine, and, as she held me tightly, she did a bit of a hula with her hip in my crotch. “Welcome aboard Jim! You will be a wonderful addition to my IFB. I look forward to a very satisfying ‘infinite future’ with you!” She released me, nodded, and the meeting was over.

When well clear of the top floor of the TABB building, the RRD Head said: “The Queen Bee likes you – felicitaciones and mazel tov on the lambada hug. I’ve never seen her give a ‘dance of love’ squeeze on an initial meeting. You are definitely on your way up!”

“Way up!” I said, pointing to my pants, “Sh’ma Yisra’el ...”

“I know that’s an important Hebrew prayer,” observed the RRD Head, “How would you translate it?”

"We say the Sh’ma twice at every religious service and we’re supposed to say it just before our airplane crashes! It goes Sh’ma Yisra’el, Adonoi Eloheynu, Adonoi Echod and it means ‘Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God! The LORD is One!’"

The RRD Head rotated left and right. “The translation I’ve heard is ‘Listen, O Israel! The Eternal is our God – the Eternal ALONE.’ An old rabbi explained it to me, ‘One’ is a number, and admits the possibility of ‘Two Gods’ or ‘Three Gods’ or more. ‘Alone’ admits of no such possibility.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that translation. Not exactly literal, but OK. My eyes suddenly lit up. “I just thought of a better one! ‘Understand, O Israel! Our God is Eternal - Eternal and UNIVERSAL.’ Not quite literal, but I’ll bet we can make it the accepted interpretation, you know, to promote human space travel through the whole universe.”

He nodded up and down. “Nolo problemo and Halleluyah!”

I had another inspiration. “’Allah-Ulyah’ becomes ’Allah is UNIVERSAL,’ according to the new religious order. ‘La Ilaha Ila Allah.’ traditionally mistranslated as ‘There is no God but Allah’ becomes ‘There is no God but the UNIVERSE.’ ‘Allahu Akbar’ traditionally ‘Allah is Great’ is now ‘The UNIVERSE is great.’”

The RRD Head smiled. “Excelente! Stephanie has authorized modo contrario for your PID as necessary during this caper.”

“I know a PID is a Personal ID device everyone carries. Mine is in my wedding ring. But, what the heck is PID modo contrario? That would be ‘countermode’ in Standard English, right?”

“Correct! Nearly everyone ‘voluntarily’ carries a PID. Yours is in a piece of jewelry, some are integrated into ear pods, and I’ve chosen to have mine implanted under the skin of my shoulder.”

“Right, but can you get more specific about modo contrario?”

“Nolo problemo,” replied the RRD Head, “Despite oposición from ‘privacy’ advocates, PIDs are a necessity of modern life, serving as universal credit cards, driver’s licenses, gate passes, and keys to the office, home, auto, and so on. They positively ID cell phone callers, text-messagers, and web-surfers. They leave minute-by-minute tracks of where you’ve been in public places, and when. “That can be ‘inconvenient,’ let us say, if you are performing some TABB-sanctioned activity that would be embarrassing if it became public. Modo contrario is a system enabled by a scepter-holder that deletes PID records for the designated person, and substitutes a false set of PID locations. I hasten to add modo contrario is TBI-Secret. You must not disclose it to anyone without an official ‘need to know’.”

“Sounds neat, but why would I need modo contrario for my work on the religion portion of the Hawking Plan?” I asked.

“Well, you may visit various clerics or TC and government officials and they might not want to have their involvement with the Hawking Plan or TABB made public. That kind of thing.”

The wide coverage of the WIN (Worldwide Information Network – successor to the World Wide Web) made PIDs practical, starting about 2015. By 2025, most “privacy” advocates “got over their support for a lost cause,” as PID proponents proclaimed it to be.

PID readers were endemic in public places. They consisted of a video camera, a proximity detector, biometric sniffers, and a transponder that queried PIDs that came into range. The PID response data was analyzed and uploaded for comparison to the data and photos stored in official records. If there wasn’t a positive match, an alert was generated for local law enforcement. The TBI, responsible for prosecution of stolen or counterfeit PIDs, was also alerted.

Records of PID readings were public information, accessible for a substantial fee to anyone in near real-time. Thus anyone willing to pay the fee could locate anyone else who was now or ever had been in a public place. Of course, when anyone queried someone else’s PID record that was also public information. The person whose PID records were requested received an alert, giving them the name and city of the person who issued the query. If the subject desired more information about who was tracking them, they could, for a fee, obtain it.

TABB-selected public officials who carried scepters sarcastically called themselves the ‘700 club’ although it was public knowledge there were sixteen-hundred of them. The RRD Head explained to me that they had the authority to grant PID modo contrario to conceal official TABB activities. Scepters were proportionally allocated to geographic areas, language and ethnic groups, and both genders. The sixteen-hundred were awarded with great care by majority vote of all scepter-holders following a full investigation of the candidate by the TBI. For a person to get a scepter a current holder had to “voluntarily” relinquish it or die or retire from a job that required a scepter... or get “exploded.”

The term “explosion” came from the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta Utopia Limited, about an idyllic South-Seas island. Utopia was governed by King Paramount, in theory an absolute despot but in fact quite constrained. A government official, called the “Public Exploder,” followed the King around with a stick of dynamite and a match, always willing – even eager – to blow him to smithereens. However, the Public Exploder was sworn to do his duty only if two other government officials, called the “Wise Men,” agreed with each other that the time had come to terminate the King. Of course, the overly intellectual and fuzzy-brained Wise Men never agreed with each other, so the King was safe, or nearly so. This critical balance of power had resulted in a well-governed Utopia. That is, until British government “experts” were brought in to “reform” the system in accordance with more “civilized” customs. But, that is another story.

Some oddballs turned their PIDs off, which was quite legal. But, it was also darned inconvenient. Without a PID, they couldn’t buy or sell anything. There was no cash economy to speak of. It was also futile, since they could usually be tracked even without their PIDs. When the video camera of a PID reader sensed a person without a functioning PID it denoted them a “person of interest,” stored a public record of their image and biometrics, and notified local police.

The public records of persons of interest could be queried, for a substantial fee, by anyone who provided a photo of their face and an approximate location and time. Thus, an investigator could piece together successive public records and potentially track them. Compiled tracks were available from “seek and track” TCs that specialized in creating time tracks of persons of interest.

The almost universal use of PIDs was what finally broke the back of terrorism. It also put an end to most common criminal activity as well as a good deal of infidelity. Sophisticated TBI software tracked and traced purchases of products and substances that could be used for explosives, illegal weapons, and criminal activities. They also tapped into all PID cell phone and text-message communications and “gisted” them for key words denoting criminal plans.

The cloning and counterfeiting of PIDs and the hacking of TC and TBI computer networks had been reduced to nuisance levels. A stolen PID was of little value since it was detected when the user’s biometrics failed to match the stored biometrics of the rightful owner. High levels of encryption, using a sophisticated Public Key Infrastructure, restricted counterfeit PIDs to the domain of extremely high-tech terrorists and criminal organizations.

The TBI instituted a stringent procedure that mandated each agency or TC to require a client to separately prove his or her identity and give biometric samples, including DNA, to open an account. These data were stored in the computer system of that agency or TC. The TBI periodically accessed all records associated with a given PID and compared them to each other. If they did not match within reasonable limits, that triggered an investigation.

I followed the RRD Head into his office and closed the door. “What else can you tell me about Stephanie?” I asked.

“What do you need to know?” he asked, a grin on his face.

“Well, when I stopped by last week to finish my employment formalities, a woman in Human Resources took me aside. HR has reports she’s sexually aggressive and in a loveless marriage with her husband. They say he’s her merkin. She exploits her sexuality to get her way with subordinates and management. Her sexual favors …”

“So, do you find her sexually attractive?”

“Muy caliente! Forma perfecta y totalmente atlético. She’ll be the star of my autoerotic pleasures forever. That tight hug with her left leg and hula hip pressed against me is engraved in my memory. I liked the way you called it the lambada, the dance of love.”

“That’s a normal reaction, Jim. Don’t be worried about it.”

“A couple times during her lectures in there I had to shift to conceal my arousal. She winked at me as if she knew what I was thinking and was enjoying her power over me! For goodness sake, I’m a happily married man with two young children …”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s just a ‘lemon tree’ woman. 'Lemon tree is very pretty / And the lemon flower is sweet. / But the fruit of the lemon / is impossible to eat.' Enjoy her beauty and pheromones, but don’t eat her sour fruit. She’s lovely to look at and obsess about but you don’t want her for a wife – or a lover either!”

“Sounds like ‘sour grapes’ to me,” I joked.

“Probably correct,” the RRD Head answered, frowning, “I’ve worked for her for two years and am yet to get my first hug.”

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Chapter 2 -- Team Building

2009-01-06T13:07:00.011-05:00

May 2052

My wife Esther complained that May in Orlando was “especialmente caliente y húmedo.” I was putting so much time in at work I hardly noticed the weather.

Much progress had been made during my five months in the Religion Research Department of the Infinite Future Branch of TABB. At my urging, leaders of many religions issued statements supporting the spread of human civilization from Earth throughout the Heavens. Subtle changes were made to the e-texts of scriptures in support of human space ventures. E-photos of many originals were expertly altered to support the deception. Plans were in place for corresponding modifications to the oldest extant hard copies.

I worked with Hawking Plan system engineers and technologists from other departments within IFB and outside organizations to develop alternative concepts for human occupation of planets beyond our Solar System. The most promising concepts called for thousands of space missions to Earth-like planets. Unfortunately, the reliability numbers indicated many missions would fail, killing all life onboard. Would these be considered “misiones del suicidio”? That was a critical ethical issue.

Did the end, to make sure human life survived the “inevitable” destruction of Earth; justify the means, sending thousands of human beings to their deaths, hoping some would survive on some remote planets? It was also political. The war on terrorism had been won when moderate Imams convinced their followers it was more important to love their own young men and women – their children – than to hate western civilization. Religion-based killing died out when leaders preached a positive message: love life more than death and martyrdom.

My small staff of translators and religious scholars considered if human space misiones del suicidio might revive the social acceptance of the damnable bombardeos del suicidio. We worried the Hawking Plan might energize the pockets of radical Islam that had not yet submitted to western civilization.

Stephanie required official TABB Planning Board approval to issue formal Request for Proposal documents. She ordered me and my counterparts from other branches to travel to Tokyo to support her at the Board meeting.

We took the sleeplane – the best choice for air trips of over six hours. We were scheduled for the Saturday noon flight, with a 10AM pickup. Sleeplane passengers were advised not to take anything by mouth for eight to twelve hours before scheduled pickup, to wear an adult diaper, and take a P-pill (purge pill) a half hour before pickup. As I emerged from the bathroom, Esther gave me a kiss and wished me “A safe flight.” Adam, our seven-year-old, added, “And a dry trip as well!” That sent him and our nine-year-old Rebecca into gales of laughter. They remembered the trip a year earlier when I awakened on the couch all smelly with full pants.

The pickup was quite efficient. A gold-suited sleeplane medic and its silver-suited helper, both IRAs, wheeled my transcap (transport capsule) into the living room. It was a casket-sized box with a built-in air conditioning and life support system. The medic gave me a sleepo (sleeping potion) injection. Within a few minutes, I was unconscious and ready for the trip to the airport and the flight to Tokyo. Upon arrival there, the process was reversed, with a wayko (wake-up) injection. I awoke at about 4PM, on a sofa in my hotel room, with dry pants, extremely refreshed and a bit hungry for dinner.

The introduction of sleeplanes in the 2030’s was controversial. People worried they would wake up in the cargo hold. Or a failure would suffocate them or send them to the wrong destination. Perhaps the wayko wouldn’t work and they would die. Sure enough, during the first few years, several dozen people died and hundreds had bad reactions. There were reports of people awakening in transit and suffering great fright. In the early days before human medics were replaced by robots, some were accused of fondling passengers.

Complaints ceased after they fitted transcaps and the IRA medics with video cameras, preventing hanky-panky and putting the lie to the stories about passengers awaking in their transcaps. It cost less to transport a sleeplane passenger. More bodies per plane, no need to serve food or beverages, and sleeplane passengers didn’t have air rage nor did they commit terrorist attacks.

Scientists and technologists proved, as early as 2025, that robots the size of humans could have general intelligence in the normal human range. By 2030 their cost of ownership became económico for most grunt labor. Robots that passed a standardized test were certified as IRAs, “intelligent at the human level.”

Specially-designed violet-suited IRAs were employed as REPS, Robotic Erotic Pleasure Suppliers. I never had any desire to be “serviced” by a REPS and, as long as I had a reasonable sex life with my wife and could perform autoerotic fantasies without machine assistance, I didn’t intend to hire one.

At first, IRAs tended to be employed as robotic assistants, accompanied by human supervisors. Then, in 2037, a taxi company in Cincinnati installed red “panic” buttons in the passenger compartment of their IRA-driven taxis and inaugurated the era of IRAs working without direct supervision. In case of a problem, the passenger could press the button and the IRA would have to pull over and stop at the nearest safe place. A human supervisor at the taxi company would then initiate a conversación video with the passenger to determine what was wrong. If necessary, the supervisor could review video of the ride. It turned out hardly anyone except anti-robot activists ever pressed the button! With that breakthrough came increased demand, higher production quantities, and lower prices for IRAs.

Transcaps were fitted with sophisticated medical monitoring devices and a mouth tube to deliver liquids with medications in the event a passenger suffered de-hydration or almost any other health problem in transit. The sleepo and wayko injections were carefully metered according to the passenger’s weight and age. In the event of transport delays, the mouth tube system automatically delivered additional sleeping medication good for up to six hours.

Sleeplane travel was safer than regular air travel. There were fewer stress-induced heart attacks. It was “sofa-to-sofa” so there was no chance for a passenger to slip and hurt him- or herself rushing through the airport or carrying heavy luggage. The eight to sixteen hours of rest improved working efficiency and reduced the passenger’s weight by two to five pounds, at least temporarily. The sleeplane concept was applied to other modes of travel and human activity, including railrest and sleepships. “Sleepspas” offered twelve hours of deep rest and weight loss without the need for travel.

By 2052 it was routine for IRAs to perform nearly all service jobs as well as many more advanced types of work. IRAs were better and safer to have around than human workers. In the medical field, it became common for dental hygienists, physician’s assistants, nurses, and virtually all other support workers to be IRAs. Most surgeries were performed by computer-controlled machines, under the supervision of a licensed human doctor, of course.

The cautionary tales in twentieth-century science fiction about robots revolting turned out to be nonsense. IRAs were manufactured with a “supervisory module” that prevented thoughts of revolt. Of course, there were some “robot rights activists” who disabled the supervisory modules in some IRAs. However, given the Positive ID society, none of them could ever organize enough IRAs to have anything like an effective revolt. Every once in a while, news organizations reported a “poetic justice” story about a misguided robot rights activist who had been done in by his or her IRA.

Stephanie hosted the welcome dinner for our Hawking Plan team at our Tokyo hotel. In addition to me, there were six others from Orlando, two from Atlanta, and four from the TABB Tokyo office.

I excused myself early from the dinner for a conversación video with Esther, Rebecca and Adam, a daily travel ritual. Considering the time difference between Tokyo and Orlando, and the short time window between when they awoke and had to leave for school or work, it turned out I had to call around dinner, Tokyo time.

One wall of my hotel room was a giant display screen that showed a photo of a scene from a classic Japanese kabuki show. I used the codip on the desk to change it to conversación video mode and called home. Esther was happy to see and speak to me, but she asked why I called so early on a Sunday morning, a day they usually slept in till 8 or 9AM. I apologized, explaining it was Sunday afternoon in Tokyo and I got mixed up and thought it was Monday in the US. She laughed as did the children. Of course, I knew this error would be added to the tale of the turd-y pants in Adam’s repertoire.

Neither Esther nor I had ever been to Tokyo, so she asked my impressions of the city. I said I hadn’t seen much of anything so far, other than the hotel and the nearby TABB office, which were quite similar to those in any large city. She knew I was a bit nervous about my presentation to the TABB Planning Board and wished me the best of luck. Adam asked if my trip had been “dry” and I was happy to reply “yes.”

Rebecca told me there was a rumor floating around school that the Japanese company that made watches “with hands!” had come out with a new model. She asked me to check out their Tokyo factory. I knew I was going to be very busy and made no promises.

After the conversación video, I watched a bit of TV, handled some TABB-related business e-mails and video-mails, reviewed the presentation I planned to give the following day and took a quick shower. Around ten PM Tokyo time, I hopped into the very comfortable bed.

However, I could not sleep. What to do? I watched a few English-language channels on the display wall. An hour later I decided to dress and go for a walk. With the advent of the “Positive ID society,” it was quite safe to walk the streets of almost any populated area that had good WIN coverage.

I stopped briefly at the sundries shop in the hotel lobby for a flashlight, a candy bar and some calorie-free, non-alcoholic sake. Like nearly all stores, the sundries shop was totally automatic, sensing my PID as well as the RFID tags on the items I picked up. They charged them against my bank balance. As I exited the shop there was a single beep and a green light flash. I could have touched the green light and received a printed receipt, but I trusted the system and simply walked out. Had my PID not worked or my bank balance been insufficient, there would have been two beeps and the red light would have flashed. I would have been identified as a “person of interest” and the video would have been sent to the police for further investigation.

I broke the seal on the flashlight and turned it on to be sure it worked. I was about to open the candy bar and take a bite when my conscience alerted me to the fact it was extra-large size and I was trying to lose weight. I returned to the shop and put it back on the shelf, taking a small-size bar instead. Again, the automatic system noted my return with the drink and extra-large candy bar, both still sealed, and the flashlight, which had been paid for and used. My account was credited for the still-sealed items. As I left with the drink and the small-sized candy bar, they were added to my account and the flashlight was ignored. Like most people, I was so familiar with these types of automatic transactions I didn’t consciously think about them anymore. In effect, for someone like me, with a working PID and a positive bank balance, the whole world was a buffet.

I brought up a walking map on my read-WINs (glasses that displayed video images). My hotel was in Rainbow City, just north of Tokyo Bay. I headed south, under a highway overpass and soon came to a bayside park with a pleasure boat channel along its northeast. I admired the docked watercraft and some larger ships across the bay. I followed the path as it curved to the right, crossed a pond via a picturesque bridge, and eventually returned to where I had entered the park. I sat down briefly to consume my drink and candy bar.

As I returned under the highway, I noticed a woman across the street striking a sexy pose. She was the first person I had seen since leaving the hotel. From a distance, in the poor lighting under the highway, she looked “muy caliente.” As I came closer, the woman beckoned to me. I said “Hi” and the woman said something in Japanese that sounded like “enjo kosai.” It was then I noticed she was quite old – at least forty and perhaps older – and most likely a low-class prostitute. “Buy date? Enjo kosai?” she said, confirming my suspicions. I wondered how “Johns” paid prostitutes in a cashless society. Perhaps all she wanted was a restaurant meal and a night in a hotel bed. I wondered what she would have done for a drink and a candy bar.

“Sorry, no” I replied and hurried back to my hotel. I washed my hands, drank a glass of water and hopped back into bed. Still unable to sleep, I flipped to the Japanese-language fare and happened upon a kabuki play. Not knowing the language, and being totally unaware of the subtle meanings of the costumes and gestures, I found myself engaging in mental matings with the female actresses, one of whom – I named her “Yum, Yum” after the character in Mikado – was particularly beautiful. Their sing-song voices, and the lack of action I could understand, finally put me to sleep.

I awoke with a start at 7AM Tokyo time when the alarm went off, vibrating the bed. I vaguely remembered a pleasant dream involving myself and Yum Yum interacting as players in a kabuki show.

Our initial briefing to the TABB Planning Board was scheduled for after lunch that day. Having a free morning, I had scheduled a visit to the Preservation Department of the DoHiMuTo, the Documentary History Museum of Tokyo. I knew the large Japanese telecommunications company, DoCoMo (Do Communications Mobile) also meant “everywhere” in Japanese and I wondered if DoHiMuTo meant something in that language.

Some of the Dead Sea Scrolls were on loan from their home in Jerusalem to the Tokyo museum for máquina del tiempo work per my orders. The scrolls, dating from about 200 BC to 100 AD, are the oldest physical evidence we have of biblical and other religious texts that formed the basis of the Abrahamic religions; Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. As an historian, I was well-aware of their significance and value and was honored to be in their presence.

Of course I didn’t believe in their provenance as the literal word of God. Yet, as I held a fragment in my gloved hands, I was surprised to be overcome by a strange “religioso” feeling. It was like the time I touched the Western Wall in Jerusalem.

The subtle word changes were going well. The “preservaciónistas,” as I called the Japanese technicians, saved the ancient ink they scraped from some areas and carefully re-applied it, using solvents that evaporated completely, to create or modify words. The carbon-14 dating record and chemical analysis veracidad was thus preserved. They were experts at this most artful form of forgery.

That afternoon, after my emotional time with the Dead Sea Scrolls, I was charged up for my presentation to the TABB Planning Board. Stephanie, after brief introductory remarks, introduced me as the first speaker. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the TABB Planning Board, My Lieges, I bid you homage” I began, using the honorific title and fancy greeting expected by high TABB officials. “It is my privilege to address you, representing the Infinite Future Branch headed by Dr. Stephanie Goldenrod. I am a Rabbi as well as a former Professor of Religious History and Philosophy.

“Earlier today I had the honor of holding some fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls in my gloved hands at the DoHiMuTo, the Documentary History Museum of Tokyo. Although I do not happen to be a literal believer, I must confess I felt some ‘magic’ in those fragments, those ‘voices from the past’.”

As I spoke, I was overcome by “religioso” emotions. My throat choked. My hands, in front as if I were holding the fragments, began to quiver. For a moment my knees weakened and I could not speak.

The members of the Board stared at me in complete silence. One or two bit their lower lips, sharing my emotional experience and remembering some of their own.

“Over two-thousand years ago,” I continued, taking a deep breath, “An obscure group of Essene scribes copied these sacred texts on leather parchment, reed paper, and inscribed on rolls of copper sheet. They concealed the scrolls in high caves along the Dead Sea to protect them from destruction by the invading Romans. These relics remained hidden, safe and secure until they were found only a hundred years ago. Those blessed ancient people preserved the civilization of their time for us.

"I am here to ask you to help preserve human life and human civilization for the next two thousand years and beyond to the infinite future.

“The inspired words of Edna St.Vincent Millay apply to the Hawking Plan: 'The world stands out on either side / no wider than the heart is wide. / Above the world is stretched the sky / no higher than the soul is high. / The heart can push the sea and land / Farther away on either hand. / The soul can split the sky in two / And let the face of God shine through.'

“Each of you has an opportunity to open your hearts as wide as the Universe and let the face of God shine through. Millay says it all in the final lines of her poem: 'But East and West will pinch the heart / that can not keep them pushed apart. / And he whose soul is flat – the sky / will cave in on him by and by.' Only one whose heart is ‘pinched’ and whose soul is ‘flat’ would ignore the possibility of saving human life and civilization”

I read statements from recognized clerics of many religious denominations – most citing words from their scriptures – in support of the Hawking Plan. I also presented an e-petition signed by tens of thousands of clerical supporters, religious historians, and ethicists.

“Historians and religious leaders of all schools and sects support this great adventure for human survival. There will be no religious backlash when you approve the Hawking Plan. I pledge to you the highest ethical standards will be followed in this venture, our great project – yours and mine – for preservation of humankind.”

I was followed by Luke Mathews, the system engineer for the Hawking Plan project. His chart outlined the three main options:

Noah’s Ark – live humans in suspended animation.

Embryonic – frozen human embryos to be thawed and brought to term in artificial wombs and socialized by “nanny robot” IRAs.

Panspermia – frozen or salted prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells to be thawed and evolved to advanced complexity over several thousand years in robot run genetic engineering laboratories, using modern plant, animal, and human genome data.

Luke and I had worked on the ethical aspects of sending human beings into space; particularly the issue of reliability of the spaceships and the likelihood a substantial number of passengers would not reach their destinations alive. I respected his knowledge and open-minded attitude and thought he had balanced the ethical, scientific, and technological issues extremely well. He was followed by experts on schedule, contractual, and legal issues. These, I realized, were extremely important, but of little interest to me personally.

Stephanie was clearly pleased with my talk and generally happy with the presentations by the other members of her Hawking Plan team. She gave the final wrap-up, expertly summarizing and tying it all together in a beautiful bow (as well as an elegant Japanese-style bow). I carefully observed the august members of the TABB Planning Board as she strode back and forth in front of her charts and animations. Three of the four men on the Board seemed especially appreciative when she bent over to point to some detail of a chart. The same was true for one of the three women! Stephanie, for her part, seemed to enjoy people of either gender looking at her lasciviously. She had great enthusiasm, energy and sincerity.

”Hola Estephania,” I thought to myself, for this was yet another new Stephanie! Far more reserved, speaking Standard English with no Inglañol interpolations. And, there was something else – vulnerability. Not helplessness of any kind – confidence flowed from her every pore – but with a new appearance of humility and modesty. “What a consummate temptress and actress,” I thought with great admiration, “I am honored to work for her.”

Our team convened in a conference room at the TABB Tokyo office headquarters for a post-mortem. Over a light dinner, Stephanie made suggestions for the question and answer session scheduled for the following day. After the meal and meeting were over, she called me aside and asked me to meet her in the hotel gym so we could talk further during her daily workout.

I had a hurried conversación video with my family, changed clothes, and rushed to the hotel gym. Stephanie was on the overhead press machine when I arrived. “I’m about done with this one, want to try it?” she asked as she wiped her sweat off.

“Ningún problema ... Estephania, I’ll give it a try,” I said to yet another version of Stephanie. I sat at the unfamiliar machine and tried to lift the bars above my head. They wouldn’t budge!

“Sorry Jim, let me adjust the weights. It took me quite a while to build up to my range. Let’s try three-quarters the weight, OK?” I was barely able to lift the arms. It took all my machismo to complete the exercise. Meanwhile, Stephanie was off on the leg press machine. When she was done with that, she wiped it down and adjusted the weights for me.

This went on for several more machines until it was time for the pool. Stephanie swam back and forth in forma perfecta while I struggled to do a few laps. Finally, the exercise session was over. I was exhausted! My muscles ached and I was pleased to contemplate a hot shower and some well-deserved bed rest.

My room had a western-style shower I had used the night before, but it also had a Japanese bath. Luke had spoken very highly of the restfulness of the soaking tub. So, I stepped into the Japanese bathroom and dropped my swim suit to the faux wood floor. Through the wood lathe wall came the sound of rushing water and the delightful aroma of plants and flowers. I peeked through the wall and beheld a beautiful Japanese garden with a large pond and waterfall. Soon the water sounds gave way to some peaceful Japanese music. Several gorgeous geisha danced in at the far side of the pond.

I turned away to hide my nakedness but soon realized it was only a 4D-display wall that made use of laser projectors to create an animated, three-dimensional, distant view. The aroma was the fourth dimension. I dropped my towel and watched the women sing and dance, eventually coming right up to my window. As each passed by and winked at me I smelled her unique perfume. With a gigantic grin on my face, I waved back – and not only with my hands!

I turned to observe the soaking tub and the washing area. The tub was very deep and wide. Following Luke’s suggestion, I turned the water on and set the temperature very hot. In the middle of the washing area, near the drain, sat a wooden bucket and a short wooden stool. A low shelf held a container of shampoo, a large bar of soap, and a very large natural sponge. A faucet protruded from the wall.

Following Luke’s instructions, I sat on the stool and turned the water on, adjusting the temperature to moderately hot. I filled the bucket, dumped it on my head, applied some shampoo and lathered up. I did my face, arms, upper body, and legs with the soap and sponge, standing for my private parts.

Several buckets of water were required to rinse it all off. I felt absolutely wonderful – my skin tingling from the abrasive action of the natural sponge. As I peered out at my garden six Japanese men performed a strenuous dance as they played strange-looking instruments. They waved to me and I waved back!

By this time, the tub was filled to the brim and overflowing a bit. I turned the water off and stepped in. It was near-scalding – too painful to bear. I stepped out and added cold water for a couple of minutes. I touched my toe to the surface of the water and plunged my right foot to the bottom. The water was still too hot, but I gritted my teeth, put my other foot in, and stood there for a while, wondering how I was going to make myself sit down.

I noticed a package of aromatic bath salts and emptied it into the tub, using my feet to mix it around. When the water was an even, light green color, I counted “one, two, and three” and quickly sat down. As the hot water covered my private parts I cried out in pain. I kicked my feet up and down and counted once more “one, two, and three” and quickly lay down, holding my nose and plunging my head below the water line.

I raised my head a bit, until only my nose, eyes and mouth were above the water. “Ahh!” I said, enjoying the floating, total body warmth, and delicious fragrance. “I could stay here forever.”

I noticed the ceiling was a mirror-like image of me floating in the tub! Writing, in Japanese and English, appeared on the display, just above my head. It pointed to a codip on the stand to my right. I touched the codip and a menu, in Japanese and English, appeared. I selected "X-rated geisha." Kabuki music began and, to my amazement, the image of a geisha, in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit, appeared next to me in the ceiling display. As I moved my hands and feet, the geisha in the image moved in coordinated synchronism, as if the two of us were actually together. After a few moments of graceful dancing, she took off her top and then her bottom.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, here is another recruit for my autoerotic pleasures!”

As I reacted to her provocative naked posing, a message box popped up in the upper left corner of the ceiling display:

JIM: COME UP TO MY SUITE IMMEDIATELY. I HAVE A FEELING SOMETHING SPECIAL WILL COME UP SOON. STEPHANIE

I wondered what this could be. Did Stephanie get a heads-up about critical questions the opponents of the Hawking Plan might pose at the TABB Board meeting the next day? Why couldn’t she handle this by phone? I got out of the tub and dressed and rushed to the elevator. Her suite, as usual, was on the very top floor.

Stephanie hid behind her door and quickly closed and locked it after I entered. She was wearing nothing but a shortie nightgown! Before I could say or do anything, she gave me one of her patented lambada hugs. “You smell nice,” she said. “I can tell you took Luke’s advice about the Japanese tub. So did I! Which video did you watch?”

I considered leaving, looked at the door, then thought better of it. “I uh,” I began, “I watched the dancing geisha and the minstrels.”

“Not the garden! The tub ceiling display!” she laughed.

“I uh,” I fumbled, “I watched the, uh, ‘X-rated geisha’.”

“Really?” She said, smiling, “That one is my second favorite.”

I felt it necessary to ask, “Which is your favorite?”

“Oh,” she replied, quite matter-of-factly, “Swimming with sharks.” She sashayed to the sofa and gestured to the place beside her.

I strode to the far side of the room and sat on a chair by the desk. “You know,” I began, “I’m a little put off by the way you’re dressed. I came up here to talk about the Hawking Plan and our strategy for tomorrow’s Q and A session – nothing more.”

Stephanie grinned, and spoke in rhyme: “Things are sometimes what they seem / Milk the cow and get the cream.” She stood and sashayed towards me. “Pretty girls are sometimes bold. / Successful boys do as they’re told!” With that she hopped astride me, curled her legs around the chair, and locked her arms to the back.

I pushed at her, but she had me pinned into the chair. ”Estephania!” I cried using her Latinized name, for this was yet another Stephanie, “I’m a happily married man with two young children – please don’t do this.”

“Your mouth protests,” she replied, “But you really want me. Your flag is at full staff!”

“You’re very attractive and that’s a normal bodily reaction to estímulo sexual. And you know it.” I realized pushing was futile since she was stronger than me. Any further struggle would raise my estímulo sexual still more.

“Diego, at dinner I took the liberty of putting some performance enhancement stuff into your iced tea. You don’t have to worry about meeting my expectations.”

“That tea did taste bitter, but I put it down to Japanese tastes. After dinner I noticed the lights seemed brighter than normal. I was worried my eyes were going bad. Was that a side effect?”

“Don’t you know about that? Don’t you use that performance enhancement medicine with your wife?”

“Stephanie, I don’t want to talk about my sex life with my wife. Do you want to tell me about your husband?”

“My husband and I are quite happily married; we have a very civilized understanding.” She lifted herself a bit, allowing my flag to assume a more comfortable position. “You’ve been with TABB for five months,” she continued, “So far, I’ve been quite pleased with your work for me. I know you like your job. Satisfying me is the key to your continued employment. I can give you happy or I can give you hurt. Which do you prefer?”

“What if my wife calls or messages? I won’t do anything that might damage our relationship. You can take this job and ...”

“I thought about that before I called you up here. Your PID is modo contrario. As far as the world is concerned, you are at the DoHiMuTo laboratory doing evening research on the Dead Sea Scrolls. You are in their most secure chamber where messaging is not available. If she or anyone else inquires, that’s the information they’ll receive. Our asunto secreto is safe. No one will tell any living soul.”

With that she began a rhythmic gyration, rubbing her abdomen against mine. She leaned forward, pressing her nightgown to my face. I relaxed, accepting the inevitable. Suddenly, she pulled back, raised her nightgown above my head and pulled it down behind the seatback, exposing her bare breasts. “Kiss them; I’d like it if you’d suck them. Put your hands on my butt. Knead my buttocks if you please.” I did as requested, not without considerable pleasure. I chose happy rather than hurt. I was, after all, a macho man and she was muy caliente.

Her left breast smelled of lemon – and tasted like it as well. Her right was lime! As I sucked, she asked me to put my hands under her nightgown and run them up and down her back, from butt to shoulder, then down her spine to “as low as you can go.” She leaned back a bit and pulled her nightgown off. With her hands high, she asked me to run my fingers down her arms and her sides, and then make circles around her navel. She stood up and asked me to stroke her inner thighs “but don’t touch the good stuff … yet.” She pulled my head to her belly and asked me to lick around her navel. It smelled and tasted of pineapple!

After a while, Stephanie released me, motioned to the bedroom and asked me to strip to my shorts and get on my hands and knees on the bed. She stood astride me, sat on my back, crossed her ankles and tightened her legs, taking my breath away. She leaned forward, grabbed me around the neck, thrust her legs between mine and tightened her grip until I collapsed onto the bed.

“You know,” she said, as she rhythmically squeezed and released me, “They say it’s better to be killed by a boa constrictor, which takes fifteen seconds, than a rattlesnake, whose poison can keep you in agony for hours.” After a while she let go, stood up again, and ordered me to roll over. She stood astride me, looking at my face, and placed her right foot on my chest, increasing the pressure until I cried out in pain. With that, she dropped to a seated position on my abdomen. She placed her bare left foot behind my neck and her right on my face. Her foot had the odor of the Japanese bath salts. In that position, she did a series of sit-ups.

“Dear God,” I thought to myself, “She’s using me like a piece of exercise equipment.” It was not entirely unpleasant. She stood astride me yet again, this time facing my feet. She placed her left foot on my abdomen, rubbing gently until my flag went to full staff again. She bent her right knee and wagged her derriere a foot above my head. I saw a tiny tattoo on her right butt cheek. It was a bee – a little bee with a crown on its head! “Are you looking at my Queen Bee-hind?” she asked. Before I could answer, she dropped to a seated position on my chest, now rubbing my abdomen gently with both feet.

She suddenly leaned forward, lifted herself a bit, and rotated her legs backwards. She squeezed my head with her warm, well-toned legs, removed my shorts and stroked me. As I was about to climax she squeezed to prevent release. “O-ooow,” I cried, “You’ve got me on a fine line between exquisite torture and delicious ecstasy. I don’t know if I can take more of you brand of estímulo sexual.”

“Pain and pleasure are opposite sides of the same coin,” Stephanie said with a laugh as she tightened her legs. With her hand she squeezed my testicles a bit. “They are the yin and yang – one is not possible without the other. You can’t enjoy pleasure without some pain. You can’t appreciate the light glowing in a painting without the dark background. Or, the accelerator and the brakes on an automobile – some people think the brakes are so you can go slow!”

“Yes,” I answered, “The accelerator is to make you go fast and the brakes are so you can go slowly. What are you getting at?”

“Think about it Jim! The brakes on a car are what makes it safe to go fast! Without brakes, you would always have to go slow to avoid accidents. With good brakes, you are free to accelerate up to whatever speed you can handle! Accelerator and brakes, you can’t have one without the other! It’s also like fe y razón ...”

“Faith and reason?” I challenged her. Then I thought better of arguing the point at that critical moment. “Yes, yin and yang, like water and fire.” I said.

“I take it sex with your wife is pretty much ‘bam, bam, thank you ma’am’,”

“I told you I do not want to discuss my sex life with my wife.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’”

“Take it any way you want.”

“And you have sex, what, once a week, twice in a good week.”

“Don’t talk about my personal life with my wife ... please!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ and I pity you and your wife. Estímulo sexual est muy importante. Use it or lose it, I say. Better to wear it out than let it rust out! I have an orgasm as part of my daily workout. Three on a good night!” I didn’t reply. I simply tried to enjoy my situation and not anticipate the inevitable painful interludes.

"OK, what do they call me behind my back when all you drones are at the coffee brewer?”

Acutely aware of my situation precaria, I was hesitant to say. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Stephanie. They call you ‘Stephanie’ ...” Once again she tightened her legs and her hand. “Oh-Owww!” I cried. “’The Queen Bee’ – they call you ‘the Queen Bee’.”

She released her grip. “Every drone strives to mate with the Queen Bee! The one who successfully copulates soon dies as his sex organs are ripped from his body during the act.” With that she raised herself a bit and slid down to muff me. It smelled and tasted of cherry! I struggled to breathe as she pressed down, moving back and forth.

”Sh’ma Yisra’el,” I thought to myself, “So this is how I die! In a hotel suite in Tokyo, smothered by my boss’s boss ...” After a long twenty seconds, she lifted herself off me a bit. She calmly told me what to do with my hands, my mouth, and my tongue. I did as instructed and, after a few minutes, felt a slight rhythmic oscillation followed by a great deal of pressure and more oscillations. I stopped moving and held on for the ride until it was over.

She lifted herself off and said “Gracias, Diego. Would you mind trying for one more?”

“Sure, Estephania, ningún problema,” I replied. As we built up to her second orgasm, she expertly pumped and massaged me and we had perfectly timed simultaneous orgasms, followed by “gracias” in unison. She rolled off and we lay there for a while in silence.

"You know, Stephanie” I began, trying to make conversación, “You mentioned something earlier that confused me. How are fe y razón like pain and pleasure and light and dark? It seems that faith is on a totalmente different plane from reason.”

She remained silent, so I spoke on, “Isn’t faith believing something for no reason? It isn’t faith if you have perfect proof and reason, is it? I mean, the highest form of faith is believing something that defies reason! She didn’t say a word, so I continued. “For its part, reason doesn’t require any faith at all. Follow the método científico: Make observations, come up with a theory of cause and effect and then check the predictions of that theory with further observation. That constitutes reasonable proof of the theory. Any competent scientist can use the método científico and reproduce the proof. If it can be reliably tested and reproduced, then science must accept it as veracidad. Where’s the faith in that?”

Stephanie responded in an unexpected way. “Have you heard the story of the priest, the lawyer, the scientist and the guillotine?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, it’s the French revolution or something and these three guys are condemned to have their heads mown off. First it’s the priest’s turn and the executioner shoves his head in the thing and pulls the cord and nothing happens. The priest shouts ‘It’s a miracle. God saved my life so you must let me go free.’ The executioner has to let the priest go.

"The lawyer is next and again the guillotine fails to work. ‘You can’t execute me twice,’ he says, ‘that’s against the law.’ So he goes free.

"Of course the scientist has been observing and using the método científico to come up with theories. He puts his head in the guillotine, and looks up. ‘I think I see your problem,’ he says.”

“Stephanie? ... What does that have to do with fe y razón?”

“It doesn’t, it has to do with academics! Here you’ve just had satisfying sex with el más caliente woman you’ll ever know, and you want to talk about scientific reasoning. Ridiculous! Now, even more ridiculous, I want to talk about it. Jim, don’t you realize the método científico depends upon fe in human razón?

"All evidence points to great deficits in human reason. We talk about razón and logic, but we are motivated by emotion. On the other side, no society has lasted very long without illogical fe in something, some irrational myths they cling to for no apparent logical reason. There must be some biological survival reason for fe. Human nature requires fe. Razón is like yin, which you know means water. Razón is cold. It flows downwards, from logical rules and acts to conclusions. For example, if I said you were born in the year 2000, how old would you be?”

“Well,” I replied, “This year is 2052, so I’m fifty-two.”

“Really?” asked Stephanie.

“It could be fifty-one depending on the exact date in 2000 when I was born. I’m quite sure of that!”

“Logically and mathematically correct,” Stephanie laughed, “But, Jim ... JIM! Think about it. No matter what I happen to have said, you are in your thirties, not your fifties!” I rotated my head up and down. I was embarrassed that I was so careful about whether I was fifty-two or fifty-one when I knew so well I was thirty-three.

“Fe is like yang You know it means fire, bright, hot flames that shoot upwards. If you look directly at it you go blind. If you touch it with your hands, they are consumed. Fe, like fire, may jump unexpectedly from one person to another and consume them.”

“OK, Stephanie, I’ll accept that in ordinary life everybody does things that aren’t based on razón. However, in our professional lives, don’t we impose métodos that support razón? In science it’s the método científico. In business it’s some formal review and approval processes, such as the TABB Board we’re involved in this week.”

She sat up and shook her head. “Jim, you gave a wonderful presentation today that went a long way towards convincing the Board to go ahead with the Hawking Plan. Your presentation was más importante than any of the technical and contractual mumbo jumbo from the other members of my team. Do you know the best part?”

I sat up and rotated my head left and right. She continued. “It was when you were talking about the Dead Sea Scrolls and your voice choked up. You said how the Essenes, two-thousand years ago, saved history for us, and how it was our turn to do the same for those who will follow us.

"You turned all the esteemed Lieges of the TABB Board into potential Essenes! What a wonderful way to show them homage! All emotion! Emotion. Emotion. Emotion!”

I was surprised. “My talk and that part of it was the best?” I asked. “My favorite was Luke Mathews’s system engineering presentation. He came up with some great concepts and has a logical plan to study them and select the very best one.”

“You know Luke is the guy I told you about, don’t you?”

“Luke? The system engineer I’ve been working with for the past five months? What about him?”

“The very same. He’s a religioso literal believer! A Christian Fundamentalist!”

“I can’t believe it! He’s the most logical and well-informed person I’ve ever worked with. He gave no indication he was a religiosas locas. Are you sure?”

“’Ku-ke Lu-ke’ I call him. Ask him yourself tomorrow.”

“I will. Thanks for a very stimulating evening, Stephanie...” I wanted to go to my room and sleep, but now she wanted to talk.

“Speaking of fe y razón, have you heard the story of the ‘unexpected firing’?”

“No, what are you getting at?”

“Well, last year, before you arrived, I had to fire our lead mathematician. He was quite competent, but lacked teamwork skills and showed no flexibility, if you know what I mean.” I had no idea what she meant, but I shook my head up and down anyway.

“Well, I called him to my office and said it was his last week. He was totalmente destroyed and begged for his job. I hate to see anybody cry like a baby – even a baby; you know I hate crying babies! So, to give him something to think about during his last week, I offered him a proposition. He had to be in his office at noon every day. On one of the days of that very week, I said, I would show up and fire him and he’d be out by 1 PM. To make it interesting, I told him he’d be totalmente surprised when I showed up –and– if he could honestly say he was not surprised, not only would I not fire him but I would give him a promotion and a raise.”

“Kind of cruel, Stephanie. So, tell me el resto de la historia. When you actually fire him it will be no surprise to me.”

“OK Jim. So he went back to his office – and I could watch because I had a surveillance camera in there – and he closed the door and cried. Noon came and he looked at the clock. I didn’t show up and he stared at the clock until 1 PM and he was safe for the day. Well, that was Monday. So, on Tuesday his assistant noticed something was wrong and he told her the whole story. So they both sat in his office from noon to 1 PM and I didn’t show up.

“‘Well’, he said, ‘The Queen Bee didn’t fire me on Monday and she didn’t fire me on Tuesday, so she has to fire me on Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.’ ’She can’t fire you on Friday’ said the assistant, who was also an expert in reasoning. ‘If you’re still in your office at 1PM on Thursday, that means she has to fire you on Friday, right? If she has to fire you, it won’t be a surprise, will it? She said you had to be totalmente surprised didn’t she?’”

“Sounds reasonable” I replied. “You couldn’t fire him on Friday because it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Stephanie winked and continued, “They both thought about it for a while – these two paragons of human razón – and then the assistant said, ‘She can’t fire you on Thursday either! If we are sitting here at 1 PM on Wednesday, she has to fire you on Thursday or Friday. We already proved she can’t fire you on Friday, so she has to fire you on Thursday. If she has to fire you, it won’t be a surprise, will it? She said you had to be totalmente surprised didn’t she?’”

“Sounds reasonable” I replied. “Where are we going here?”

“Well, it wasn’t long before the guy I’m going to fire said “The Queen Bee didn’t fire me on Monday or Tuesday and we just proved logically she can’t fire me on Friday or Thursday, so she has to fire me on Wednesday. Right? If she has to fire me on Wednesday, it won’t be a surprise, will it? She said I had to be totalmente surprised by the firing or I’d get a promotion and a raise instead’”

“So, it sounds like you had to give the guy a promotion and a raise, right?” I concluded. “That’s the logic and razón of the story – unless you went back on your word.”

“Jim, I never go back on my word! Mi palabra es mi bondo! Anyway, on Wednesday the assistant brought in a rum cake to celebrate the promotion and raise this guy thought he was going to get. And they were eating the cake and a bit under the 'affluence of inchohol' from the rum when I showed up at high noon to tell him he was fired! Boy was he surprised!” Stephanie laughed energetically.

“You ... Stephanie, are very cruel. I’m in no position to evaluate the logic and razón behind that story. However, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation!”

“You’re in no position? How about a position even the missionaries would approve?” She invited me to enjoy sex with her again – and we did.

“Our ‘team building exercise’ is over for this evening,” Stephanie said matter-of-factly when we were done. “We have a critical day tomorrow and need to get a good night’s sleep.”

When I returned to my room, I made the following cryptic entry in my e-calendar:

11 June 2052: DoHiMuTo, pitch to TPB – Team Building Exercise w Steph – WOW!

After that, I fell asleep almost immediately.

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Chapter 3 -- The Value of Pi

2009-01-05T12:23:00.023-05:00

June 2052

I made a point of sitting alone with Luke Mathews at breakfast the following morning. After some small talk relating to the Hawking Plan, I breached the subject of his faith. “Hola Lucas” I began. “Word is you’re a Bible-believing religioso Christian.”

Luke looked at me with a pained expression. “What’s with the Gringoñal crap?” he replied. “You know I don’t speak those Spanish words. Of course, I understand them, but I’ve told you before I make a point of speaking Standard English.”

“Sorry about that,” I said apologetically.

“And,” continued Luke, “I don’t care for the ‘Hola Lucas’ business either. My name is ‘Luke’ not ‘Lucas.’ Your name is ‘James’ not ‘Diego.’ Why should my children have to learn and speak that bastardized language Gringoñal?”

“I said I was sorry,” I apologized again. “I was just trying to indicate I was meeting a new Luke. After working with you for five months, only recently did I discover you’re a Bible-believing Christian.”

“Jim, I don’t wear my Christianity on my sleeve here at TABB. You know it would be career-limiting. I’ll bet it was the Queen Bee who let the cat out of the bag. Was she the one who told you?”

“I can’t say.”

“I’ll assume that’s a ‘yes.’ Let me tell you something about her. She’s a tool of Satan. She’s a temptress who exploits God’s great gift of sexual stimulation for evil purposes.”

“I think she’s a ‘T woman’,” I replied.

“What the heck is that?” asked Luke. “If the ‘T' is for ‘temptress,’ I agree. Or, is it that, as a woman, she suits you to a ‘T’ sexually?”

“No,” I replied, a bit flustered. “Well, yes, that’s also true, she’s a temptress and I find her sexually attractive. But, what I meant was she is so smart and hard-working, both intellectually and physically, that she can do a ‘two man’ job herself. Do you get it? ‘T woman = Two man’ if you move the space two characters to the right! T women can do the jobs of two men.”

“It’s no accident she’s the youngest Branch Chief TABB ever had,” continued Luke, ignoring my ‘T woman’ answer. “She’s a God-damned amoral bisexual screwing machine! Jim, if she ever tries to fool around with you – you know sexual molestation – just tell her your religion forbids it. You being a rabbi and all, she’ll buy that and leave you alone.”

“Molestation sexual?” I said sheepishly. “OK, thanks for the advice.”

“Jim! ’Sexual molestation’ in Standard English please! You are most welcome.”

“Luke,” I began in a serious tone, “The reason I brought the subject up is, being a religious historian and a rabbi, I’ve studied the Christian scriptures and noticed some factual errors and discrepancies. Quite frankly, I can’t believe anyone as well-educated and rational as you could believe all that stuff literally. I mean I can understand that any writings that survived for thousands of years must be mightily inspired and so on. However, you profess literal belief?”

Luke looked around to be sure no one was near. “Jim, there are a few scriptures I firmly believe were written by God guiding human hands. Subsequent copying and translations introduced errors and even purposeful interpolations by scribes who, under Satan’s influence, had their own evil agendas. That’s why most so-called ‘Holy’ scriptures – including most ‘Christian’ scriptures – are simply the works of ordinary human beings. They may have been inspired by God and include unaltered passages from the true Holy Scripture. Satan makes use of God’s truths to gain our confidence so he may later deceive us. Any contradictions in the Bible are Satan’s work!”

“So, you also believe in Satan as an actual entity? Pardon me for saying so, my good friend Luke, but, to me, that is amazing! Which scriptures were guided by the ‘Hand’ of God?”

“Jim, Satan is the source of all evil, but he is under God’s firm control. We humans are safe from Satan if we follow those Holy Scriptures we know have been guided by the Hand of God. I’m sure there are many since God wants people who speak any language to be able to access His Word. However, I am personally familiar with only a few. My short list includes the original five books written by Moses in his own hand, and the original Gospels, written by the apostles Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John. Some of the remaining books of the Old and New Testaments are also the true words of God, but only the original versions written by their ancient authors.”

“Luke, all those words were written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Hellenistic Greek, weren’t they? Do you read those languages?”

“I tried to learn Hebrew ten years ago but never became competent in that language or Greek either. Fortunately, I am certain God guided a couple of translations, namely the Septuagint into Greek and the original King James Version into English. God wants the faithful to be able to read His words in their own languages without any help from Catholic priests, or, I might add – no offense to you – historians. So, I’m sure there are other translations protected by God, but I’m not familiar with them in detail. By the way, you know why Catholic Priests are celibate? Because some drunken monk scribe left out the ‘r’ in ‘celebrate’.”

“Very funny Luke, I’ll tell all my Catholic Priest amigos. I’m sorry, no Inglañol, I should have said ‘Catholic Priest friends.’ The Septuagint was translated from Hebrew to Greek by seventy-two scholars. There’s a legend they worked alone and, by a miracle, all seventy-two versions were exactly the same, word for word, every jot and tittle matched! Do you believe that?”

“God held the hand and pen of each scholar so their translations were exact. That is proof it is the literal word of God.”

“And the KJV, the King James Version was revised a half-dozen times by the scholars at the Church of England. How could it be the literal word of God if it had to be changed?”

Luke looked directly at me. “I firmly believe,” he said, “The original 1611 KJV translation was protected by God. All the later versions are suspect. At our church, we use photocopies of a genuine first edition stored in the Royal London Museum. We believe it is the Absolute Word of God. Do you happen to know the 1611 KJV was edited by William Shakespeare, the greatest English writer of all time? His name is hidden in the Psalms.”

“Shakespeare edited the 1611 KJV? What evidence do you have for that?” I asked. That assertion seemed ridiculous to me.

“OK Jim, put on your read-WINs.” I took them out of my shirt pocket and put them on. “Great. Now, when was William Shakespeare born and how old would he have been in 1611?”

I moved my fingers, taping on a virtual keyboard I could see through my read-WINs. “Here it comes, Luke. Shakespeare was born in 1564 which would make him forty-seven years old in 1611.”

“Great, so he would have been forty-six in 1610 when the 1611 KJV was in the final stages of editing! Now go to the KJV and look up the 46th Psalm, and count to the 46th word.”

“OK, 1, 2, 3 … 43, 44, 45, 46. The word is ‘shake.’ – ‘though the mountains shake’, sounds like they’re describing an Earthquake. Where are we going here, Luke?"

“Stick with me for a moment, Jim. Now, count forty-six words from the end of the 46th Psalm and don’t count the ‘Selah’ which is at the end of every Psalm and means ‘stop and listen’.”

“OK, the word is ‘spear.’ ‘He breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder.’ Hey! Put them together and we get ‘Shake-spear’ – fresco! I’m sorry; I should have said ‘cool.’ Except they forgot the final ‘e.’ What a wonderful coincidence! Did Shakespeare know about this? It would be a pity if he passed away without knowing about this. Wow! He was already a popular writer in King James's England at that time and I wonder if some translator noticed the coincidence or altered the text a bit to make it happen.”

“So Jim,” Luke said earnestly, “At the very least, you have to agree that’s a fantastic coincidence, Shakespeare was forty-six years old when the 1611 KJV was edited, and the 46th word from the start of the 46th Psalm plus the 46th word from the end add up to be his name! My faith tells me that is a special message. Shakespeare was ordained by God to help produce the 1611 KJV. You may think what you want. However, things like that prove my faith.”

“Luke, you repeatedly refer to Satan as a real ‘fallen angel’ separate from God. In Jewish tradition, Satan is the ‘adversary,’ not a separate personage. If God is Omnipresent and Omniscient and Omnipotent, then He exists everywhere and knows everything and can do anything, so how can Satan exist? There is no such thing as evil – evil is simply the absence of good. It is like cold – the absence of heat, and darkness – the absence of light. The rabbi’s say, ‘If you believe in Satan you are already under his power of false belief!’”

“Jim, according to physicists, what we call ‘light’ and ‘heat’ is nothing more than the energy released by vibrations of atoms, so – you are correct from the point of view of physics – there is no such thing as ‘cold’ or ‘darkness’ and so on, just an absence of energy, or, more properly, relatively less energy, since nothing has zero energy. However, physics is based on pure reason, and pure reason is incomplete. The view of the Universe according to science is a great simplification. It is useful for practical advances in technology and so on but not the whole story nor even the majority of it!

“When God created the Universe, the first thing He did was say ‘let there be light,’ and then He began His great work of Creation. That was like an artist who begins with a bright white canvas and adds shades of gray and colors to create the image. Without the dark tones we would not appreciate the luminous areas.”

“So?” I asked, “Are you saying God created Satan to color in the dark areas with evil to help humans appreciate the good?”

“Yes, in a way. Look at the Book of Job where Satan asks God’s permission to test Job’s perfect faith with various tortures. God is pure Good, but human nature cannot appreciate Good without Evil. God created Satan to prove our faith through great trials. No human is tested beyond their capacity. Does that explain Satan’s role?”

“Yes, the yin and yang! Satan’s the yin to God’s yang!”

“I have no idea what you are getting at, Jim. Eastern philosophy has no relevance to me at all. Are you into that crap?”

“No, not really.”

“So, why did you bring it up?”

“Sorry. I meant to say the contrast between pain and pleasure and good and evil and light and dark is analogous to the conflict between faith and reason. Opposite sides of the same coin.”

“Jim,” Luke said in a scolding voice, “Faith and reason are not opposite sides of the same coin. They are totally separate! Faith requires absolutely no reason at all. Anyone who needs reason to have faith has no real faith. Appeals to reason to justify faith are indications of doubt, and true faith admits no doubt at all.”

“But Luke, reason requires faith in human reasoning ability?”

“That’s another load of crap! Who have you been talking to? First Eastern religion and now ‘reason’ is so-called ‘faith” in human reasoning ability? Scientists may convince you ‘white is a lighter shade of black,’ and ‘yes is a neater and a nicer form of no’! Reason and logic are forms of mathematics. You make certain assumptions about facts and rules and ‘turn the crank’ and out come results.

I shook my head. “So,” I said, “You don’t use reason and mathematics and logic? How do you do your job as an engineer?”

“All that crap is in a separate domain in my mind.” He answered with a big grin. “I know the rules and facts of math, logic, and engineering and I use them like a meat grinder. ‘Turn the crank’ and out come nice sausages. Any fool with a college degree can do it.”

“So,” I asked, “What is the relation, if any, between faith and reason according to your view of God and the Universe?”

“Thanks for asking! Jim, you are trying to impose a scientific-sounding linear scale abstraction that faith and reason are opposite ends of the same scale and that faith is the absence of reason. That is totally misleading! If we want to impose a scientific abstraction onto them, we could say they are orthogonal.”

“What do you mean by orthogonal?” I asked.

“At right angles,” Luke replied, looking at me as if I just got off the banana boat from some third world country.

“Right angles, OK,” I answered, but I still did not understand.

Luke picked up the salt and pepper shakers and set them a half-meter apart on the table. “I'm going to link a visualization program to your read-WINs. Please accept it and then touch the salt shaker with your left fingertip and the pepper with your right.” As I did so, a light blue sheet appeared on the table as viewed through my read-WINs. The sheet was anchored by the salt and pepper shakers. He touched his finger to the lower left corner of the blue sheet and drew a vertical arrow and labeled it FAITH. “Say this is the faith scale," Luke said, “At the top is maximum faith and at the bottom is zero faith.” He then started at the bottom of the FAITH scale and drew a horizontal line. “Say this is the REASON scale, at the far right is maximum reason, and at the left, is zero reason, OK?”

“I guess so,” I answered, but my eyes were beginning to glaze over. “Where are we going here?”

“Give me a chance to get to the point,” said Luke. “I’m trying to answer your question – or would you rather stop at this point and join the Queen Bee and her drones?”

“No,” I replied, looking around at the others on our team having breakfast in the hotel restaurant. “I’d rather discuss faith and reason with you than hear the endless tales of her time in the TBI.”

“It looks like you talk a good game when you spout off about reason,” observed Luke, “But the first time I start to use one of the actual tools of scientific reason, a simple graph, you lose interest. This is a very basic version of what I do all day as an engineer. Let me get to the point before you pass out from an overdose of the scientific method and fall off your chair.”

Luke used his finger to draw a box near the lower left of his graph. “This represents people who have very little faith and very little reason. All humans have at least a little of both, but the benighted folks down here are hardly human.” He drew a box near the upper left. “These are some of the people in my church. All full of faith and, I'm sad to say, very little reason. They are wonderful folks, God bless them, but they are lost in the modern world. They cling to traditions and are a great obstacle to technological progress. When they hear about our Hawking Plan, most of them will oppose it.”

He then drew a ball near the lower right. “This is you, Jim, all the way to the right on the reason scale and only a little way up on the faith scale. You have lots of reason and little faith. People like you can accomplish great things, but, if they lose their moral compass, the ‘lights’ that guide them may go out and they can do great evil.”

“I can predict,” I interrupted, pointing to the upper right corner, “Here you are with both faith and reason, in excess quantity.”

“Not quite,” laughed Luke, drawing a ball near the middle of the graph. “Here is where I put myself. I have enough reason to get practical things done but not so much that I reject the importance of faith. I also have enough faith to believe that God will protect me if I live a moral life, true to myself, my wife, my family, my neighborhood, my country, and so on. Sometimes people who have too much faith use it to blind themselves to reason. It is one thing to believe in God’s goodness, the provenance of the 1611 KJV, and that we who believe in Jesus will spend eternity with Him in Heaven – that faith does not require reason and does not contradict reason.
“There are people in my church whose faith is so strong they deny all truth but the Bible. On the other hand, people who have too much reason use it to talk themselves out of the faith that is inherent in all normal human beings. People, I am sad to say, like you.”

“And how?” I asked, “Does a person get their faith?”

“Faith is a gift from God. Some of us have it and some of us don’t. Anyone of normal intelligence and an honest heart, who can understand English, can read the KJV and interpret it properly without any need for priests to interpret it for him.”

“Do you judge me to meet those requirements?”

“Yes, you are certainly intelligent and competent in English. Only God can know what is in your heart, but in the five months we’ve been working together you’ve been totally honest.”

“Good. Do you mind clearing up some apparent errors and contradictions in the scriptures?”

“Not at all, if you point them out in the 1611 KJV. OK?”

“Gracias – I mean thank you Luke.” I noticed the Queen Bee and her entourage were no longer in the hotel restaurant. “Hey – It’s late!” I said, “Our conversation will have to wait. We’d better get to the TABB Planning Board meeting! The Queen Bee hates tardiness.”

Stephanie was at her very best for the question and answer session. She began with a brief summary of what had been presented the day before and made a solemn promise to the esteemed Lieges: “We especially welcome criticism because we want to make the Hawking Plan as comprehensive as possible. Don’t hesitate to challenge us! She introduced the Contracts woman to answer questions about one- vs. two-step procurement and incentive fee vs. fixed price. I was quite bored and it was a struggle to look interested during the two hours it took to hash it all over. I understood none of it, but I certainly enjoyed watching Stephanie charm the Board. Next, it was the Schedule and Legal expert’s turns to be grilled. They took an additional hour. I was quite relieved when the meeting finally broke for lunch.

Again, Luke and I ate our meals apart from the rest of the Hawking Team. “I was bored out of my skull in there,” I said.

“Me too,” replied Luke. “I guess I know more about the details of contracting and scheduling and legal than you do, so you must have really been bored. Were you praying for the session to end so you could get back to my religious ‘preaching’?” Luke laughed.

“Yeah, sure,” I said as I put on my serious face. “Luke, you’re an engineer, surely you know the value of Pi?”

“Well, Pi is the ratio between the circumference of a circle and its diameter. Twenty-two sevenths is a very good approximation to three significant figures. Pi is equal to a bit over 3.14.”

“How about Pi equals three?” I challenged. “Is 3.0 a good approximation for Pi?”

“Well, if you were building a circular pool in your backyard and you had a space of ten cubits by ten cubits to put it in, the outside diameter of the pool would be ten cubits. Given that, it would be a good approximation that the distance around the inside of the pool would be about 3.0 times the diameter, which would be thirty cubits.” Luke emphasized the words “cubits” and “outside” and “inside.”

“Why did you give a pool as an example?” I asked in amazement. “Why are you talking about cubits? Why did you make such a big deal pronouncing ‘cubits’ and ‘outside’ and ‘inside’?”

“Because I happen to know you were referring to 1 Kings 7:23, where King Solomon had a swimming pool made that was ten cubits across and thirty cubits around. Bible critics generally cite that as an example that God didn’t know the actual value of Pi or didn’t guide the hands of those who wrote the scriptures. There’s a very easy explanation. When you build a swimming pool, you need to know the outside dimensions so you’ll have enough space to fit the thing in your backyard. You also need the inside dimensions to know how big a circle you can swim inside. The ten cubits was an outside measure and the thirty cubits was the distance around the inside. Look at the verse on your read-WINs:”

1 Kings 7:23 And he made the molten sea of ten cubits from brim to brim, round in compass, and the height thereof was five cubits; and a line of thirty cubits did compass it round about.

“OK, I’ve got it and you are correct about the wording Luke. However, doesn’t the ratio between the inner circumference and the outer diameter depend on the thickness of the pool wall? I happen to know a cubit is a bit less than a half-meter. Concrete pool walls are a bit less than a quarter-meter thick which is about half a cubit. Let’s do the math and see if the numbers match. OK, I’ve got it on my read-WINs. If the outside diameter was ten cubits and the wall was half a cubit thick, the inside was a bit over twenty-eight cubits around – not thirty! – so God was off by almost two cubits!”

“Jim,” Luke said with a big happy face, “King Solomon's pool was not made of concrete; it was made of brass so the wall could be thinner. Check 1 Kings 7:26 'And it was an hand breadth thick.' Look up a hand breath” in Biblical measures. OK?”

“OK, I’ve got it on my read-WINs. A digit was about two centimeters. A hand was five digits, or ten centimeters. A cubit was twenty-four digits, which is a bit less than a half-meter. Given that the outside diameter was ten cubits, and the wall was a hand thick, the inside circumference comes out to be 30.1 cubits. Wow! – 30 cubits around is good to two significant figures. I’m impressed!”

“Jim, I may not know them off the top of my head, but I firmly believe any apparent error or contradiction you or I or anyone else may find in the 1611 KJV has an explanation.”

“OK, Luke,” I continued. “I have a few more questions. First, we know Jesus is descended from King David and he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey for what Christians call ‘Passion Week’ between ‘Palm Sunday’ and ‘Easter Sunday.’ How many generations were there between King David and Jesus? Did he enter Jerusalem with one donkey or two? Did he come on Saturday or Sunday? Of course, as a non-believer, it doesn’t matter to me what the exact numbers and days were. They key to me is the story of Jesus’s life and the wisdom of his teachings. However, for you as a true believer, it is critical that the ‘facts’ mentioned match exactly. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Jim,” Luke began earnestly, “The real meaning of the story is in the wise teachings of Jesus, but the 1611 KJV is exact!”

“Well Luke,” I said in my professorial voice, “One Gospel traces 'the father of' genealogy and that includes twenty-eight generations between King David and Jesus, another lists 'the son of' with over forty steps – a lot different from twenty-eight! There is a conflict between one vs. two donkeys and entering Jerusalem the day before Palm Sunday vs. on Palm Sunday.”

“OK, Jim” replied Luke, “I’ll look those things up in my 1611 KJV and get back to you this afternoon or tomorrow.”

“I’d very much appreciate that, Luke. You know, I really respect your technical knowledge and your work on the Hawking Plan. I hope my questioning on your religious faith and my silly challenges to the KJV won’t affect our friendship.”

“Not at all my friend,” replied Luke. “It is my duty as a Christian to let the world know the Gospel truth. In these anti-religious times, we don’t have the luxury of going out freely to do missionary work, so it is a pleasant opportunity when someone comes to us and asks. Perhaps this will help you find your way to God. If so, thank you for giving me the opportunity to open the path for you!”

The afternoon session began a half-hour late because the MidEastern and CentAsian Board members didn’t arrive on time. I was first up and the delay only added to my unease. When the Board was ready, Stephanie expertly summarized the morning session and introduced me. My session went very well. The MidEastern Board member had some questions on the ethics of sending human beings on one-way missions into space, given the possibility most of them would die without any real opportunity for rescue.

“My Liege,” I answered, “I’m an historian. History teaches that all human adventures into new territory are inevitably accompanied by great human sacrifice. It was the lives of the pioneers, and the deaths of some, that made possible the achievements of the communities and nations they founded.”

At that point I paused as the historian’s “lost and found” joke popped into my mind. It was about the “lost colony” at Jamestown preceding the “founding” of Virginia. “Colonies are founded, some are lost, and new colonies are founded,” I continued. “The suffering and especially the deaths of the first to explore new domains is what adds value to the exploration. The Hawking Plan will be the greatest human adventure ever imagined. A voyage into the infinite future …”

Luke interrupted and said “Our plans call for the spaceships to be launched in groups of five to nine. If any of the spaceships become disabled, it will be possible for the others to take on the human lives that would otherwise be lost. We’ll ask the bidders to consider how to reduce the cost in human lives.”

“Mr. Mathews,” asked the CentAsian Board member, “While we are on the issue of human lives, in reviewing your materials as I prepared for this meeting I noted missions of thousands or millions of years. Given the limited reliability of electronic equipment, what guarantee is there any of it will operate after all that time?”

“My Liege,” Luke began,” We have data for some high-reliability military electronic equipment manufactured one-hundred years ago. Ninety-five percent of these units operated when carefully re-energized. When you approve the Hawking Plan we will develop design and manufacturing methods to extend the shelf-life of electronic and mechanical equipment as well as redundancy schemes. Also, if any robot fails the other robots will be capable of repairing it, using spare parts and re-manufacturing critical parts as needed.”

“Enough generalizations, Mr. Mathews,” blustered the CentAsian, “Exactly what will the reliability be for missions of, say, ten-thousand years? Please include the likelihood of successful launch, transit, landing, and set up of the space colony on the host planet. What are the exact numbers?”

“Well, My Liege,” answered Luke, “We have specified that, for ten-thousand-year missions, we must have a calculated sixty-percent probability that the overall mission will be a success.”

“So,” sneered the CentAsian, “With one-hundred missions a year, each with two-dozen human lives aboard, you will be condemning over a thousand of our fellow human beings to death per year! Your program plan extends for fifty to two-hundred years. That amounts to over one-hundred thousand human lives sent into space, about forty-thousand to oblivion! Possibly more! Is that your plan?”

“My Liege,” Luke replied, “The Embryonic and Panspermia options do not involve fully developed human beings, and …”

Stephanie stood up and cut Luke off. “My Liege, excuse me but tens of thousands are killed on Earth in accidents each year. The Hawking Plan has a grand purpose. We need to keep things in perspective. These are not ‘suicide missions’ at all! Far from it, these are life saving missions; they will save human life and civilization.”

That quieted the CentAsian for a while. He frowned as other Board members expressed confidence there would not be any ethical or religious backlash against the Hawking Plan.

Then, it was Luke’s turn. He fielded quite a few questions about the methods that might be used to spread human life and civilization throughout the Universe. The Board member from Africa asked Luke to summarize the options once again.

“My Liege,” he began, “There are three basic options, each of which has several sub-options. We call them: 1) Noah’s Ark, 2) Embryonic, and 3) Panspermia. Noah’s Ark envisions the fastest and therefore heaviest spaceships, approaching a significant fraction of the speed of light. Embryonic envisions more moderate speeds, while Panspermia envisions spaceships of similar design to current-day space vehicles, perhaps a bit faster. These will require far longer times before arriving at their destinations.”

“Can you provide more details?” asked the African.

“My Liege,” Luke began, “Noah’s Ark is our descriptive term for transporting living human beings and other animals to outer space. As you know, the closest extra-solar system, Alpha Centuri, is a bit over four light years away. Since we will be transporting living animals, we must get them settled on their new planet while they are still of breeding age. They must be transported at a high percentage of the speed of light, say twenty-percent, which would get them to Alpha Centuri in about twenty-years. That would require spaceships well beyond current technological capabilities. Within the Noah’s Ark option, we have variations on whether the humans and animals are in normal or suspended animation, how many humans and animals are included, and what kinds of plant seeds and bacteria and so on go along for the trip. In particular, with this option and all others, we plan to include robot servants, advanced IRAs if you will, as well as computer storage devices with all the knowledge of mankind. I will not bore you with the details.”

“Well,” asked the African, “What if space travel cannot achieve twenty-percent of the speed of light?

“My Liege,” replied Luke respectfully, “The Embryonic option considers transporting frozen embryos of humans and animals, along with artificial wombs and robot nannies to defrost, gestate, raise and socialize them. A spaceship could get to Alpha Centauri in one-hundred years at about five percent of the speed of light and in two-thousand years at one percent. Those speeds are many thousands of times greater than the fastest current-day spaceships. Even if we do achieve those speeds, we don’t know if frozen embryos can last that long.”

“Well,” asked the African once more, “If the Embryonic option doesn’t seem practical, how do you propose to extend human life throughout our galaxy, and perhaps beyond?”

“My Liege,” Luke continued confidently, “Our Panspermia option would be transporting frozen or salted cells of various types, along with robots and genetic engineering laboratories, plus computer storage devices with the human genome and the genomes of all known animals and plants and bacteria. A more proper name would be Directed Panspermia which is what molecular biologist Francis Crick and chemist Leslie Orgel called a similar idea in their famous 1973 paper. Crick won a Nobel Prize as co-discoverer of the helical structure of DNA, the basis of biological life. Orgel is the originator of the "RNA World" theory for the origin of life. They theorized that an advanced extraterrestrial civilization might utilize Directed Panspermia to spread the seeds of life using spaceships, much as we propose to do with the Hawking Plan.

“Upon arrival at their destination, the robots would plant bacteria of various hardy types in many places throughout the host planet. It might take decades or even centuries for those bacteria to adapt to their new environment, which would likely be somewhat different from Earth. After a period of time, likely to be several centuries, the bacteria would oxygenate the host planet atmosphere and prepare it to support more advanced bacteria and then multi-cell life. Robot-run genetic engineering laboratories would modify these life forms according to modern Earth-life genome data, adapted to the host planet environment, to rather rapidly replicate the processes of Darwinian evolution and natural selection. It will take several thousand years for genetically-engineered evolution to advance to Homo sapiens.

“At that point, computerized ‘oracles’ would teach the humans to speak and understand metaphoric language and use writing and technology. The oracles would impart basic tribal organization and crafts and, as rapidly as possible, bring human life up to the range of communities, government and technology we enjoy today. Of course, this process will impart knowledge of all aspects of physics, chemistry, biology, botany, zoology, sociology, and philosophy, including, of course, a full variety of political and religious beliefs.”

At that stage of his description, I observed the reactions of the Board members. The African signaled an enthusiastic “thumbs up.” Others nodded agreement. The CentAsian and MidEastern shook their heads in disbelief.

Luke paused to let the information sink in, then he continued, “We know microorganisms trapped in salt have survived for tens of millions of years in suspended animation and have come back to life when placed in a nutrient broth. We don’t know how long frozen cells can remain viable. The science of cryopreservation has progressed greatly during recent decades. The key technology is called vitrification, which replaces internal water with sugar or other antifreeze to eliminate the damage to cell membranes caused by ice crystals. Once the water has been replaced by a more viscous solution, the cells are rapidly frozen and, instead of crystallizing, the syrup becomes amorphous ice. To date, the longest successful experiments with eukaryotic cells have spanned less than a century. However, with proper preparation and care in cryopreservation and infusion of water during the process of defrosting, we believe frozen prokaryotic and some relatively simple eukaryotic cells could last for hundreds of thousands or millions of years or more – perhaps a billion years!

“I hasten to add these would not be human cells or cells of higher animals, but rather simple versions of different kinds of bacteria, plant, and animal cells. Guided rapid evolution would adapt them to the environment of their new home planet which, quite naturally, will be somewhat different from Earth. The robot-operated genetic engineering laboratories would have to operate only until more-or-less natural evolution and natural selection took root and reached the human stage. Thereafter, human civilization would be conveyed by the computer oracles I mentioned in connection with the Embryonic option.

“If we consider travel beyond Alpha Centauri and other relatively nearby solar systems and, especially, any destinations outside our galaxy, it is possible that the curvature of space could greatly reduce the travel time requirements. There may be a ‘time tunneling’ that provides a short ‘wormhole’ to very distant galaxies.”

“How does that work?” asked the African Board member.

“My Liege,” replied Luke, “We do not know if it works at all. I personally assume time tunneling does not work, but I’m just a humble engineer, limited to what I know will work or at least what may logically work. So, for me, this time tunnel wormhole stuff is ivory-tower, academic dreaming. Only a quantum physicist could believe this illogical weirdness!”

As Luke made this point I noticed him shake his head, as if trying to dismiss a troubling thought. Perhaps he had suddenly remembered that he himself believed stuff his Hawking Plan team members thought was even more ridiculous, such as the 1611 KJV. I marveled at that part of his brain function, if you could call it that.

“However,” he continued, “This time tunnel is a very nice theory. Let me give you an example we can understand. How far is it from here in Tokyo to the other side of the globe, some point south of Rio de Janeiro? Tokyo is about 35 N and 139 E, so the point opposite would be 35 S and 41 W. Well, the shortest route on the surface, a great circle route, would be over twelve thousand miles.”

Luke paused for a bit and then smiled broadly. “I just thought of a humorous example. Say you had a dog here in Tokyo and you did not mind him wandering around, but, for some reason you wanted to be absolutely sure he could never get to Brazil! So, you get him a lead that is only ten-thousand miles long. Since the distance on the surface of the Earth is over twelve-thousand miles that dog ain’t going to Brazil is he? Well, that dog can dig, so he digs a hole straight down and, after about eight-thousand miles of digging, there he is in Brazil with thousands of miles of slack to spare on his lead! The point is, on the surface it is over twelve-thousand miles from here to Brazil, but, if you could tunnel through the center of the Earth, it would be less than eight thousand miles! You’d save over four-thousand miles!

“Although we ordinary humans can experience or imagine only three space dimensions plus time, quantum scientists and cosmologists believe there are more dimensions. Perhaps there are ten or eleven according to string theory. With all those dimensions, and a curved Universe, some scientists believe the reduction in distance could be dramatic. Perhaps ten to one or a hundred to one, or more. Wouldn’t that be nice?

"But, let me get back to reality! Spaceships using reasonable advances on current designs would be fine for Panspermia missions. They could reach Alpha Centauri in less than half a million years. It would take tens or hundreds of millions of years to reach the remaining new home planets. Once landed, it would take thousands more years to evolve to the human range, even with the genetic laboratories and modern genome data we will include. However, there’s really no hurry, is there?”

“Sir!” interrupted the CentAsian Board member, “If there is no hurry, why are you so keen on starting right now? As technology progress, spaceships will become faster and you can get to outer space in only one-hundred-thousand years rather than half a million.” The CentAsian grinned broadly and raised his eyebrows as he emphasized the words “…only one-hundred-thousand years...” “That,” he continued, “Could save you four-hundred-thousand years by my calculation! Why not wait a few generations? Spend all that money and engineering on solving our problems here on Earth!”

“The only hurry, Mr. Tsar Sahbaka, My Liege,” interrupted Stephanie, who had told us in advance that Sahbaka, the CentAsian, was a businessman and a fiscal conservative who was organizing the opposition to the Hawking Plan, “Is to get off of the Earth. As you know, my great-grandfather Stephen Hawking predicted humans have fewer than one-thousand years to spread out into space and avoid a natural or human-caused disaster that will totally wipe out human life and civilization. It is your responsibility ladies and gentlemen of the TABB Planning Board, to save humanity and civilization for the infinite future. We may not have a thousand years, it could be only a hundred, or perhaps only twenty, no one knows!”

Sahbaka interrupted her. “Madam,” he said in a cynical voice, “Another genetic engineering disaster, like the one in my area of southern Russia and northern Kazakhstan when I was a boy, and killed millions of my countrymen, could destroy everything this year or next! That region is still totally de-populated with no plans to clean it up.”

He paused for a moment and wiped a tear from his eye. “Give me a break! Why should we spend TABB money on this ridiculous fantasy you call the Hawking Plan,” he continued, “When it is of absolutely no benefit to us here on Earth? Even if we approve it this week, you won’t send spaceships up for ten or twenty years. We could spend money for ten years, have a genetic engineering disaster that kills us all, and still not save civilization!”

“My Liege,” said Stephanie in a friendly tone, “You must know the classic story of the King who asked his gardener to plant a particular bush near his window. The gardener informed the King that kind of bush would not flower for at least fifty years. ‘My goodness’ the King replied, ‘In that case, you must plant it today – this very morning if possible!’”

“I heard the same story from my dear grandfather,” said Sahbaka, blinking his eyes to hold back a tear.

“As did I” added Stephanie, letting a stream of tears run down her cheeks before she wiped them away.

“Well and good,” snapped the European Board member. “Let us get back to business! How do you plan to proceed if we give you approval this week?”

“My Liege,” replied Luke, “We posted Request for Information queries a few months ago to determine which TCs might be interested in conducting Conceptual Trade Studies. We received over one-thousand responses and they are still coming in. We have conducted bidder’s briefings in all seven geographic zones. We had the honor of having you give the keynote address for our Budapest briefing. We have prepared formal Request for Proposal documents. Assuming the Board gives approval this week for funding of Conceptual Study Contracts; those could be sent out next week. Interested TCs would have sixty days to submit their formal proposals and we will select the winners about ninety days after that.”

“How many Conceptual Trade Study contracts do you plan to issue?” asked the European.

“My Liege,” began Luke, “TABB policy on Conceptual Trade Studies is to issue at least three, running in parallel. However, we normally issue about six or seven contracts. For this important project, we may have as many as nine to twelve, depending upon …”

“Seventy-two!” blurted Stephanie, cutting Luke off, “We will issue seventy-two Conceptual Trade Study contracts to a wide selection of TCs representing various areas of technology and spread out across all geographic and ethnic areas.”

“Seventy-two?” asked Tsar Sahbaka, the CentAsian, rolling his eyes and shaking his head like a bobble-doll. “Are you out of your mind? How do you plan to fund so many contracts?”

Since contracting was not my area of expertise, I had the luxury of scanning the faces of the Board members as well as my fellow Hawking Plan workers. Luke stood there dumbfounded. Everyone in the room was in a high state of tension, all staring at Stephanie.

“My Liege,” she replied in an even tone, giving no hint of her distain for the extreme fiscal conservative and enemy of her Hawking Plan, “TABB will have to fund only a dozen. The additional sixty studies will be funded by the TCs themselves. Over one-hundred highly-qualified TCs are willing – even anxious – to invest their own profits in this venture. This project will ignite a new wave of innovation in the transportation, medical, communications, and computational technology. They all want to get on the bandwagon!”

With that simple statement, the tension in the room evaporated. I felt a tremendous sense of relief as most Board members smiled and some whispered to each other. The African Board member said “Great answer! You go girl!” and clapped her hands. A spontaneous round of applause broke out in the room, with only the CentAsian and MidEastern Board members not participating.

“You have a quick tongue, Ms. Goldenrod,” shouted Tsar Sahbaka. “We have troubles here on Earth more deserving of TABB and TC investment than your silly one-way space junket.”

“My Liege, Mis-ter Sahbaka, I am Doctor Goldenrod.”

“Duc-ter Goldenrod,” replied Sahbaka, mispronouncing ‘Doctor’ and standing to emphasize the point. “I am not done with you! As you say in NortAmer, ‘Hasta la vista, baby!’ This Hawking Plan of yours is a shameless grab for money by high-tech TCs primarily located in NortAmer, Europe, and EastAsia. You are diverting TABB resources from the poor and downtrodden population of the entire world for the selfish glory of the most reckless progressives. Haven’t the genetic engineering disasters of past years taught you anything about violating Natural Law?”

With that, he stormed out of the room, followed by the MidEastern Board member.

The Chairman, from EastAsia, rapped the gavel and shouted over the commotion, “This meeting has run over an hour late and I’m sure we are all happy it is over. Decision meeting tomorrow, nine AM, Board members only. This meeting is adjourned! Stephanie strode confidently to the dais and shook hands with each Board member and even hugged a couple. I heard her say something about coming over to her suite to two men and one woman. Was she planning some sort of multi-gender gang bang?

I looked at the time – it was already late for my daily call to my family in Orlando. I had to call Esther while the children were having breakfast and before she had to pack them off to school and go off to her job. I left the meeting and ran to my room.

I was engaged in the conversación video with my wife and children when a message popped up in the corner of the display wall:

JIM: COME UP TO MY SUITE IMMEDIATELY. DON’T MISS ALL THE FUN! STEPHANIE.

I abruptly completed the conversación, telling my wife I had just been called to a special team meeting.

Not knowing what Stephanie had in mind, I took a shower. I hurriedly dressed in my “Hawking Plan” tee-shirt, shorts, and sandals. Then, off I sped to Stephanie’s suite, wondering what was up (besides my flag).

I couldn’t help thinking about our asunto secreto the night before. As the elevator rose so did I. When I exited the elevator I saw Luke coming the other way. He was dressed in long pants and a proper shirt and shoes. “Hola Diego!” he shouted, uncharacteristically using Inglañol to signify he was meeting a new Jim. “That was quite an inspiration wearing your ‘Hawking Plan’ tee-shirt to the Queen Bee’s soirée! It goes well with the shorts and sandals, I must say.”

“I left the Board meeting early to call my wife – did I miss something?” I asked, “Should I go back and change?”

“No time!” replied Luke with a chuckle. “Stephanie invited our team and the TABB Planning Board to an entertainment and a buffet dinner in her suite. We’re fifteen minutes late as it is and you know how she likes things on time! I’m late because I have a duty to talk to my wife and children every day. My family comes before TABB. I suppose you’re late for the same reason?”

“Yes Luke,” I answered, feeling somewhat guilty about having wasted time taking a shower.

I was surprised to see Stephanie’s suite included a large reception room, off the living room and to the right of the bedroom. A couple dozen people were sitting in three rows of chairs watching some sort of Japanese kabuki theater. Five entertainers, two men and three women, dressed in traditional Japanese regalia, were enacting a play, with musical accompaniment. Subtitles, in English, appeared on the screen behind them. I noticed a brief subtitle about “space travel” which I kind of doubted was part of any traditional kabuki.

Luke and I found seats in the last row. I looked around. In addition to Stephanie’s team and some Tokyo-based TABB officials, four of the seven TABB Planning Board members were present. It was no surprise the CentAsian and MidEastern members were absent. The third missing member was from NortAmer, but I knew she supported the Hawking Plan and so must have had conflicting plans.

When kabuki was over, Stephanie, dressed in traditional Japanese garb, stood and bowed to the entertainers. “You are each a credit to the Kabuki-za Theater. If we have time on this trip, we will surely come to your theater in the Ginza to see traditional Japanese entertainment.” I was thrilled to look at Stephanie and blown away by her grace and presence. She was physically and mentally and emotionally superior, but in the most modest way possible. “Hola Estephania!” I whispered. Luke turned to look at me and smiled.

“We’ll now get a bit serious with a Shakespearian interlude.” She said. “Some literary professor, or was he an astronomy professor? Whatever, only an ivory-tower academic could come up with the theory that Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ is an allegory on the controversy, during the early 1600’s, between the old Ptolemaic ‘Earth-centered’ cosmology and the new Copernican idea that the stars were like our Sun and the Earth and other planets revolved around them. When Shakespeare has an officer of the king say ‘Something is rotten in Denmark,’ he is referring to Tycho Brahe, a Danish astronomer who defended the old Ptolemaic view, at least according to this professor.

“We no longer embrace a cosmology that places the Earth at the center of all things,” she continued with a new sense of earnestness, “That was totally disproved by science. Yet many here on Earth, and even some members of the TABB Planning Board, reject the idea that it is our destiny to spread human life and civilization to the Heavens. The Hawking Plan, like the Copernican view, challenges the old-fashioned Earth-centered idea.

“We must assure the survival of what our ancestors built here on Earth. And, by our ancestors, I specifically mean the primates and the other animals, as well as the plants and bacteria that have nourished them for the past three billion years on Earth. I include the blue-green algae, the original single-cell life forms on Earth.”

“She has an obligation to the blue-green algae?” muttered Luke under his breath, “What about God?” I turned and nodded.

“When I say human civilization,” Stephanie continued, “I do not ignore the collective organizational instincts of the other animals and plants and bacteria. All of that goes back over three billion years. That is quite a heritage and we are the only animals capable of saving it. We probably have less than a thousand years to do so!

“I was moved, as I know many of you were, when Rabbi James O’Brian read that Edna St. Vincent Millay poem yesterday. We on Earth are almost insignificant by comparison to the Universe. If we don’t continually open our hearts and let our souls soar we will be crushed by its immensity. ‘Pinched hearts’ and “flat souls’ she wrote.

“If we open our hearts wide we’ll find they reach to the ends of the nearly infinite Universe. If we let our souls fly to their ultimate heights we’ll let the face of God shine through and illuminate our very beings. Our hearts and souls will spread human life and civilization to outer space and an infinite future!”

A few of the TABB Board members, led by the African and then the EastAsian, began to applaud and it soon rippled throughout the room. Stephanie bowed to the audience in traditional Japanese style and then turned and bowed to the kabuki.

“Our wonderful kabuki entertainers will use actual lines from Shakespeare, with some modified to relate to space travel. This could be fun! Here, Hamlet is speaking to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. The text will be on the screen behind them, identifying the names of the characters, with Shakespeare’s original words in italics:

HAMLET: O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
GUILDENSTERN: You’ll be bounded in a spaceship, and sent to infinite space, where you shall be king of an entire galaxy. That is truly ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. And a dream itself is but a shadow.

The audience applauded and then laughed as the actors smoothly segued into Gilbert and Sullivan’s Japanese-themed operetta, Mikado. The Japanese kabuki pretended to be English minstrels pretending to be Japanese:

My object all sublime / I shall achieve in time. / To let the punishment fit the crime. / The punishment fit the crime.
And make each prisoner pent / To outer space be sent. / A source of innocent merriment! / Of innocent merriment!
The advertising quack who wearies / With tales of super sex. / Is put on a spaceship / For life a one-way trip / Accompanied by his ex.
The billiard sharp who anyone catches / His fate’s extremely hard. / He’s shot into space / To a faraway place / A galaxy called “Ill-stared.”
And there he plays extravagant matches / In zero gravity. / Where he breaks his balls / Against spaceship walls. / A terrible sight to see!

Luke leaned over and whispered, “Why do they change the words like that! The original is much better! You know how it goes: 'And there he plays extravagant matches / In fitless finger-stalls. / On a cloth untrue / With a twisted cue / And elliptical billiard balls!' Aren’t ‘elliptical billiard balls’ and a ‘twisted cue’ and a ‘cloth untrue’ far funnier than ‘zero gravity’ and ‘breaks his balls’?”

“Hey,” I replied, “They’re just having fun and promoting the Hawking Plan, for goodness sake! And I never did figure out what WS Gilbert meant by ‘fitless finger-stalls’ …”

“’Finger-stalls’ are protective sheaths for the fingers,” answered Luke. “If you were forced to wear them that would make it much harder to play billiards. Particularly if they were of the ‘one-size fits all’ ‘fitless’ type. But, I guess you’re right, it’s not like they’re changing words written by the Hand of God, right?”

“Right,” I replied, a bit sheepishly. Apparently Luke didn’t know about the máquina del tiempo aspect of the Hawking Plan. He could not be told because he had no official ‘need to know.’

“Rabbi James O’Brian … RABBI JIM!” Stephanie was calling my name and that snapped me out of my conversation with Luke. “Jim, please come up here! Everyone, this is an unscheduled ‘fashion show’ for our new Hawking Plan tee-shirt.”

I stood and walked uncertainly to the small stage, quite self-conscious about my overly casual dress and wondering what she was up to.

“Excellent,” she gushed. “Notice our motto on the front, ‘Save Human Life and Civilization ... For an Infinite Future’ with our stylized DNA-based logo. Please turn around Jim. And, on the back, it says ‘Hawking Plan’ with an image of my great-grandfather. Show them the front again Jim.” I tried to act casual and pose like a model, but I was quite stiff. Never-the-less, Stephanie took my hand and spun me around and the onlookers laughed and some applauded.

“Best of all,” continued Stephanie, “We have a package for each of you to take away as a memento of this evening. You’ll each get a dozen Hawking Plan tee-shirts in various sizes for you, your wife and your girlfriend …” A wave of snickering crossed the audience. She grinned, “I should add, your husband and boyfriend …” More laughter broke out. “Did I say something risqué or funny? Let me restate it more precisely. You’ll have a dozen Hawking Plan tee shirts for your spouse and friends, your children and grand-children.” Everyone applauded and I returned to my seat, much relieved.

“Thank you Jim!” she said. “Before we let our entertainers go, they have one more song to bless us with, ‘To Dream the Impossible Dream’ from Man of La Mancha first performed nearly one-hundred years ago. The words are from the original, we did not have to change a jot or tittle.”

The performers put everything they had into it and the audience responded in kind. By the time the final line was sung, 'To reach the unreachable star!' everyone was on their feet.

“Let us again thank our kabuki performers,” Stephanie said as the five entertainers took bows and everyone applauded. “Weren’t they wonderful? We have a light dinner I believe is ready now.” Everyone applauded again.

I let the TABB Board members load their plates in the buffet area and then got on line. There were two tables piled high with food, one was Japanese- and the other English-style. As I ate with chopsticks I wandered over to a corner of the room and noticed a silver skull and crossbones atop a small cabinet.

“Don’t touch that!” said Luke from behind me, “That’s how the mathematical logic and reason guy lost his job last year. You’ve heard the story of the ‘surprise dismissal’?”

“Yes”, I answered, “But I heard it was because he wasn’t flexible and open-minded enough. What’s in that cabinet?”

“Alcohol and other legal mind-boggling drugs,” said Luke with a grimace. “The Queen Bee serves all comers in more ways than one! Some of the TABB Tokyo office staff and one or two of the TABB Board members indulge in this poison. However, Stephanie will fire anyone in her Branch who touches it.”

“You know, Luke, I wrote a book about the use of mind-altering chemicals in religious services. But, other than a bit of wine, I’ve never touched a drop of it.”

“Good for you! A doctor doesn’t have to have had a disease to cure it.” As we ate and drank, Luke tapped my wrist. “Say, Jim,” he said in a low voice, “I had a chance to look up some of the stuff you brought up at breakfast this morning. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure, why not?” I answered. “No one will overhear us.”

“OK,” said Luke. “The first thing I’d like to do is revisit the supposed Pi equals 3.0 issue. I am quite pleased, and I think you were too, with the explanation I gave you this morning, precise to two significant figures. However, if we go back to the original Hebrew, we get an even better approximation! Please don your read-WINs and bring up the English and Hebrew for 1 Kings 7:23.”

“Fine,” I replied, “Here it is.”

1 Kings 7:23 And he made the molten sea of ten cubits from brim to brim, round in compass, and the height thereof was five cubits; and a line of thirty cubits did compass it round about.

כג וַיַּעַשׂ אֶת-הַיָּם, מוּצָק: עֶשֶׂר בָּאַמָּה מִשְּׂפָתוֹ עַד-שְׂפָתוֹ עָגֹל סָבִיב, וְחָמֵשׁ בָּאַמָּה קוֹמָתו וקוה (וְקָו) שְׁלֹשִׁים בָּאַמָּה, יָסֹב אֹתוֹ סָבִיב

“I don’t read Hebrew well,” said Luke, “But I know you do. See the Hebrew word in parenthesis? What does it say and mean?”

“It is Vuv Kuf Vuv, pronounced ‘vikav’ which means ‘a line’.”

“Great!” said Luke, “What is the word before that one?”

“Well,” I replied, “Hebrew is read from right to left, so the word before ‘vikav’’ is to the right of it and is Vuv Kuf Vuv Hay or ‘vikavh.’ Hey! Look at that, it is the same word but spelled incorrectly. It has the letter Hay, the Hebrew letter for ‘H,’ at the end. The parenthesis signifies that our oldest manuscripts have a spelling error. The letter Hay does not belong at the end of that word. Our scribes are forbidden to correct a spelling error, because, according to our literal believers, this may be some special message from God. So they kept the ‘vikavh’ and, in parenthesis, added ‘(vikav)’ which is the correct spelling for ‘a line.’ It would be as if, in English, the oldest manuscript spelled ‘a line’ as ‘a lineh,’ so it would appear in the printed text as ‘a lineh (a line).’ So, where are we going here?”

"We are going,” said Luke, “To expose the hidden message about Pi from God in this supposed error! What is the numerology, the so-called ‘gematria’ for each of these words?”

“OK, Luke,” I replied, “As you apparently know, in Jewish numerology, Hebrew letters are also used as numbers. Put on your read-WINs and link them to mine. Let me bring up the conversion table for gematria on my read-WINs. Here it is, up to four hundred. Each group is in the following order: Hebrew Letter, Name of Letter, Sound of Letter, and Numeric Value according to Gematria:”

א, Aleph, (silent) = 1; ב, Beth, B = 2; ג, Gimel, G = 3, ד, Daled, D = 4; ה, Hay, H = 5; ו, Vuv, V = 6; ז, Zion, Z = 7, ח, Chet, CH = 8; ט, Tet, T = 9; י, Yud, Y =10; כ, Kaph, KA = 20; ל, Lamed, L = 30; מ, Mem, M = 40; נ, Nun, N = 50; ס, Samech, S = 60; ע, Ayin, (silent) = 70; פ, Pay, P = 80; צ, Tzadik, TZ = 90; ק, Kuf, K =100; ר, Resh, R = 200; ש, Shin, SH = 300; ת, Tau, T = 400.

I figured the values and said, “Vuv Kuf Vuv is 6 + 100 + 6 = 112. Vuv Kuf Vuv Hay is 6 + 100 + 6 + 5 = 117. OK?”

“No,” replied Luke, “It should be 106 and 111.”

“106 and 111?” I asked. “OK, if you leave out the first Vuv, which is equivalent to the word ‘a,’ and just count the Hebrew word for ‘line,’ you get Kuf Vuv which is 100 + 6 = 106. Kuf Vuv Hay is 100 + 6 + 5 = 111. OK? Where are we going here?”

“Great, get a good grip on your chair!” said Luke expectantly, “Now divide 111 by 106 and multiply by 3.0. What do you get?”

“I get 3.141509. WOW! That’s almost Pi, isn’t it? Let’s see, Pi is 3.141593. WOWIE KAZOWIE! The first five figures are the same! But, if you round the numbers, they match to only four significant figures, 3.1415 vs. 3.1416. That’s one significant figure better than the way you showed me this morning and also one significant figure better than twenty-two sevenths. Fantastic!”

“I take that as proof God knew the true value of Pi when the first book of Kings was written in Hebrew and He hid the value in what appears a mere spelling error! Are you impressed or what?”

“I must admit I am im…press … surprised,” I said very carefully, “But it’s just another coincidence. What I am impressed with is the ingenuity of the minds of human true believers in coming up with these imaginative explanations.”

“Jim, you recited a poem yesterday and Stephanie mentioned it this evening. Why can’t you widen your heart and raise your soul to this? Jim, please remember the words you read: 'The world stands out on either side / no wider than the heart is wide.' Your heart, I am sad to say, is not very wide, is it? You said 'Above the world is stretched the sky / no higher than the soul is high.' Why don’t you stretch your soul a bit and, as the poem says 'let the face of God shine through'?”

I silently dropped my head and cupped my face in my hands.

“Jim,” Luke said softly, “I see my good friend is struggling with his overly-rational self. Remember, faith and reason are on totally separate coins. They are a million light years apart. You can embrace your faith without turning your back on reason! I do it every working day of my life. So can you!”

“I wish I could,” I said sadly, “I wish I could.”

“Hola Diego! Guess who?” Stephanie was behind me and she had her hands covering my eyes.

"What do you wish you could do?”

“It’s OK Stephanie. Luke and I were just talking …”

“About pleasing me I hope! I really am glad! Like I could kiss someone! Thank each individual now! I’ve got very good news. The four Board members here tonight – a majority of the Board – just committed to vote to authorize funding the Hawking Plan. We’ll have all the funding we requested, with more available for the asking! From here on it’s just a formality. That anal CentAsian Board member, Tsar Sahbaka, and his MidEastern side-kick – what’s his name? – can do nothing about it! Felicitaciones and thank you so much for your excelente support. I couldn’t have done it without my team, mi amigos.” With that, she kissed each of us on our cheeks, hugged us briefly, and trotted off to spread the news.

“Well,” said Luke, “We have a big job ahead of us! Have you had enough of this religioso ‘preaching’ of mine? Want to get up and put on a happy face and celebrate with the rest of our team?”

“No,” I replied. “There’s a rabbinical story of a man who was planting a fig tree when his good friend came by to tell him the Messiah just arrived in town. ‘Let me finish planting this tree and then I’ll go and greet the Messiah.’ Please continue to ‘plant’ your explanations of the scriptures. I’ll try to give you soil that is as fertile as I can manage given my anal rationality”

“OK,” said Luke in considerable surprise. “The key point of Jesus’s genealogy is that He is descended from King David. I looked it up and the gematria for ‘David’ in Hebrew is Daled, Vuv, Daled and that is 4 + 6 + 4 = 14. That explains Mathew 1:17 'So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations, and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations, and from the deportation to Babylon to Christ, fourteen generations.'

The Gospel of Mathew traces the passing of kingship, since David was King of Israel as was Jesus. Abraham lived about two-thousand BC; King David about one-thousand BC; the deportation to Babylon was about five-hundred BC; and Jesus, of course zero BC. So, the list of Jesus’s ancestors is not complete, nor was it intended to be so.

Even now, it is common to leave out some ancestors when considering genealogy. For example, Stephanie traces her ancestry back, as the namesake of Stephen Hawking, without mentioning the names of her father or of her grandfather. She, for good reason, goes directly to her very distinguished great-grandfather, skipping two generations.”

“OK,” I replied, “Let me do the math. Fourteen generations from Abraham to David – one-thousand years – would be seventy-one years per generation, much too long, so, Matthew’s genealogy before King David is certainly telescoped. From King David to the Babylonian exile and the exile to Jesus – five-hundred years each – is almost thirty-six years per generation, also too long. OK, the ‘bottom line’ is: the Gospel of Mathew leaves out several generations, just as Stephanie does, and, because the gematria of ‘David’ is fourteen, it includes only fourteen kings in each period.”

“Correct,” replied Luke, “The point was that Jesus inherited kingship via ancestors back to King David. Moving on to the Gospel of Luke, it traces Jesus’s genealogy back through Mary, Jesus's mother, since the Jewish religion passes via the feminine line. There forty-three generations over five-hundred years which is normal.”

“It’s a wise man who knows his own father,” I quipped. “Before the advent of ‘wombs for rent’ and genetic engineering, it was pretty clear who the mother was, so that’s why we pass our religion that way. ‘Who’s your daddy?’ is another story! Success has many fathers, but failure – you’re lucky if you can find the mother!”

“Jim, are you done with the one-liners? Can we continue or would you rather join the party?”

“Sorry,” I replied, looking around at Stephanie and some of her Hawking Plan team members along with the kabuki entertainers and TABB Board members and Tokyo staff dancing and singing – some under the influence of alcohol or drugs. “When these things come to mind I have to say them or my head will explode.”

“There’s no contradiction. Luke traces Jesus’s biological ancestry, via His mother Mary and the female line; Matthew traces the selective kingly genealogy back to Jesus’s legal father, Joseph.”

“Wait a second,” I said, “Joseph is not the biological father of Jesus. Christians believe God is the Father of Jesus, Right?”

“Of course,” replied Luke, “But the formal kingly ancestry traces through the male line, doesn’t it?”

“OK,” I replied, shaking my head, “I said ‘success has many fathers’ and I guess Jesus had three fathers, his legal father, Joseph; his biological father God; and his spiritual father the ‘Holy Spirit.’ That is a logical explanation, in a way, but, if you don’t mind me saying so, it is not nearly as neat as your Pi explanations.”

“Jim,” replied Luke, ignoring the ‘many fathers’ line of thought, “As I’ve said before, these apparent errors and contradictions are meant by God to ‘prove’ the faith of believers. Just as a scratch test ‘proves’ if a stone is a diamond or not, these apparent inconsistencies ‘prove’ if a person has faith or not. Want to go on?”

“Sure,” I replied as the music grew louder and the dancing more energetic, “Why not?”

“Jesus entered Jerusalem for Passion Week, between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, riding on a donkey. According to Mark 11:2 the donkey is a colt ‘whereon no man ever yet sat.’ According to Mathew 21:2, it is an “ass, and a colt with her.” Mathew is simply providing more information. They took both the colt and its mother. He may have sat on her for part of the journey.”

“As a non-believer,” I said without much enthusiasm, “It doesn’t matter to me if they had one donkey or a dozen. But, if God literally held the hands of the translators of the KJV, why does Mathew 21:7 say he sat on ‘them’ while Mark 11:7 says He sat on ‘him’? All this seems to me to be weak excuses for errors. However, I appreciate your efforts to show me otherwise. Please proceed.”

“Good,” said Luke, “Let us move on to your last issue, did Jesus enter Jerusalem on the day before Palm Sunday or on the day of Palm Sunday? According to Mark 11:11 to 11:15 Jesus entered Jerusalem the day before, went to look around the Temple, and then, at eventide, left Jerusalem for Bethany. He returned the next day, Palm Sunday, to cast out the moneychangers and so on. Mathew 21:10 to 21:12 doesn’t mention the first visit to Jerusalem and the Temple. In Mathew’s version, Jesus enters the city on Palm Sunday and straightaway casts out the moneychangers. Again the stories match very well, in this case it is Mark who provides a bit of additional information about the short reconnoiter the day before. There is no conflict between Mark and Mathew.”

“You did a good job Luke, explaining these inconsistencies. I just thought of a new one, do you mind if I bring it up.”

“Not at all. I’ll stay here all night if you’d like!”

“OK, I know you’re an expert on genetics and evolution and natural selection and all that scientific stuff. You know it took millions of years for life to develop and evolve on Earth. …”

“Not millions,” interrupted Luke, “Billions, that’s with a ‘B,’ thousands of millions according to the geological and archeological and genetic records. The best information is that the Earth was formed some four and a half billion years ago and single-cell prokaryotic life originated some three and a half billion years ago. It took another two billion years or so for multi-cellular eukaryotic life to evolve. Jumping ahead, the last common ancestor of humans and the other great apes lived about five million years ago, that’s with an ‘M.’ Homo sapiens with brains about our size have been around about a hundred-thousand years, and humans with developed bi-cameral brains with the capability for metaphoric language for about six-thousand years.”

“OK, billions “ I continued, “How do you square that with the Biblical assertion God created the Heavens and the Earth and all the plant and animal life in just six days? How do you square the Bible-based estimate that Adam and Eve, the first humans, were created only about six-thousand years ago? You just said large-brained Homo sapiens have been around for one-hundred thousand years.”

“Jim,” Luke replied, “There are a few excellent explanations. The first and simplest is that those were God days, not human days. God days may be as long as a year or a million or billion years. Since God is Eternal, time does not mean the same to Him as it does to us. Also God, who Created genetics, could have used genetic engineering, as we plan to do with our Panspermia option, to rapidly evolve life up to our advanced stage in thousands rather than billions of years.”

“Excuse me, Luke,” I interrupted, “Are you implying that so-called ‘intelligent design’ theories are true? Those ID nuts claim biological cells are too complex to have come into existence without being designed by God. They mumble something about 'irreducible complexity'. Some ID proponents are willing to accept evolution and natural selection occurred after the initial creation, by God, of those first biological cells.” I was suddenly struck by a most disturbing thought. “Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed.

“What?” asked Luke, “Are you OK? What is going on Jim? Your mouth is wide open and you are looking up at the ceiling. Can I get you some water ...”

“No ... NO! Luke,” I interrupted, “It just occurred to me that our Panspermia option is a ‘stalking horse’ for ID!”

Luke put his hand on my shoulder. “What do you think?”

I looked him in the eye with a bit of an angry glare. “I think you haven't been totally honest with us Luke. It just occurred to me that the Panspermia option, that you have urged us to adopt as the primary direction for our Hawking Plan, will be starting the process with some primitive biological cells and then doing rapid evolution using the current genome. The ID wingnuts claim God designed the initial biological cells and then personally guided their evolution to their current state! Is that a mere coincidence? Are you pushing ID for your own selfish religioso motives? You had me convinced it was the best option. Have you been stacking the deck?”

“Jim, my friend,” Luke replied calmly, “I used my best scientific and technological judgment in evaluating Panspermia against the Embryonic and Noah’s Ark options. I did a fair evaluation. The parallels between Panspermia and ‘intelligent design’ occurred to me, of course. Perhaps biological life, like God, has always existed in the universe. Perhaps projects like the Hawking Plan are God's way of propagating life from one solar system to another. God is Eternal, but we know stars age and become red dwarfs that would destroy life on any planet orbiting them. Life must be transplanted to newer solar systems to survive. I’m proud you! Your specialty is history and religion, but you’ve been a good student of mine over the past few months as I have taught you most of what you know about biology!”

“Thanks for the complement,” I replied, “And you’ve been a wonderfully patient teacher. Aren’t you worried others will recognize the ‘parallels’ between Panspermia and ID and that you are Christian, and put two and two together and get twenty-two? ”

“I can’t help what others may think. That is their business, not mine. I do my best to follow my conscience and my intellect right down the middle, my religious convictions not-with-standing. You can believe me or not. That is your business.”

“Just a minute Luke,” I replied. “If God is Omnipotent, as you believe, why doesn't He simply transplant or create life anew on planets in younger solar systems without waiting for the Hawking Plan to do it? Why doesn't God prevent aging stars from becoming red dwarfs so biological life will be preserved? It seems allowing life to evolve into advanced civilizations and then come up with something like the Hawking Plan and so on to save themselves by going into space is an awfully uncertain and haphazard way to propagate life! Is your God simply playing the odds?”

"My God," answered Luke firmly, "Is also Omniscient. He knows the future with absolute certainty. 'God knows all, but free will is given' is one of the mysteries that may forever remain beyond human understanding. That is all I have to say about the parallels between Panspermia and ‘intelligent design’. Please let’s go on with my explanations for the difference between the six-thousand years since Creation in the Bible and the billions of years in the geological record. For now, please accept that I am not slanting the Hawking Plan studies towards some stalking horse for intelligent design.”

“OK, Luke, I believe you. Please proceed.”

“The second explanation is that Adam and Eve were the first humans to have mastered metaphoric language. Early humans, like animals of today, spoke in non-metaphoric warnings and commands and requests. According to the latest language and brain research, metaphoric languages did not develop until around six-thousand years ago. Since language is necessary for formation of complex thoughts, Adam and Eve, six-thousand years ago, were the first humans whose brains could conceive a fully-flowered conception of God.”

“OK, Luke, I kind of like that one.” I said, “You’ve given two explanations, but you said you had a few. Two is not a ‘few’!”

“The third explanation requires a story. While you were at the DoHiMuTo yesterday morning, I visited a factory south of Tokyo where one of my former colleagues, an industrial engineer, works. They make watches with moving mechanical hands there. Have you ever seen one? My grandmother had one in a glass case. Well, they are the latest youth fashion craze, I can’t understand why…”

“As a matter of fact, my daughter Rebecca has one,” I interrupted, “And she made fun of me because I didn’t know how to read it. I mean, I could read it, but it took me a fair amount of time to do so. OK, so you went to the watch factory. Where are we going here?” Luke began to reply, but I interrupted him again. “Hey! My daughter Rebecca says they have a new model available only in Japan and she wants me to get one for her and a few to give to her friends. Could your colleague at the watch factory get some for me?”

“Sure,” replied Luke, “I’ll call him tomorrow and inquire about availability and cost and so on. Glad to be of service!”

“Thanks,” I said, “Rebecca will be thrilled! Where were we? Oh, yes, I was asking about your story. Where are we going here?”

“So,” continued Luke, “My friend showed me the machine that assembles the watches from the basic parts, you know the hands and gears and springs and whatnot. It takes about thirty seconds for each watch to be fully assembled. I picked up one of the watches as it came off the line and I read the time. The hour hand was between the ‘ten’ and ‘eleven’ and the minute hand on the ‘five,’ so it was ten twenty-five. I checked my read-WINs and the watch was correct!"

“So,” I said, “The machine is connected to the WIN and it knows the time in Tokyo and it quickly advances the gears of the watch to that time. What is the big deal? Where are we going here?”

“Don’t you get it?” asked Luke, smiling broadly. “The watch was created thirty seconds ago – I saw it with my own eyes – yet, according to the position of the mechanical hands, it has been going for over ten hours. God could have created the Earth and plants and animals and humans six thousand years ago and then ‘quickly advanced the gears' of the geological and archeological and genetic 'clocks' to four and a half billion years! How can we tell?”

“Hmm,” I began, “God could have created the world seconds ago and pre-loaded your brain and mine with made-up ‘memories’ of the last thirty years of our lives! But why Luke? Why would God fake the geological and archeological and genetic records?”

“Jim, my friend, you know the answer! To prove our faith!”

“Thank you Luke, I really appreciate your efforts, particularly the use of gematria to derive pi to four significant figures! I think it is time to say adios – I’m sorry, goodbye – and for me to get to bed.”

As I approached Stephanie to congratulate her on the TABB Planning Board decision and thank her for the party, I considered the possibility of getting another lambada hug. Razón told me it was not going to happen in front of the TABB Board members, but my estímulo sexual had fe.

My flag was at half-mast and rising rapidly and I had to think of having sex with the grossly overweight Board member from NortAmer to get it back down. Of course, Stephanie only gave me a light hug. As usual in my case, razón won out over fe.

Never-the-less, my estímulo sexual regained control when I was safely in bed. I had a wonderfully satisfying autoerotic fantasy with Stephanie, and then fell fast asleep.

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Chapter 4 - Incident in the Ginza

2009-01-04T16:52:00.009-05:00

June 2052

Luke and I and the rest of the Hawking Plan team joined Stephanie for breakfast in the hotel restaurant as usual. She gave us the great news that the Board Chairperson had informed her there was no more need for input. Approval was a guaranteed formality.

As our sleeplane reservations were for the following morning, we were free to spend the day sightseeing in Tokyo! Stephanie was familiar with the city, having lived there for a couple of years during her TBI tenure. She volunteered to be our tour guide. I demurred. “Stephanie, I appreciate the offer, however, I’d like to go back to the DoHiMuTo and take another look at the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

Luke apparently took that as an indication of my continuing struggle to free myself from the tyranny of pure reason and find my true faith. “Jim,” he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to accompany you to the museum and see the Dead Sea Scrolls myself. This could be an opportunity of a lifetime for me.” I readily agreed.

“OK then,” said Stephanie, “Anyone who doesn’t plan to go sightseeing with me should be back at the hotel by 4 PM. I’ve made reservations for all of us for the 4:30PM Kabuki-za Theater show and then dinner in the Ginza.”

“Stephanie,” I asked, "Before we depart I have a question about DoCoMo and DoHiMuTo. You know a little Japanese …”

“Sure do,” she snapped, “Goku Hikui is his name, and he’s a ‘little Japanese’ – only a bit over a meter and a quarter tall! He works for the TBI in Omaha. I was on a case with him in 2043.”

“Funny,” I replied with a frown, and went on, “DoCoMo, the big Japanese communications company, is ‘Do Communications Mobile’ in English, but docomo in Japanese means ‘everywhere.’ I was wondering if dohimuto has any meaning as a Japanese word or phrase.”

“OK,” replied Stephanie, “I’ll be serious. Dohi could mean ‘local rebels’ or ‘servant’ and muto could mean ‘without lights’ or ‘unsweetened.’ I don’t believe dohi muto is a common Japanese phrase, but I could be wrong. If it is, it may mean ‘servant without lights’ or ‘local rebel without lights’ or ‘servant unsweetened’ or ‘local rebel unsweetened.’ I’m not sure what any of that could possibly mean. Um … perhaps a ‘misguided servant’? Someone who tries so hard to please his master he loses his guiding lights and goes overboard? You know, some people are overly impressed with authority figures. Despite their normal ethical behavior, they do things to please their masters and end up getting everyone in trouble! Perhaps, that kind of person could be a dohi muto?”

At the DoHiMuTo, I introduced Luke to the Director of the secure section, the head “preservaciónista”. He gave us a personal tour of the public areas and “behind the scenes” to the laboratories. We did not let Luke in on anything about the “updates” they were making to the Dead Sea Scrolls. He had no official “need to know.” Our private tour was over in time for a quick lunch with the Director at the DoHiMuTo cafeteria. After lunch, we returned to the secure area. Luke and I found ourselves alone with the Dead Sea Scrolls.

As I held the ancient fragments in my gloved hands, I marveled that my emotions were even stronger than the day before. My knees buckled and I had to sit down. The notion these “voices from the past” were from God crossed my mind but I dismissed them, “with prejudice” as a judge might say. I read some portions to Luke and translated them to English. We recognized many of the verses. The words seemed familiar, yet not exactly as we remembered them. Unfortunately, read-WINs and other Internet-connected devices were banned from the secure section of the lab where we were viewing the fragments, so we couldn’t check the verses against the 1611 KJV.

Luke, for his part, was visibly moved to be in the presence of writings from two-thousand years ago. Jesus Himself might have read and touched them. They existed in His time and not far from where He walked the Earth. Luke thrilled to hear the same verses he had read in the 1611 KJV, more or less. He held back from pushing me to accept his religioso feelings. Luke said he was sure God, in His own time, would show me the way – or not – he left it to God.

We returned to the hotel in time to wash up and be ready for the evening Ginza tour. “Kabuki,” Stephanie told us, “Means song and dance with techniques from ancient times. Kabuki lovers purchase tickets for all four acts, but I’m not sure your American tastes can stand that much so we’re only going to see the first act.”

The one act was only mildly entertaining. I appreciated it as a “museum experience” and was glad to leave the theater. “You know,” I joked, “If we had kabuki in the US, they could make a fortune if they let people in for free and charged them to leave.” Stephanie was not amused. She knew the language and appreciated the techniques, having taken some classes in them during her stay in Japan.

Dinner at the Hinazushi Restaurant in the Ginza was fabulous. Although I was not one to chow down on sushi, with Stephanie’s help I found some raw tuna I enjoyed quite a bit. I also liked the white cream korokke, creamed corn sticks covered in breadcrumbs and deep-fried. They were served with cabbage. Stephanie broke her rules about mind-altering chemicals and allowed everyone to have one small cup of sake. After dinner, we followed Stephanie down the back alleys of the Ginza, purchased some souvenirs, and looked into some bars. Of course, we didn’t consume any more alcohol. We employees knew the rules.

As we approached each bar, she translated its name into English. One was the “Hectic Bar.” It looked anything but! It occurred to me that she was making the names up but, once inside, I spotted a small sign in English confirming the name. The “Conniver's Bar” had more patrons but they seemed somewhat spacey. “This would be a great place,” said Luke with a grin on his face, “To do research on human hibernation for our Noah's Ark option!”

“No need,” answered Stephanie, “We can just pack them up and ship them out to some far-away galaxy as they are.”

It occurred to me that she knew these bars from her time as a TBI agent in Tokyo. She probably spent time in them with her "graybeard" mentors. “Say Stephanie,” I blurted, not intending to say it aloud, “These patrons don't look like TBI agents at all!”

She looked at me in apparent shock that I had put two and two together and got four. After a considerable pause, she recovered her equanimity and, in a distinctive gruf voice that was probably an imitation of one of her TBI associates, she said “If covert agents looked the part they would not be very good at clandestine missions, would they?” She surveyed the place and added, wistfully, “Besides, it’s still quite early in the evening.” She said nothing about her TBI mission in Tokyo nor exotic adventures in the back bars of the Ginza. Perhaps her animosity towards mind-altering drugs had been formed in these precincts.

Things were going quite well on our back alley tour until we turned a corner and were confronted by two masked men, one with a knife. The shorter shouted something in Japanese as the taller stood back and waved his blade wildly in the air. I was too scared to do anything beyond standing there with my hands up. The other members of the party had the same reaction, except for Stephanie!

She said “konwakai, waheikyo tel” which seemed to calm the robbers down a notch or two. She was totally at ease and in control. “OK everyone,” she said, “Let’s not do anything crazy. EtGay DyReay OTay UnRay.” I was too nervous to decode the pig Latin.

Stephanie showed the robbers the palms of her empty hands and slowly reached up as if to remove her necklace, carefully turning her body so they could appreciate her feminine curves. Then, quite unexpectedly, she ran forward, kicked the knife out of the tall one’s hand, and rotated around to smash the shorter in his face. He screamed in pain and fell to the sidewalk. His confederate helped him up and the two ran down the alley.

Just as quickly, the members of our team ran the other way with me in the rear. The others understood what she had said in pig Latin. A moment later, she joined us. She had remained behind long enough to pick up the knife and was holding it with a plastic bag. “Hola Estephania!” I thought, having met yet another Stephanie. There seemed to be no end to her amazing variations.

The advent of the “positive ID” society in reaction to the terrorists had, as a welcome side effect, eliminated nearly all common, petty crimes. People could normally walk with safety in any area of most towns and cities. This incident in the Ginza was quite an anomaly.

One advantage of a cashless society was that things of value were not anonymous and fungible. Jewelry and expensive or secure electronics such as PIDs, ear pods and read-WINs were manufactured with unique and hard-to-remove identifiers. Many were keyed to the biometrics of their legal owners and would not operate properly for others. Some were WIN-connected and reported their locations every minute if in an area, like the Ginza, with WIN coverage. Even antique jewelry that had no unique identifiers had limited value. In a cashless society, it could not be pawned for cash, only exchanged for a credit to the thief’s bank account, or the account of a confederate of the thief. That would create a record of the item pawned and the personal ID of the person pawning it. Thieves were caught quickly.

Stephanie’s scepter was equipped with a transmitter triggered if it was more than ten meters from a device implanted under the skin of her shoulder. Had the thieves run off with her scepter, an alert would have gone out and armed helicopters would have tracked them down within an hour to recover it.

The two thieves had most likely disabled their PIDs after they left the main streets to hide in the alley. It would have been dumb to do so earlier because PID readers were located at all main street intersections and a missing PID would cause an alert, with their video images, to be flashed to a koban (urban police outpost). People without PIDs were quite rare so the keisatsu (police) would have sent a squad car out to investigate. However, Stephanie’s quick reaction provided even better evidence. The thief’s blood was on her shoe.

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Let’s go to the nearest koban and report this crime. We’ll give them this knife and the blood sample so they can do a DNA run. He’ll be identified quickly!”

Thankfully, our visit to the koban was quite brief. The two keisatsu officers staffing the station were happy to get some business. They accepted the evidence and took a short video statement from Stephanie. Each of us was photographed and scanned and sniffed by a PID reader. We were informed the physical evidence was so great it was unlikely we would be called to testify as witnesses.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Hawking Plan team, mi amigos,” Stephanie said calmly, “This incident in the Ginza has certainly been the highlight of our sightseeing tour! It is now time to go back to our hotel and get ready for the sleeplane flight home tomorrow. You’ve each done a tremendous job and I am proud to be in your company.”

At the hotel, Stephanie gave everyone a kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. I felt my flag begin to rise at the prospect of a lambada hug. But, it was not to be.

Somewhat dejected, I returned to my hotel room. I took a long Japanese bath, frolicked with the image of the geisha in the tub, and hit the sack. It was not long before ‘Stephanie’ arrived and we had a wonderful autoerotic fantasy after which I dozed off.

A moment later, I awoke with a start. I had not called and spoken to my wife and children that evening! Now it was too late. I had been in the middle of my delicious white cream korokke when it was time to call, and I totally forgot. I sent a text message to Esther, using the excuse that the Hawking Plan had been approved and, with this great news, we had to work on our plans. “Events,” I wrote, “Have conspired to prevent me from calling during your short window of opportunity.” After that, I tossed and turned for a half hour, unable to sleep. So, I dialed up a pay-per-view geisha movie and was sound asleep within the first fifteen minutes.

Our home wasn’t far from the Orlando airport. I awoke on my sofa at 3:30 PM (with dry pants), in time to greet our children as they came home from school. Common crime had been reduced to the point it was considered safe to allow children as young as six to be home alone during the day. Our home had full video monitoring and alerting devices that would allow the children to call for help if necessary. In addition, Esther and I and several relatives and friends could look in on them via our read-WINs at any time.

Adam welcomed me with an unenthusiastic high-five and Rebecca gave me a perfunctory hug. They were used to having their father return from business trips so this was simply another ordinary day. They went off to their rooms, planning to stay there, as usual, until their mother came home and it was time for dinner.

I remembered the watches “with hands!” Luke had arranged for me to buy for Rebecca and some of her friends. I went to Rebecca’s room and gave a half-dozen to her. She gave me a very enthusiastic hug and kisses and thanked me profusely.

Esther, a college administrator, called as she was leaving work and asked me to get dinner ready. The menu had been set in advance, so all I had to do was confirm the time and the automatic refrigerator/freezer/food preparation appliance did the rest. I asked Rebecca to help me set the table. “It’s Adam’s turn,” she replied.

“Adam didn’t get any watches ‘with hands!’ today,” I replied.

“Nolo problemo,” replied Rebecca. She complied, but without much enthusiasm.

Esther arrived at the expected time, gave me an especialmente sensuous hug, and our family sat down to dinner. “You had quite an adventure in the Ginza yesterday!” she said.

“How do you know I was in the Ginza yesterday?”

“Don’t you know? It’s all over the news! Everybody at work watched it on their read-WINs and they’re congratulating me. Your boss, Dr. Goldenrod, is quite a heroine. A surveillance camera on the Ginza main street caught that action near the alley. It’s in the shadows in a corner of the picture, but video enhancement makes it all quite viewable. They show your group running towards the camera after she kicks those guys. You’re the last one. Mi amigos are proud of you for being the one macho enough to stay behind to help her. The news also shows your group at the Ginza police station.”

“I guess,” I said, “It shows how much crime has decreased that a small incident like that gets on international video news!”

“Can we see that video news after dinner?” asked Adam. “Some boys at school said something about dad helping ‘Super Girl’ solve a crime, but I thought they were just making it up.”

“Yes, after dinner,” I replied, “I’d like to see it myself!”

“Who is Super Girl?” asked Rebecca.

“Well,” Esther answered, “She’s not really a girl. She’s a grown woman, and she’s your dad’s boss’s boss.”

“Muy Fresco!” she replied.

“I was worried when you didn’t call,” Esther continued, “Thanks for your message explaining why. I guess you didn’t mention the robbery so I wouldn’t worry. That’s a very thoughtful, loving act.” She leaned over and gave me a warm, juicy kiss.

I kissed and hugged her back and we stood up and embraced until the children said “aww…” in embarrassment. Of course, that only made us more demonstrably amorous.

Our home has a me-wall, short for “moveable entertainment wall,” that runs the length of the house. It can move four meters. Our bedrooms are all on one side of the me-wall and the kitchen and living room on the other. During the day, it is positioned to maximize the size of the kitchen and living room and, at night, to maximize the sizes of the bedrooms. That gives us as much living space as a house twenty percent larger with proportional savings in initial cost and heating and cooling bills.

The me-wall houses multiple projection devices that create large display areas on either side of the wall. Special furniture is bolted to it. For example, the children’s bedrooms have pull-down beds they deploy when they have friends over. The wall is also used for storage.

Our whole family gathered around the largest display wall to watch the video news reports of the incident in the Ginza. Most of the broadcast networks and a dozen different WIN sites featured it as their lead story, each with their own take on what happened. The children cheered as Stephanie kicked the thieves and as I “bravely” stayed behind and then lead her to our group after her heroism. “Thank God,” I thought to myself, “I was too nervous to decode the pig-Latin!”

That night Esther and I had about the best sex I could remember. Although she was a good deal shorter and a bit plumper and less atlético than my boss’s boss, I imagined I was having sex with Stephanie to raise my estimulo sexual. Just after I climaxed, I even said “Gracias Estephania.”

Luckily, my wife’s name is Esther and she's slightly hard of hearing. I remembered the sage advice of my department head at the University, “If you must have a girlfriend, make sure her first name is the same as your wife’s.”

“You know, Jim,” Esther said after we were done, “You are much nicer and more sexually adventurous than recently. It’s like you got a lesson from a geisha in the Ginza!”

“Not a lesson … from a geisha,” I replied hesitantly, “But I did watch a pay-per view geisha movie.” I didn’t mention I’d fallen asleep after the first fifteen minutes. Nor, of course, did I mention my asunto secreto with Stephanie.

Over the next week or two, between my autoerotic adventures with Stephanie and more adventurous intercourse than normal with Esther, I had some of the best sex of my life, both quantity and quality. She had orgasms a bit more often than in the recent past, which we both appreciated.

I recalled the classic tale of the couple who put a marble in a jar every time they had sex during the first year, then took one out each time in succeeding years, and never emptied the jar.

“Well,” I thought to myself, “At this rate we might empty that jar!” When I had sex with Esther, I would usually imagine she was Stephanie. Other times I would imagine Stephanie was in the room along with me and Esther – a ménage et toise – and the three of us would go at it. Other times Stephanie would just stand there and urge us on.

At work, I looked forward to Stephanie’s presentaciones video to our team every Monday morning. I caressed her every curve with my eyes as she sashayed back and forth, pointing to her charts and touching her hair as she spoke to the camera. I usually played the video several times, using slow motion to capture her poses, particularly when she bent down or turned sideways, which she did much more often than objectively necessary.

I wondered if she had a surveillance camera in my office. I didn’t care if she knew I was obsessed with her. In fact, I imagined she did know, and I enjoyed the prospect of her taking action on that knowledge!

Every day I hoped to be invited to a meeting en persona with Stephanie, or at least an interactive conversación video. But, I would have to content myself with my memories and her presentaciones video each Monday morning. From time to time I wondered if I was confabulating our asunto secreto in her Tokyo hotel suite.

Things were quite hectic in the Infinite Future Branch the first month after approval by the TABB Planning Board. I was working very hard, including some evenings and weekends. I had to attend interactive conversacións video with bidders and field inquiries from TABB contract office officials. I expanded my staff of full-time experts on various religions and part-timers from several universities. All were non-literal believers, vetted by the TBI and sworn to secrecy about the máquina del tiempo part of the Hawking Plan. As my staff grew my workload increased, proving Parkinson’s Law.

The wording changes had to be subtle, yet they had to meet Stephanie’s goal of pre-empting religioso backlash against the Hawking Plan. Changes had to be made in the e-texts in nearly two-dozen languages and for different denominations of each religion. I personally approved each change.

For the languages I didn’t understand and the less familiar religions, that required detailed discussions with translators and religious historians who were sensitive to the hidden meanings of words as perceived by each group. Once a change was approved, it was relatively easy for the e-texts to be “updated” (the term of art we used to obscure the fact we were revising history).

Most of the techniques we used had been honed by the TBI during the days of the máquina del tiempo portion of the contra-terror program. We adapted them to the security features of the new generation of computers and software.

All WIN servers, as part of their normal weekly maintenance, were taken offline for up to an hour. All data was erased and then refreshed by downloading from redundant servers before being put back online. The maintenance was done to make sure the hardware was in tip-top shape and also to eliminate ‘fragmentation” and “memory leaks.” The TBI Cryptographic Bureau had access to all WIN servers. To propagate the updates, they made sure the refreshed data came from a server under their control, into which they had uploaded the word changes. New wording was introduced gradually and spread from server to server as they refreshed themselves.

The TBI Cryptographic Bureau was also tasked with the job of updating all e-photos of the original or oldest extant manuscript of each scripture. Since everybody knew e-photos were subject to photo shopping, nearly all museums and universities had had them “watermark encrypted” for decades to assure changes would be detected. The TBI cleverly introduced a new standard for encryption and safeguarding of e-photos. They asked all holders of e-photos of originals or old manuscripts to submit them for conversion to the new standard. Since virtually all museums and universities were funded by TABB or various TABB-associated TCs, they all complied quickly. They also obediently destroyed the old digital files. The updates I ordered were introduced during this conversion.

The heavy workload took a toll on my sex life. While in the middle of an autoerotic fantasy with Stephanie, she suddenly refused to cooperate. Another time, during sex with Esther, I imagined Stephanie in the room and making disparaging remarks. It appeared we would not empty that marble jar after all. My university department head had said, “There is only so much toothpaste in a tube. After you squeeze out the last few drops, that’s it.”

One day I inadvertently pressed the top elevator button. When I stepped out on Stephanie’s floor, her secretary, the IRA named XI whose desk was by the elevator, called me by name and asked if I had an appointment. I blushed and rushed back into the elevator. Would XI tell Stephanie? What would she think? What if she had been there and seen me? Was pushing that button a Freudian slip?

It was my task to take Adam and Rebecca to soccer games when I was in town. I was pleased to see that Rebecca’s friend Carol’s mother was there. I didn’t know her actual name so I made one up for internal record keeping. “Lolita” was a hairdresser and definitely not as smart as Esther. However, she was quite a bit slimmer, had a gorgeous face, long blond hair, and a vivacious personality. Several months before, Lolita had given me a full-body hug after Rebecca had passed the ball to her daughter Carol who had scored a critical goal. That hug fueled several autoerotic fantasies.

I was aching for another hug to revive my sex life. Sure enough, Lolita spotted me and came running over. “Thanks for the watch ‘with hands!’ that Rebecca gave Carol. It was so loving of you to bring it back from Japan for her.” With that, she gave me a tight hug. I held on for a bit longer than normal. She didn’t pull away. In fact, she tightened her grip a bit, or at least I thought she did. That incident brought Lolita back into my sex life. A few times when I was having sex with Esther, I imagined she was Lolita. Lolita starred or co-starred in my autoerotic activities for a week or more.

Then, it was all over. When I was with Esther and imagining she was Lolita, Stephanie would appear and make nasty comments. One time, when I was having an autoerotic fantasy with Lolita, Stephanie appeared and took Lolita away for some lesbian sex, which Lolita seemed to enjoy. I recruited several other women from work into my sex fantasy world, but, each time, Stephanie would ruin it for me. In the three short months since our asunto secreto, my estímulo sexual had gone from “way overcharged” to nearly “dead battery.”

Months of hard work, overtime, and frequent trips took their toll on my health as well. I gained fifteen pounds. “If I put on any more weight,” I thought to myself, “They’ll think I’m pregnant, for God’s sake.” On the other hand, the extreme effort made the days, weeks, and months run into each other and pass rapidly. Before I knew it, it was reasonably cool in Orlando – perfect October weather.

I received an alert that someone had requested my PID records for June 8th through the 14th. The person was identified as Yitzchak bar Mats, Be’er Sheva, Israel – a name I did not recognize and a city I had never visited. I checked my e-calendar for those dates and found:

08 June 2052: Orl-Tok.
09 June 2052: Tok.
10 June 2052: Evening walk.
11 June 2052: DoHiMuTo, pitch to TPB – Team Building Exercise w Steph – WOW!
12 June 2052: TPB Q&A – Kabuki entertainers, buffet.
13 June 2052: DoHiMuTo – Ginza: Kabuki, dinner, incident WOW!
14 June 2053: Tok-Orl.

I dismissed the PID alert as a mistake. Whoever the person was, he had the wrong O’Brian. I decided it was not worth the fee to get any additional information on this Yitzchak whoever he was.

I found Stephanie’s Monday presentaciones video much less exciting and quickly figured out why. She was no longer sashaying around and bending over to point to her charts. On the other hand, she seemed more feminine than ever, with an especial glow. I went to the trouble of accessing a few of her past presentaciones video files from the archives for comparison purposes. Once again, I used slow motion to catch her sexy poses.

Finally, I was invited to her office for a meeting en persona. I once more found myself going “up” in the elevator. When she greeted me at the door, with a light hug, it was obvious why she had been sitting for the Monday presentaciones video. She was pregnant! As she walked towards her chair, I noted how good she looked – from behind. However, when she turned sideways and sat down, her big belly was off-putting. I had a mental flashback to our asunto secreto in Tokyo in June. It had been four and a half months. While I’m not a gynecologist, she looked to be about that far along. I asked when the baby was due. “It’s really none of your business,” she said coolly, “But, she’s due around the end of March or the beginning of April.”

“Could it be my baby?” I wondered. We had not used protection because I assumed she was on the PP-pill. Could the rumors be correct that her husband really was her merkin or beard? Was her husband “shooting blanks”? Was that why she picked me to be the father of her baby? Why the hell didn’t she just go to an embryo catalog like regular civilized people?

The embryo catalog was introduced with great controversy and opposition in the late 2020’s and by 2050 nearly half the newborns in the US were cats – catalog children. In NortAmer, three large TCs offered online catalogs showing children at various ages, from infancy to young adulthood. Data was provided on the height, weight, strength and other physical attributes of the model children, along with special talents such as music, art, mathematics, science, sports, and so on. Any woman could purchase a cloned embryo implant and, given proper nutrition, stimulation, and education, it was almost certain to develop much like the model in the catalog.

Prospective parents usually picked a model similar to them with respect to facial features and body shape – only prettier or more handsome. They would also choose the talents and attributes they valued most. Some favored athletic ability and good looks. Others chose academic intelligence and talents in music and art. Still others would pick models with celebrity fathers and/or mothers.

The TCs created the embryos by recruiting men and women who, according to market surveys, had the looks and talents most in demand. The couple contributed an egg and sperm to be mated in a laboratory. The resultant embryonic stem cell was allowed to double, quadruple, and so on until, ten doublings later, there were one-thousand twenty-four of them. At that point, the cells were separated and all but six were frozen away. The six were developed into live embryos, two of which were tested for known genetic diseases and then destroyed. If they did not get a completely clean bill of health, the remaining embryos and embryonic stem cells were also destroyed.

If OK, a half-dozen embryos were implanted in women who, in return for free medical coverage, allowed catalog photos to be taken every six months, along with tests of intelligence, reaction times, muscle strength, and so on. As the child developed into a teen-ager and then a young adult, data was taken on their school grades, athletic ability, and talents in music, math, language arts, and so on.

If all went as planned, eighteen to twenty years later, each model child, called an “original cat,” had grown to become a young adult. The original cats received a percentage of sales of their clone embryos. Depending upon the success of their model, they would have money for college, or to start a business and so on. If they did not qualify for the catalog, the frozen embryos for their model would be disposed of. However, the original cats and their mothers would have had the benefit of many years of free medical coverage.

Our oldest, Rebecca, was a natural child, called a nat. We were thankful she turned out to be normal and free of known genetic defects. A couple years later, when we decided to have a second child, we wanted to guarantee having a boy, so we turned to the embryo catalog. Adam’s facial features and skin tone are quite close to the average of Esther and me. To a casual observer he was often mistaken for a nat. He turned out pretty similar to his original cat except for being a bit plumper and having an IQ five points higher.

Adam teased his sister about her being a nat while he was a cat. “Nats are like a ‘shot in the dark’ you can never know how they’ll turn out,” he said, “For example, look at you!”

Of course, Rebecca returned the insult. “Cats are like ‘so boring’ and ordinary,” she said, “I’m unique, one of a kind! You are just a stranger we are raising out of the goodness of our hearts.”

Luke and his wife had religious objections so their children were nats. Mary, one of their fraternal twin daughters was learning-disabled. Her sister, Martha, was intelligent and good-looking. Their oldest and youngest sons, James and Jess were normal, but their middle son, John, had MS. They accepted Mary’s learning disability and John’s MS as “God’s decision.”

Stephanie sat in her recliner and invited me to use the closest chair. “It has been a while, Jim,” she began, “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been doing OK,” I replied. I wondered if her pregnancy – perhaps with my baby – was why we were meeting.

“That’s good,” she said, unenthusiastically.

A moment later Luke Mathews and Stephanie’s assistant, VI, arrived. Luke sat next to me and the robot sat in the far left corner. “Gentlemen,” Stephanie began, “I’ve asked VI to sit in on this meeting and take some notes. You have a problem! Exactly what in hell were you two doing during your multiple visits to the DoHiMuTo when we were in Tokyo for the TABB Planning Board meeting?

"According to PID records, you, Jim, were there four times, once on the morning of June 11th, the second time that evening, the third the morning of the 13th, and the fourth that afternoon. You, Luke, were there three times, once on the evening of June 11th, the second time the morning of the 13th, and the third, the afternoon of the same day.”

Luke leaned over and whispered, “The only time I was at the DoHiMuTo was with you on our last day in Tokyo. Why is that temptress of Satan lying about me being there on two different days? Be careful what you say, I’ll bet she’s got a video recorder going.”

“I got an alert,” I whispered back, “For the days we were in Tokyo about a PID query from a guy in Israel,”

“So did I. Something bad happened there and she’s trying to pin it on us. Admit nothing.”

“HEY!” shouted Stephanie, “Why are you two whispering?”

“Stephanie,” Luke began, “I was at the DoHiMuTo with Jim only on the 13th. I am quite sure I was not there on the 11th. All we did at the DoHiMuTo was get a tour and have lunch with the Director and, in the afternoon, look at the Dead Sea Scrolls. Jim read many of the fragments to me in Hebrew and translated them into English.”

“Why then,” Stephanie asked, “Do the PID records show you and Jim – and only the two of you – all alone in the special secure laboratory of the DoHiMuTo for three hours on the evening of the 11th and again on the afternoon of the 13th?” She emphasized the all alone and only the two of you aspect of the PID record.

“I have no idea, Stephanie,” replied Luke.

“What do you have to say, Jim?” she demanded. I remembered I was in Stephanie’s bed on the evening of the 11th with my PID in modo contrario. The faked location was the special secure lab at the DoHiMuTo! Luke was not with me on the 11th. Modo contrario was TBI-Secret so I could not mention it at this meeting without violating security rules because he had no official “need to know.” “Stephanie,” I replied, measuring my words, “Perhaps … if you tell us what the problem is we’ll be able to help you solve it.”

“Someone paid a large fee to obtain my PID records for those seven days,” she replied. “His name is Yitzchak bar Mats and he lives in Be’er Sheva, Israel. Do either of you know him?” Luke and I shook our heads from side to side. I was about to tell her, as I had earlier whispered to Luke, that my PID records had also been queried by the same person, but I decided to simply answer the question literally.

“Well,” continued Stephanie, “I queried Yitzchak bar Mats and it turns out he’s a lowly document custodian at the Shrine of the Book museum in Jerusalem. You know, Jim, the museum that lent the Dead Sea Scrolls to the DoHiMuTo for your preservation work. So, I used my scepter to check what other PID records he had accessed and – bingo – I found out he checked your records Jim, and also yours Luke for those same three days we were in Tokyo!”

“Stephanie,” said Luke, “I received an alert about that guy querying me last month. However, I didn’t follow up on it.”

Me too,” I added. “I put it down as a mistaken query.”

At that moment Stephanie’s secretary, XI, opened her office door and said, simply, “He’s here …”

Stephanie brightened and rushed to the door. “Of course, come in, come in!” A short, stout man with a full head of steel-gray hair, perhaps 70 years old, walked in. She gave him a warm hug.
He patted her on the tummy and said, “Looks like my little girl has been fooling around! I hope everything comes out OK.” They both laughed and hugged again.

“This,” announced Stephanie to the visitor, “Is Luke Mathews, our system engineer, and Jim O’Brian, our religion guy.”

“Hi,” said Luke, “I didn’t catch your name.”

Stephanie and the visitor looked at each other. “I’m sorry, his name is … uh, Barbas Grises.” The visitor smiled slyly at Stephanie.

“Hello Barbas,” replied Luke, “Pleased to meet you. You have an unusual name, what nationality is it?”

“Umm, Barbas Grises is a … a Turkish, British, Indian name. Not the ‘feathers’ kind of Indian but the ‘Taj Mahal’ kind. It was the most beautiful place in the world until those Goddamned bombardeos del suicidio blew it up. I was there shortly after it happened back in 2034. What a mess they made, and for what? They destroyed the most aesthetically impressive building ever conceived by man!”

I realized immediately the visitor was one of Stephanie’s mentors from the TBI. “Barbas Grises” – “Beard Gray” – was definitely not his name. Did he make a Freudian slip when he gave his nationality as “Turkish British Indian” – “TBI”? Did long-toothed graybeards from the TBI make Freudian slips?

“Barbas,” Stephanie asked, “Do you have any questions for Jim and Luke? By the way they both received PID alerts about . . .”

“Stephanie! Stop!” He replied quite sharply. “Let your employees answer for themselves! Let’s see if they can tell which way the train went by smelling the tracks!”

Then, while looking at Luke, he said, “Jim, what do you know about this ‘Itzhak’ guy?”

"I’m not Jim,” said Luke, “And his name is ‘Yitzchak.’ Yitzchak bar Mats. Stephanie told us he is a book custodian in Israel.”

“If you’re not Jim,” said Barbas to Luke with a scowl, “Why did you answer? I clearly said ‘Jim,’ didn’t I?” Luke looked amazed.

“I’m Jim,” I interrupted, “And all I know is his name and he lives in Be’er Sheva in Israel. The only reason I remember his name and city is Stephanie mentioned it to us a few minutes ago, before you came in. I got a PID alert about his query about two weeks ago.”

“I was talking to Yitzchak,” Barbas said, looking at Luke.

“My name is Luke not ‘Yitzchak’,” said Luke, with a smile, “I answered when you said ‘Jim’ because you were looking directly at me. I thought you thought I was Jim, now you think I’m ‘Yitzchak’.”

“Stephanie,” said Barbas in a serious tone, “How do these clowns ever get any work done?” She remained silent. “Let me ask again, gentlemen, did you each get a PID alert from Israel for the days you were visiting that 'high moo' museum in Tokyo?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Yes, what?” asked Stephanie.

“Yes,” I continued, being very careful to give precise answers but not admit anything about the evening of the 11th. “I received a PID alert a couple weeks ago that said someone I don’t know named Yitzchak bar Mats from Be’er Sheva, Israel had queried me for; I guess it was June 11th through the 13th, plus a couple days before and after – the time we traveled to and from Tokyo.

"According to what Stephanie told us before you got here, that was when we were in Tokyo. I checked my e-calendar for those days and determined I had visited the DoHiMuTo, you know the Documentary History Museum of Tokyo, on two of those days. I did not follow up because I assumed it was a mistake on his part to query me. My name is quite common.”

“Excelente,” said the visitor, “Finally we are getting somewhere! And you?” he said looking at Luke, “What do you say?”

“Sir,” said Luke, “I also got a PID alert like Jim’s. I don’t keep an e-calendar for past events. I just dismissed the alert as a false query. Before you got here, Stephanie told me she queried my PID for June 8th through 14th and it said I was at the museum the 11th and 13th. That is not correct. I was there only one day, probably the 13th.”

“Why are you lying to me?” asked the visitor in a rough voice, “If a PID query says you were somewhere, you must have been there! If you do not keep an e-calendar for past events, how can you be so sure you were not there both days? You can’t hide from me!”

“Sir,” said Luke quite calmly but also firmly, “I do not lie! If anyone is lying it is you. I don’t think your name is ‘Barbas Grises’ nor do I think your nationality is ‘Turkish British Indian.’ I very clearly remember going to the museum with Jim. We were there both before and after lunch on the same day. I had never been to that museum before that one day visit or after.”

“I can testify that Luke never lies,” I said, trying to be helpful. “I was there alone on the 11th and with him on the morning and afternoon of the 13th.” I was going to tell Barbas Luke was a Bible-believing Christian, but thought better of it.

“And on the 11th?” asked Barbas, looking at me, “You were there both in the morning and the afternoon?” I looked at Stephanie for help. If I denied being there in the evening, I would be revealing the TBI-Secret modo contrario feature of her scepter. If I admitted it, I would be lying. Something had gone down at the DoHiMuTo on June 11th and she was trying to pin it on Luke and me. Besides, Barbas had said ‘afternoon’ and the PID record said ‘evening'.

“Answer him,” Stephanie said pointedly, offering no help.

“I can’t say,” I hedged.

“You can’t say what?” asked Barbas. “Talking to you I feel like I’m banging my head against the wall!”

“I just can’t say,” I repeated, looking at Stephanie for help.

“Any more questions for Luke and Jim?” she asked.

“Yes, Jim,” the visitor began, “What exactly were you doing with a ‘person of interest’ at midnight on the 10th of June? Your PID record shows you walked along the river near Tokyo Bay prior to your reconnoiter with that person. That seems suspicious to me.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I replied, having forgotten my walk and chance meeting with a low-class prostitute.

Stephanie looked at me with great surprise. “OK,” she said, turning back to the visitor, “I assume you have no more questions?”

“No,” said the visitor, “But, sure as hell is seven times colder than it ought to be, someone is lying. I cannot legislate morality, but I can smell a lie a mile away. In dealings with me, gentlemen, avoid lying like the plague! I will thoroughly investigate the facts in this case and there will be hell to pay if anyone is lying! You’ll find I succeed because I try real hard!”

Luke stood and walked to the door and I followed. Barbas had put his read-WINs on and made no attempt to shake our hands or say adios. Stephanie waved, indicating it was OK for us to leave.

While waiting for the elevator Luke and I had a hushed conversation. “Call the Flatitude Squad,” I began, “That guy really needs an anti-bromide!”

“Yeah,” replied Luke, “He’s a retired TBI, I’ll bet, who Stephanie knows from her career there. I don’t trust her, at all. And, he may be Satan in the flesh!”

“I agree with you he’s TBI. What the hell is going on, Luke?”

“Something that has Stephanie nervous,” replied Luke. “Either the Hawking Plan is in trouble or she did something in Tokyo she wants to push off on us. Also, I think that TBI guy was only pretending to be incompetent. On the other hand, the old coot might have lost his marbles in retirement.”

“I know some things,” I whispered, “That are TBI-Secret and I can’t tell you because you don’t have the official ‘need to know’.”

“Jim,” Luke replied, “You just told me what I need to know!”

At that moment, Stephanie came running out of her office, her "pregers belly" bouncing up and down a bit. “Jim,” she shouted, “Don’t get on that elevator yet!” She motioned Luke to get on and me to remain.

She pulled me to a corner far from her secretary's desk. “Jim,” she said sternly, “You must never reveal any TBI Secrets to anyone who does not have official ‘need to know.’ You must not tell Luke about modo contrario and the máquina del tiempo aspect of the contra-terror program. Do you understand? Not only is your job at stake. Possibly also your life and the lives of your family members are at risk here. We have powerful enemies who may be willing to kill. I can tell you no more at this time. You must be a good boy.”

I considered reminding her my PID records for the evening of June 11th were false because she put my PID into modo contrario for our asunto secreto with the DoHiMuTo as the false location. However, I assumed her instructions not to tell Luke about modo contrario was her way of acknowledging it. She dismissed me abruptly and I went down, way down in the elevator.

That evening, I had mutually satisfying sex with Esther for the first time in months. Stephanie did not enter my mind. Her pregnancy had cured my obsession. That, and her attempt to frame Luke and me for whatever had happened at the DoHiMuTo in Tokyo. My sex life, both with my wife and in autoerotic fantasies with women I met, gradually returned to the level that had been normal prior to our asunto secreto. I liked to think things were a bit better with Esther, but I could not be sure.

Weeks went by with no mention of the DoHiMuTo incident, whatever it was. I heard nothing from Stephanie or Barbas, or from Yitzchak bar Mats for that matter. I allowed it to slip out of my consciousness. By early November, with the modification process for e-texts and e-photos of originals and old manuscripts well in hand, I changed my focus to altering the hard copy relics. The preservaciónista work on the Dead Sea Scrolls had been a successful test run for the process.

I took a brief trip to Cape Town and London to check on update work being done in those cities on various relic documents. My staff and I established a firm policy of doing updates in locations remote from the museums where the relics were normally housed. Christian scriptures were modified in EastAsia, Confucian scriptures in Africa, Hindu scriptures in Europe and so on to reduce the chances of detection by any secret religiosas locas of scriptures he or she might regard as sacred.

All preservaciónistas were vetted by the TBI, certified as non-believers, and sworn to secrecy as a condition of further employment, but you couldn’t be too careful.

When I returned from London, Esther told me about an interesting incident at our synagogue. In traditional Jewish services, the Torah scroll, which contains the five Books of Moses, is taken out of a cabinet called the “Ark” and the weekly portion is read in Hebrew from the scroll. This tradition dates to the scribe Ezra who compiled the Hebrew Bible in 444BC. As the reader chants the words from the scroll, which are written in Hebrew without vowels, an assistant called the gabbai follows along using a printed copy or an e-text that has the vowels. If the gabbai notices an error, and if the error is in the Torah, that scroll is no longer kosher, and must be sent to a scribe for correction.

The advent of high quality video surveillance at the western wall in Jerusalem changed all that. Some Israeli entrepreneur got the bright idea of making videos of the western wall service available on the WIN. Most congregations happily abandoned reading their own Torah scroll in favor of the video version. It was more convenient and more inspirational, coming from the holiest site in Judaism.

“So, Jim,” Esther said, “You know we usually use the Jerusalem video, but every year we have this traditional Torah service. So last week is the traditional service and, as usual 89-year old Jacob Cohen is the reader and 78-year old Moshe Rosenstern is the gabbai following along on the read-WIN. Suddenly Moshe cries, “Stop! Stop! You made an error!”

“So?” I asked with great interest, “What was the error?”

“Well,” continued Esther, “Moshe checks the scroll and it turns out that Jacob read it correctly. Then, he compares the words in the e-text on his read-WIN to the scroll and they are different! ‘Oy’, he moans. “Meanwhile the Rabbi says, ‘Our Torah is not kosher and we have to take out another Torah or stop the service.’”

“Our synagogue,” I said, “Has only one Torah scroll.”

“So, wait till you hear,” continued Esther, “The Rabbi sends our service IRA to his office to get a printed copy of the Torah, but the brown-suited robot comes back after five minutes and tells us it can’t find any. ‘Oy,’ says the Rabbi, ‘I discarded all the printed books when the Alte-Rebbe left five years ago.’ Why store and schlep printed books when the e-texts are available on the read-WINs? So, they put the Torah back in the Ark, and continue by using the read-WINs. After the service, they say they’re going to send the Torah away to be fixed and so on. Instead, at the next Board meeting, they decide to never have another traditional Torah service. I think that’s a good decision. The western wall video is so much more dramatic!”

“Do you remember which verse it was?” I asked, wanting to gauge whether a typical synagogue member would remember the details of my word modifications.

“Oh,” she replied, “Something about Abraham’s descendants going to settle on the stars in Heaven, I think. Do you know it?”

“Sorry,” I replied carefully, “I can’t say.” But, I knew the verse was Genesis 22:17, as well as the updates I had ordered. I was not lying to her either, I assured myself. She had no official “need to know.” I really “couldn’t say” anything about the verses to her.

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Chapter 5 -- Troubles and Turmoil

2009-01-04T12:34:00.005-05:00

December 2052

The proposals from TCs bidding for the Conceptual Study Contracts started to come in at the end of November. By the December deadline there were some two-hundred forty-one, far more than for any previous TABB project! After the Contracts Department logged them in, Luke’s System Team was the first to review the proposals. Once sorted by area of expertise the proposals were sent to experts for technical assessment and weighted grading.

Luke showed the results to me at a lunchtime meeting. “This list will be sent to Stephanie’s office where political criteria will be applied,” he explained. “Our rated recommendations will be boiled down, using what Stephanie calls ‘strategic’ factors, to a group of seventy-two TCs that will get Hawking Plan Conceptual Trade Study contracts. Of the seventy-two, a dozen will be funded by TABB and the remaining sixty will be self-funded by the TCs themselves.”

“Why don’t they just use the ratings the proposals received?” I asked. “They should give the TCs with the twelve highest-rated proposals funded contracts and award the sixty non-funded contracts to the highest rated TCs willing to self-fund. We want TABB money to be spent in the best possible way. We want the best contractors to do the studies and develop the technology and products we need. Isn’t it our duty to TABB and the TCs that fund TABB and, ultimately to the people of the Earth to select the most cost-effective contractors?”

“In an ideal world, maybe that would be the process!” replied Luke, chuckling. “TABB is not an ideal world. I only get peripherally involved in the ‘strategic’ factor analysis, but I’ve participated in enough proposal evaluations and contract awards to know that side of the selection is as important as the proposal evaluations we did. You are missing a critical point. The first priority of any project is to get and keep funding. I’ve seen perfectly wonderful technological work get thrown in the ashcan. Projects are cancelled if they lose support from the TCs that control TABB. It is mostly politics! I accept things as they are, rather than the ideal way God would run them.”

“OK, Give me an idea of how this all works. Keep it simple, I don’t want to know ‘how to build a clock,’ just ‘what time is it?’”

“Political criteria are applied because it is critically important that TCs from each of the seven geographic regions be more or less equally represented among the contract winners,” began Luke. “As you know, this is a problem because all the best proposals came from TCs in NortAmer, Europe and EastAsia. Only a couple dozen acceptable proposals came from the other four regions. It is expected that each geographic area will get a fair number of contracts. Thus, ‘affirmative action’ requires we award some contracts to less qualified bidders from under-represented areas of the world.”

The final award list was stuck in Stephanie’s department for over a month while her political operatives did their magic. Then, Stephanie’s baby arrived three weeks early. For the final selection, Luke had to go to the Maternity Ward to review the “politically weighted” list with the Queen Bee. She asked him to bring me along, which was surprising given my lack of expertise in contracts.

While there, we were among the first to welcome to the world Stephanie’s new daughter, whom she had named “Diega.” The fact that Diega was the feminized form of the Latinized version of “James” was not lost on me. Her husband was there but not in a sociable mood. He hardly spoke to Luke and he dissed me entirely.

Luke asked Stephanie why she had decided to have seventy-two contracts awarded, instead of the smaller number that was more usual. “Luke,” she said, “It was because of Jim’s story about the seventy-two translators in the miracle legend of the Septuagint. Also, this year, ‘2052’ is ‘72’ if you add the ‘20’ and the ’52.’

“You see Jim,” Luke laughed, “I’m not the only ‘Ku-ke’ person at TABB – Stephanie makes critical decisions based on religioso miracles and numerology!” From those remarks, it was clear to me for the first time that Luke knew people at TABB referred to him as “Ku-ke Lu-ke” because of his strong Christian beliefs. Stephanie laughed along with Luke. She rotated her fingers on either side of her head indicating she was kooky.

On our return to TABB, Luke gave me his evaluation of the final awards list. “In general,” he said, “I’m pleased with most of the awards on the final list. Nearly all the best proposals were given contracts. Only a few TCs I think are unqualified received contracts. I guess Stephanie or perhaps her superiors at the Regional HQ in Atlanta or the World HQ in Tokyo know they are particularly well politically connected or located in critical regions of the world. Such is political life. I’m glad I don’t have to make that type of decision.”

Within two days, Stephanie was back and in full command. Once again slim, a bit more ample in the bosom department and muy caliente as ever, she stood and pointed at her charts during the Monday morning presentaciones video. Ever since I had seen her pregnant, she had faded from my fantasy sex life. It was quite a relief not to have her showing up and interfering with my very happy life with Esther. Though Stephanie was back in shape, I made a resolución especial to never again allow her into my sex lives.

A day later she summoned Luke and me to her office. I noted with mental satisfaction I no longer went “up” in the elevator on the way up to her office. Was that because Luke was with me or my resolución especial?

“Jim and Luke,” her secretary XI said warmly as we got out of the elevator. “Stephanie is always punctual, but she hasn’t returned from lunch yet. Please go in while I locate her.”

Luke and I walked over to the large window to the left of Stephanie’s reclining chair and looked out. “Quite a view from the top floor,” said Luke, “My office window faces the inner courtyard.”

“I don’t even have a window,” I replied as I looked to my left at the celi for Stephen Hawking. “She says this is her oracle and she talks to her great grand-father every day!”

We walked over and Luke addressed the image of Hawking’s head projected onto the aromarama. “What do you think of the Hawking Plan?” The head remained silent.

“I think,” I said, “We need to be more specific. Why don’t we ask him if God created life on Earth and how the Earth originated and see what he thinks of the story in Genesis and so on?”

Before Luke could reply, the Hawking head became animated and spoke. The words appeared on the wall behind it:

Science seems to have uncovered a set of laws that, within the limits set by the uncertainty principle, tell us how the universe will develop with time, if we know its state at any one time. These laws may have originally been decreed by God, but it appears that he has since left the universe to evolve according to them and does not now intervene in it. But how did he choose the initial state or configuration of the universe? …

“How indeed!” interrupted Luke, “The Laws of Nature seem, to me at least, to have been designed to support life.”

The Hawking head continued:

The laws of science, as we know them at present, contain many fundamental numbers, like the size of the electric charge of the electron and the ratio of the masses of the proton and the electron. … The remarkable fact is that the values of these numbers seem to have been very finely adjusted to make possible the development of life. … [T]here are relatively few ranges for the values of the numbers that would allow the development of life. Most sets of values would give rise to universes that, although they might be very beautiful, would contain no one able to wonder at that beauty. One can take this either as evidence of a divine purpose in Creation and the choice of the laws of science or as support for the strong anthropic principle [which is that] we see the universe the way it is because if it were different. We would not be here to observe it.
“See,” beamed Luke, “At least Hawking gets it! God intended to create beings like us!” The Hawking head replied:

The initial rate of expansion [of the universe] also would have had to be chosen very precisely for the rate of expansion still to be so close to the critical rate needed to avoid recollapse. This means that the initial state of the universe must have been very carefully chosen indeed if the hot big bang model was correct right back to the beginning of time. It would be very difficult to explain why the universe should have begun in just this way, except as the act of a God who intended to create beings like us.

“I didn’t think,” I said, “Hawking was a believer in God!” The Hawking head replied:

On the other hand, the quantum theory of gravity has opened up a new possibility, in which there would be no boundary to space-time and so there would be no need to specify the behavior at the boundary. There would be no singularity at which the laws of science broke down and no edge of space-time at which one would have to appeal to God or some new law to set the boundary conditions for space-time. … So long as the universe had a beginning, we would suppose it had a creator. But if the universe is really completely self-contained, having no boundary or edge, it would have neither beginning nor end: it would simply be. What place, then, for a creator?

At that moment, Stephanie and Barbas Grises entered the office. “We were consulting your oracle,” I said to Stephanie as I turned to shake hands with Barbas. Both he and Stephanie seemed angry. Barbas gave me and then Luke firm but unenthusiastic handshakes. She ignored my comment about the Hawking “oracle,” strode quickly to her chair, and directed us all to our seats.

“Jim and Luke,” she began, “I am sorry to be late for this meeting, however Barbas had to give me some distressing news about your conspiracy against me. He and I have discussed the situation and I am anxious to hear your side of the story. This is very important. Please give Barbas your complete attention!”

“Gentlemen,” he growled, “I’ll acknowledge ‘Barbas’ is not my real name, but I’d be pleased if you’d refer to me that way. I obtained some audio and video of you two ‘gentlemen’ conspiring against Stephanie right here at TABB.” Luke and I turned to look at each other. We remained silent.

“Stephanie’s IRAs, her assistant VI and secretary XI, have excellent hearing and extremely sharp video vision,” continued Barbas. “They overheard your private conversations. Your whispered remarks in her office and at the elevator were audio-enhanced and the video was automatic lip reading-interpreted by some of my amigos at the TBI.” He played the conversation between Luke and me in Stephanie’s office in October. The display wall showed the text:

LUKE: “The only time I [UNINTELLIGIBLE] why is that temptress of Satan [UNINTELLIGIBLE] me being there on the 11th? Be careful what you say, I’ll bet she’s got a video recorder going.JAMES: “I got a PID alert for those dates [UNINTELLIGIBLE] from a guy in Israel.”
LUKE: “[UNINTELLIGIBLE] something bad happened there and [UNINTELLIGIBLE] pin it on us. Admit nothing.”

“What was that conspiratorial conversation all about?” Barbas demanded. “Before you answer I want you and Stephanie to hear what you said the same day at the elevator before she came running down the hall.”

JIM: “Call the Flatitude [Platitude?] Squad, that guy really needs an anti-bromide!”
LUKE: “Yeah, he’s a retired TBI, I’ll bet, who Stephanie knows [UNINTELLIGIBLE] I don’t trust her, at all. And, he may be Satan in the flesh!”
JAMES: “I agree with you that he is TBI. What the heck is going on, Luke?”
LUKE: “Something that has Stephanie nervous [UNINTELLIGIBLE] she did something in Tokyo [UNINTELLIGIBLE] that TBI guy was only pretending to be incompetent. On the other hand, the old coot might have lost his marbles [UNINTELLIGIBLE].”
JAMES: “I know some things that are TBI-Secret [UNINTELLIGIBLE] don’t have the official ‘need to know’.”
LUKE: “Jim, you just told me what I need to know!”

“How dare you record a private conversation?” I began in an angry voice. “Those quotes are totally out of context and …”

“Hold it, smart ass,” interrupted Barbas, “Luke told you at the start you were being recorded. You had ample notice! You were ‘on the clock’ on TABB property. Your employment agreement says you may be under surveillance under TABB security regulations.”

“I don’t mind being called the Queen Bee,” Stephanie said, “But ‘a temptress of Satan’ – What the heck were you talking about?”

“I beg your pardon Stephanie,” said Luke, “For the reference to Satan. But I’m very sure I was not at the DoHiMuTo at all on the 11th of June despite the PID reports you accessed. They are in error or somebody has purposely modified them.”

“Jim,” asked Barbas, “What did you mean when you said ‘I know some things that are TBI-Secret’? Luke what did you mean when your replied ‘Jim, you just told me what I need to know’?”

“Excuse me Stephanie,” I interrupted, “But I’m in an impossible situation here. Can we talk in private for a moment?”

She immediately stood up and motioned for me to follow her outside her office. We retired to a corner away from her secretary and she whispered, “What do you want to confess to?”

“The PID record for me for the evening of June 11th is false. You put my PID in modo contrario and used your estímulo sexual to seduce me into that asunto secreto. If Luke says he was not at the DoHiMuTo I believe him. He’s a Bible-believing Christian and he will not violate the Ten Commandments, no matter what! I want permission to tell Luke about modo contrario. Did you put his PID in modo contrario that evening? Why would his PID be in modo contrario the evening of June 11th? Why would he be in the DoHiMuTo on that evening?”

“Jim,” she said softly, “I forgot about our ‘team building exercise.’ Ku-ke Lu-ke doesn’t have a ‘need to know’ about anything beyond technical materials. I put his PID in modo contrario hoping for a ménage et toise, but it was not to be. However, Jim, we two did have fun that night didn’t we? Come with me, darling,” she cooed, “Watch, and the Queen Bee will fix everything!”

We returned to her office and Stephanie spoke: “Barbas,” she said, “Despite the PID report, I will stipulate that these men were not at the DoHiMuTo on the evening of June 11th.”

“Yes Madam!” Barbas said, standing up to salute.

“Tell them about the photos, please,” she said.

“What photos?” Luke and I asked simultaneously.

“I received a report,” began Barbas, “From one of my sources in the Mossad. Someone in Israel has photos of the Dead Sea Scrolls taken before and after their recent loan to the DoHiMuTo. According to my source, the photos document that there was much more than ‘preservation’ going on. Words were actually modified.”

“Barbas, everybody knows digital photos can be changed easily.” Luke observed. “It’s probably just a crank. Have you seen the photos? Can you get them for me? I can usually spot changes unless they were done by TABB experts. I did technical work in that area.”

“I’ve been told the photos were taken using a film camera,” Barbas replied. “Can you imagine that?”

“I guess some hobbyists still have film camera equipment, and it’s possible for them to do their own developing and printing,” Luke observed, “Changes can be made with film, but it’s much harder to do and easier to detect. Can you get the original film negatives?”

“No,” replied Barbas, “All we have are very high quality e-photos the TBI says are ‘consistent with film originals.’”

“Stephanie,” I suggested. “Why don’t you simply contact the person with the film photos and ask him or her to let us have them?”

Barbas had a hearty laugh at that suggestion.

“Jim … JIM,” replied Stephanie almost contemptuously, “First of all, Barbas’s contact doesn’t know who that person is. Second, if this person has high quality film photos showing changes to the Dead Sea Scrolls that could have been made by someone from my Branch, why would he surrender them without a fight?”

“If any of you know anything about this,” growled Barbas, “You must tell me! What do you know Luke?”

“Barbas,” said Luke, “I know absolutely nothing at all.”

“Why would anyone from Stephanie’s Branch change the Dead Sea Scrolls?” I asked as I swished around in my chair uncomfortably, “Do you have anything to tell Barbas, Stephanie?” She gave me a pained stare and silently waved her hand.

“I can tell,” said Barbas shaking his head, “Someone here is lying to us. I will continue my investigations. I warned you before and I do so again. I can smell a lie a mile away! Avoid lying to me like the plague. When I find out who it is, they will certainly pay!”

As I returned to my office, I wondered again about my asunto secreto with Stephanie. True, when I brought it up in the corner outside her office, she had basically admitted it. “God-damn her” I said out loud, “She is a lying temptress tool of Satan.” I was surprised to hear myself say those words. I did believe there was a Power Higher than humans, but could not bring myself to believe that that Power was interested or aware of the mundane individual actions of each person. As for Satan, I wondered if I myself had made an unholy alliance with the personification of Evil to keep my wonderful job at TABB. That is, the job that used to be wonderful before the DoHiMuTo and the Dead Sea Scroll photos popped up.

If Satan did exist as an actual personality, which he definitely did not – but if he did – I concluded that I, myself was a tool of Satan. If dohi muto meant “misguided servant” in Japanese, was that an omen describing my unholy alliance with Satan that violated the basic principles of honesty and academic integrity? Of course, no rational-thinking person could believe in omens or that Satan did exist in reality. On the other hand, I had to admit, within the past year I cheated on my wife and modified the Dead Sea Scrolls. That was reality! How had it come to that? Was I a rational-thinking person?

I absent-mindedly opened my e-calendar. To give myself a rational excuse, I clicked on the records for June. To my astonishment, they had been modified (or “updated” to use the term of art Stephanie had created.):

08 June 2052: Orl-Tok.
09 June 2052: Tok.
10 June 2052: Evening walk.
11 June 2052: DoHiMuTo, pitch to TPB – Team Building Exercise.
12 June 2052: TPB Q&A – Kabuki entertainers, buffet.
13 June 2052: DoHiMuTo – Ginza: Kabuki, dinner.
14 June 2053: Tok-Orl.

The changes were subtle, but they definitely had been made. By whom? Why?

Two days later, I received a message from Stephanie. “Please come up immediately.” I remembered the “good old days” months before when such a message would have got me all atwitter. Now, I dreaded the meeting. Hunched over on her arms, she appeared much shorter and less in charge than at any time in the past. She silently motioned for me to sit down. As Luke and four others entered the room, Stephanie straightened up and asked them to find seats. Luke had brought his lead engineers in the Spaceship and Life and Genetic Engineering areas, as well as two women from Contracts and Legal.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” She began, “We are going to TABB Regional HQ in Atlanta on Monday of next week. There seems to be some problem awarding the Hawking Plan Conceptual Study Contracts and I need your help squaring that all away.

“What’s the problem?” asked Luke, coolly.

“They won’t tell me until I get there so I decided to bring all the team leads. We are going by p-tran.”

Atlanta was nine hours from Orlando by automobile, but no one drove that distance. Flying made sense for very long trips, but p-tran was a viable alternative for moderate journeys. In general, any drive between three and ten hours was a candidate for p-tran, which stood for “P-pod transportation.” P-pod stood for “passenger pod.” P-tran cut a ten-hour highway trip in half. It was safe and comfortable.

To make p-tran practical, most automobiles were made in two parts, the “p-pod” (passenger compartment) and the “wheels” (power train). People owned their p-pods and leased the wheels. Esther and I owned a mini p-pod she used to commute to her job at the university. I was able to bicycle or use public transportation to get to work at the nearby TABB offices. Luke, with two children of driving age, owned both a mini- and a mod p-pod. The lease was a fixed cost per month plus charges for distance driven and “swaps.”

A swap occurred when you drove into a p-tran station. An automated crane removed the p-pod and placed it aboard the train. P-tran trains went at up to eight hundred kilometers per hour on elevated magnetic levitation rails. When they arrived at a p-tran station, they entered a form-fitting tunnel that slowed them as they compressed the air. The compressed air was stored and used to accelerate the trains as they left the station. While in transit, passengers could remain in their p-pods or go to the dining car, sports bar, rest rooms, showers and other conveniences. Once at their destination, the p-pod was quickly united with a new set of wheels and off they went. Customers liked the convenience of traveling in their own p-pods and having their personal possessions available for local travel at the destination.

That evening, I took Esther, Rebecca, and Adam out to dinner and an interactive 5-D movie. Each of us donned video goggles, masks, and tactile clothing that provided virtual sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touch sensations. It was a musical comedy loosely based on Gilbert and Sullivan’s Utopia Limited. I, of course, was King Paramount, while Adam was Tarara, the Public Exploder. Rebecca was Princess Zara, Paramount’s gorgeous daughter, and Esther played Lady Sophy, their English Governess. The other characters, including the “Wise Men” Phantis and Scaphio, and Paramount’s other daughters as well as the British experts called the “Flowers of Progress,” were supplied by the computer simulation.

We chose to sing karaoke style, rather than just acting along with computer-provided voices. Lyrics and stage directions were provided via word displays and visual cues, such as virtual images of footsteps if a character had to walk or dance a certain path, etc. If a character messed up, which was quite normal, the computer simulation would joke about it or simply stop and ask the characters to reset their positions and start that scene over. We were all avid Gilbert and Sullivan fans and knew Utopia Limited well. I'm proud to say we were actually quite good at it and had a terrific time.

That evening, Esther and I made love as King Paramount and Lady Sophy. It was great fun and mutually satisfying. “I’m the luckiest man in the world,” I told myself.

At 3AM we were awakened by our weather alarm as a tornado struck Central Florida. Rebecca and Adam came running with their pillows and blankets as we had practiced. We huddled on the floor of the master bedroom closet as the winds roared by. A moment after the crescendo a loud thud shook the ceiling and the lights went out.

I took the wind-up radio and flashlights out of our “storm box.” News reports said the tornado had touched down once to the west and then again to the east of Orlando. The announcer suggested everyone remain under cover until the storm sounds abated. About ten minutes later, the wind and rain sounds quieted. I used a flashlight to examine the ceiling of the master bedroom closet and found it intact and dry. I opened the closet door and went from room to room to assess the damage. Everything was OK until I got to Rebecca’s room. The floor was wet. The ceiling had collapsed under the weight of a tree branch that crashed through the roof. I shut the door and said, “You’ll have to sleep in Adam’s room.” Adam helped his sister pull the bed down from the me-wall. They giggled awhile and fell asleep.

At daybreak, we were awakened by someone pounding on our window. “Are you OK? … JIM! ESTHER! Are you all OK?” I stumbled to the window and peeked through the blinds. It was my next-door neighbor Bill, along with some others gawking in my side yard. I signaled a “thumbs-up” and hurriedly dressed. The lights worked in the kitchen and living room but there was no electricity on the bedroom side of the house. The garage door worked. Bill came in and offered his help. “We have electricity here and in the kitchen and living room,” I explained, “But the bedrooms are out.”

“Let’s try the circuit breakers,” said Bill who was a bit of a handyman. He threw the circuit breakers but they immediately went out again. “Looks like the branch that busted through your roof has caused a short on the bedroom side of your house.”

Esther joined us in the garage. “Its amazing,” she began, “The kids are still asleep in Adam’s room!”

“Glad to hear everyone’s OK!” said Bill. “That branch put a hell of a hole in your roof! I’ve walked the neighborhood and your house seems to be the only one affected by the storm.”

“That damned tree!” continued Esther. “And I can’t get the stupid me-wall to go back to the daytime position. It’s really cramped in the kitchen and living room.”

“I’ve got a small chain saw,” said Bill. “I’d be happy to help you clear away the branches. We can get a tarp and temporarily button up your house. They say it might rain again tonight.”

“Why should we do it ourselves?” I asked. “We’re covered by insurance. I’ll just call Mel at the Home Fixers and they’ll send out a clean-up crew and a carpenter and electrician to do the job.”

“You haven’t heard the news? Many neighborhoods east and south of us have been flattened. Hundreds of homes are affected! Mel and the Home Fixers and all the home repair companies are going to be totally tied up by cases far worse than yours!”

By lunchtime, we had removed the branches and spread the tarp. Esther and the kids had salvaged stuff from Rebecca’s room. We shared a light lunch in the cramped kitchen. “I wish you had left that damned me-wall in the daytime position,” said Esther.

“Hey!” I replied, “Let’s make the best of a bad situation. I think we all like our bedrooms to be as big as possible in the evening, which is why I always move the me-wall to that position.”

“You’re crazy,” replied Esther. “You run that damn me-wall back and forth, back and forth every evening and every morning, every damn evening and every damn morning! You wore it out which is probably why it can't move back this morning. When we’re sleeping who gives a damn how big the bedroom is?”

“The airflow is better in a bigger bedroom,” I replied. “And, why are you in a snit? I spent all morning on a ladder and on the roof dragging wet branches around and spreading that tarp over the hole and securing it while you were in the house.”

“So, who was saving Rebecca’s stuff? And who made lunch in this stifling kitchen? And whose idea, Jim, was it to build a house on a lot with a giant live oak tree towering over it? We paid extra for that damned tree! It sheds leaves January and February and drops branches in the front yard and has those awful no-see-em flies.”

“I like our tree. That live oak blocks the Sun from the south and saves us hundreds of dollars in cooling costs every year ..."

“Well, you go charge the roof repair and re-plastering and repainting to that energy savings Mr. James Cheapskate!”

“Mom! Dad!” cried Rebecca, who had been watching the news on the kitchen display wall. “Isn’t that Mr. Mathew’s neighborhood they’re showing?”

“Yes!” I answered. “It looks like many homes there are totally flattened! Let me contact him on my read-WINs. Gosh, I hope they’re OK. … Hey Luke, this is Jim. We had a tree branch go through the roof but our house is livable and everyone is OK. How are you guys doing? The news shows major damage in your area.”

“Well Jim, our house is no more,” replied Luke. “But, thank God for our storm cellar. We’re all OK except for one of the twins who was at a sleepover PJ party with her Christian home school group. We haven’t been able to contact her yet.”

“Which one, the learning disabled one or the other?”

“No, the one we haven’t contacted yet is Martha. She’s the one who aced her exams and just won a scholarship to Harvard. Mary, our other twin, isn’t invited to sleepovers or parties, sad to say. You know, kids are brutal when it comes to socializing with others who have disabilities. I guess it is human nature, which certainly does not make it right. Just because it is doesn't mean it ought to be.”

“I’m sorry for Mary. Congrats on Martha’s scholarship. She’s bright and beautiful and a real credit to you and your wife. You say your house is no more? What happened? Where are you?”

“Well, we’re at the church a kilometer from our house. My wife is a volunteer and she’s responsible for running the emergency refuge here. Thank God our cars were parked across the street because I was painting our garage and they’re still drivable. The tornado mostly destroyed our side of the street. When the tornado-warning alarm went off, we went straight to the storm shelter, exactly according to plan. I had time to run and pound on the door of our next-door neighbor and our oldest son went to the other neighbor and they rode the thing out in our shelter. It saved our lives, thank God!”

“I’m glad you’re OK. You know, you can stay at our house when you get tired of the church refuge …”

As I offered our house, Esther shook her head and mouthed “NO! It’s too crowded!” To emphasize her words she pushed at the me-wall as if trying to make our kitchen larger. Then she held up seven fingers: “Luke, Jane, James, Martha, Mary, John, Jess.”

“Wait a minute, Jim,” said Luke. “Hold on, I’m getting a call from the sheriff’s office. … Hey Mike, what’s the latest on the storm damage? We can accommodate about fifty more at our church refuge, a hundred if they’re friendly types. … What? … Are you sure? … Their house was totally flattened? Jesus Christ! Oh my God! How about Martha? … Are you sure? Have you identified her body? … EXACTLY WHO SAID IT WAS MARTHA? … Her classmate? DEAR JESUS! ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE MAN? No, tell me this is not happening! May Jesus bless her soul.”

“Luke, what the heck is going on?” I asked, “Is Martha OK?”

“The Lord givith and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the Lord. The Sheriff just told me the house where Martha was at the PJ party was totally destroyed and they’ve found the bodies of eight girls, including our daughter! Four more girls at the party were badly injured but survived. I can’t talk to you any more right now. I’ve got to tell my wife the terrible news. Good luck to you. May God bless you and keep you safe. In Jesus name, amen!”

“Esther, terrible news! Luke’s twin Martha is dead! She was at a PJ party and the house was flattened. Seven of her Christian schoolmates were also killed and four were injured. What a terrible disaster! Luke and the rest of his family are safe at a church refuge.”

“Is Martha the learning-disabled one?"

“No, that’s Mary, who is alive because she doesn’t get invited to social events due to her learning disability. That saved her life!”

“Why did Luke's wife let her go to the PJ party?” asked Esther. “Yesterday we had all those tornado warnings in the weather forecast. I wouldn't have let Rebecca go last night.”

I looked at Esther as if she was out of her mind. “Rebecca is nine, Martha was eighteen! There were tornado warnings last week when you let Rebecca go to your aunt’s house!”

“If one of the twins had to die,” asked Adam, “Wouldn’t it have been better if it was the learning-disabled one?”

Esther and I looked at him. “What a disgusting thought,” said Esther. However, I had to admit that was exactly what I was thinking.

It wasn’t long before our family got over the news of Martha’s death and the destruction of Luke’s house and back to our petty arguments. According to Esther, it was all my fault we had a tree because I was so cheap. If not for that damn tree, and the position of the me-wall, we would not be stuck with a small kitchen for months until we could get the roof and Rebecca’s room fixed. According to Adam, Rebecca was persona non-grata in his room for a whole raft of reasons. Rebecca said Adam was selfish about letting her share his things to replace hers that that been destroyed, and he was secretly peeking at her when she was in her underclothes.

I was actually looking forward to the trip to Atlanta. It was a way for me to leave behind, at least temporarily, the problems our family was having adjusting to life in a slightly cramped home.

The plan for Monday morning was for Luke to pick me up at my house and make two more pickups on his way to the p-tran station, about eight kilometers away. Stephanie was going to pick the others up in her maxi p-pod in time to catch the same p-tran.

“You know, Luke,” I said, “I’m kind of disappointed with the way my family is handling the storm damage situation. The kids are complaining about sharing a bedroom. You know we have a me-wall, and it’s stuck in the night position, so Adam’s bedroom is double-sized with plenty of space for both if they weren’t so damned territorial. I’m sorry Esther has to put up with a cramped kitchen, which she blames on me because I like the bedroom to be bigger at night for airflow and that’s why the me-wall got stuck when the tree branch – also my fault according to her – fell through the roof.”

“That’s human nature,” observed Luke. “Minor inconveniences can be more trouble than major ones are to others.”

“Esther is harried because she’s the one calling around to get someone to control the mold problem and fix the leaks in our roof. However, I’m doing my share trying to get a contractor to fix the roof and Rebecca’s room. All the big contractors I call put us at the end of the line because our job is relatively small. It looks like it’ll be a few months before they get to us. How are you doing with your house?”

“Thanks for asking,” replied Luke. “I was over there briefly and it’s a total loss, except for the foundation and the storm shelter. Fortunately, we had our family Bible with us in the shelter and it survived. All our photos and videos and legal and financial documents were backed up on the WIN, so we have them. We will have to find a rental for at least six months while they rebuild. Nevertheless, we will be OK. You have to take a positive attitude!”

“You’re right – look at your situation. You lost Martha who was set to go to Harvard on scholarship and make you proud. Your home is totally destroyed along with your mementos and so on. Yet, you seem as accepting and unconcerned as can be. I actually envy you your religiosas locas faith!”

“I believe with all my heart,” Luke replied, “Martha is in a better place, walking hand in hand with Jesus! In due time, God willing, we will be reunited in Heaven. Our house was insured and will be replaced. Life at the church refuge is challenging – eighty-six people with two toilets can be hard to live with you know – but my wife has done a wonderful job running the place and everyone admires her. We plan to stay until she can get all the others taken in by friends or relatives or strangers or into rentals they can afford. We have dry cots to sleep on in an air-conditioned hall with good food.

“Our children are as happy as can be interacting with other kids. Despite her learning disability, Mary has become a babysitter for the toddlers and everyone appreciates her warm personality and totally unselfish attitude. Despite his MS, our middle son, John, has been helping out and is having the time of his life. Jess is too young to worry about our house and all the teenage girls want to mother him. Our oldest, James, has earned kudos for his work on the clean-up crew and he has found a wonderful new girl friend. God has blessed us! What more could anyone ask for? Thank you Jesus!”

“You know,” I said, “I'm surprised you had a storm shelter in your house. I thought you trusted God for protection?”

“We do trust in God! It was because of God a storm shelter was an option when we built. It was because of God’s grace we decided to exercise that option. It was God who guided us to get the tornado alarm and allowed us to save our neighbors and ourselves. Of course, Martha’s horrible death was a terrible blow. However, we believe God had some special need only our Martha and her seven Christian classmates could satisfy. They say ‘the good die young’.”

“God didn’t save you! It was your preparations and personal actions that saved you and your family! It was the engineers who designed your storm shelter and the masons who built it!”

“Of course it was! But that is how God works. You know the story of the guy who gets shipwrecked in the middle of the ocean and he prays to God for a miracle to rescue him? Well, an hour later, a boat shows up but he refuses to be rescued. ‘Why?’ they ask him. ‘I expected God to rescue me personally – you are not God!’”

“Good story! But, why did God allow him to be shipwrecked in the first place? If God could miraculously send that rescue boat to the middle of the ocean in an hour, He could just as easily have prevented the first ship from going down, couldn’t He?”

“The first ship went down because people succumbed to the Satan’s temptations. For example, the crew didn’t maintain it properly, or the captain failed to see an iceberg, or something like that. God gives us free will. That is what it means to be human. Satan tests us but God does not let him go beyond anyone’s limits.”

Our group arrived at the p-tran station a bit early and caught a p-pod train almost immediately. Stephanie called and told us her group was delayed by a car accident and caught a much later p-pod train. We were relieved we didn’t have to cope with her while traveling. The ride was relaxing. Luke spent most of his time in his p-pod, catching up on some WIN reading and TV watching.

I walked the length of the train and stopped at the sports bar for a cup of tea. There I met a very pretty woman who happened to live and work not far from TABB Regional HQ in Atlanta. She said she was a waitress returning from a visit to her parents who lived in a retirement community in central Florida. I was surprised to hear humans still worked as waitresses – all the restaurants I knew used IRAs as wait staff. She explained it was a very upscale place where customers demanded more than robotic service. I promised to try to get my group to have dinner at her restaurant while we were in Atlanta. Our very pleasant conversation lasted for almost an hour. As I sized her up for recruitment into my autoerotic fantasy world, I felt a pang of guilt. However, I got over it quickly.

Our group arrived in Atlanta and Luke’s p-pod was joined with a new set of wheels leaving plenty of time to drive to a nice restaurant for lunch. We got to TABB Regional HQ early and waited in the lobby. Ten minutes later, Barbas arrived with a gray-haired woman. He walked up to Luke and demanded, “Where’s Stephanie?”

“She missed our p-tran and messaged me they’ll get here just in time for the meeting.” Luke answered.

We all sat in total silence for fifteen minutes until Stephanie and her group arrived. “We had to get lunch on the train,” she cried. “They don’t have good healthy food! Just sixty-four kinds of burgers. They’re good only as a limit test on your pancreas.” Barbas conferred privately with Stephanie in a corner before she and Luke got on the elevator, leaving me and the others to cool our heels in the lobby.

I was reading an e-magazine when Luke came out, a bit white-faced. “Jim, you need to go up and answer some questions for Dudley Wagner, the Advanced Projects Executive who is Stephanie’s boss’s boss. Go up the elevator to the top floor and tell the human secretary you have a meeting with Wagner.” Luke walked to the elevator with me and whispered, “Dudley Wagner is the number one jerk-off at TABB. I have no idea how he keeps his job. He must have something on some higher up or some awfully well honed ‘strategic’ or political instincts. That squat portly pig said he had no need for an engineer at the meeting. I’ve been ordered to stay here.”

Wagner’s office was fittingly located and decorated for a high TABB Exec. “You and your muffing Hawking Plan,” he said bluntly to Stephanie and me, “Have stirred up a hornet’s nest of oposición. As you know, the organizer of the number one anti-Hawking gang is Tsar Sahbaka of the CentAsia region. We also have two or three other anti-Hawking gangs in Africa, the MidEast and SoutAmer regions, and even some powerful TCs in NortAmer, Europe, and EastAsia that have opposed Hawking for reasons of their own. As you know Stephanie, I have kept these anti-Hawking gangs from joining together, with a little bit of help from you on the study contracts.”

Wagner looked at me with distain and waved in the manner one would to a child. “Little Jimmy here,” he began, “Isn’t at a high enough pay grade to have to be bothered by the other oposición groups. I wouldn’t even worry him with Sahbaka if it were not for the fact that little Jimmy has thrown Sahbaka some raw carne roja bullcrap that he seems determined to throw back in our faces to kill the Hawking Plan.” Stephanie remained silent. I squirmed a bit in my seat. My face flushed and I felt hot and sweaty.

“Tsar Sahbaka, the God-damned Mongol miscreant,” Wagner continued, “Objects mainly based on fiscal conservatism. His natural allies are the anal conservadores fiscales who oppose any spending not tied to market forces. However, since that issue doesn’t have much traction outside a small segment of the business community, he has found allies in some strange places, the most dangerous of which are in the literal believer religioso locas community, may they all rot in the Hell they create for the rest of us.” With that, he spat on the faux wood floor of his office, leaving a puddle of considerable size.

“I’ll get to the religioso nuts in a minute,” He continued, “But first let me give you an account of the rag-tag bunch that muffing Tsar Sahbaka has organized to block us from awarding the contracts. El más grande group he has recruited into his strange bedfellow alianza is activists for the so-called ‘poor and downtrodden’.”

“My Liege,” I interjected, trying to be helpful, “Transnational living standards have improved greatly since global warming abated and the war on terror was won. The past two decades have seen widely distributed and very fast real increases in earnings and …”

“What the hell?” demanded Wagner, “Are you some kind of muffing historian?”

“Yes, My Leige” I said proudly, “As a matter of fact I am!”

Wagner spit again. That left another sputum puddle not far from the first. Why didn't he have a spittoon? But, only an historian would know what a spittoon was! Or a classic movie buff!

“The poor among us, these activists say,” continued Wagner, “Have to work over twenty-five hours a week to make ends meet. Some of them work outdoors in temperatures as high as eighty- or ninety-degrees or more. They must breathe unfiltered, so-called ‘fresh’ air, and drink piped, not bottled water. Their wages are too low to be able to afford international travel, so they must take domestic vacations. There are rural areas on Earth where there is no wireless WIN access. The poor who live there have to plug in to wire cables to surf the WIN.”

“My Leige,” I chimed in, “There are areas of the world where living standards are considerably lower than others. With energy resources no longer scarce, some areas have seen relative declines, but, overall, things have never been better for the working poor …”

“These advocates of the poor,” continued Wagner, speaking over me, “Say, ‘Why spend money and human resources, including engineers who could be working on technology to help the poor, and instead shoot spaceships to espacio exterior and who-knows where, and they won’t even get there for a million years!’ They ask why people in geographic areas where resources are poor or where cultural morays don’t favor education, and so on should suffer through no fault of their own. They talk some mumbo-jumbo about the ‘Parrot Principle’ and ‘Natural Falsies’ and whatever.”

“My Leige, that’s the ‘Pareto Principle’ and the ‘Naturalistic Fallacy’,” I interjected brightly.

“Vilfredo Pareto, over a hundred fifty years ago, discovered about twenty percent of the population of his native Italy at the time owned about eighty percent of the land, which seemed unfair. The so-called ‘eighty-twenty’ rule holds that a small percentage of the causes are responsible for a large percentage of the consequences in any system, human-made or natural.

“Ethicists have argued that just because it may be natural for there to be such inequalities, that doesn’t make it right. That is the point of the so-called Naturalistic Fallacy which holds that just because something ‘is’ does not mean it ‘ought to be.’ More modern thought holds that anything that is natural and has existed for a long period of time ought to be. They say the Naturalistic Fallacy is itself a fallacy!”

Wagner looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face. Then he flapped his gums as if he was speaking but no words came out. I was full of nervous energy, so I went on.

“Even the letters of our alphabet follow something like the eighty-twenty rule. With twenty-six letters, if they were all equal you would expect each of them to do about the same percentage of work. Yet, the most popular like 'e' and 't' are used up to ten times as often as the least popular, 'q' and 'z'.

"Even numerals are unequal. 'Benford's Law' is that the initial numeral in a number is far more likely to be a one or a two than an eight or nine. With ten numerals, equality would demand each appear about ten percent of the time, yet the numeral one appears about three times as often as the first digit, the numeral two about twice as often, and the numerals eight and nine only half as often. Of course, the numeral zero never appears as the first digit of a number."

As I spoke, Wagner cupped his face in his hands and laid his head down on his cluttered desk. I looked over to Stephanie for guidance but she returned my look with a blank stare. Not knowing what else to do, I continued!

“Words are also unequal. The most popular appear hundreds or thousands of times more often than the least popular. The most popular words use fewer letters while the least popular words generally use more. Similarly, even the flips of a 'fair coin' exhibit some inequality. Of course, on any given flip the chances of a head are exactly 50%. Yet, given a record of a series of flips, if you find, say six heads in a row, the chances of the next one also being a head are far less than 50% ...”

“Are you quite finished with this lección histórica de la filosofía?” interrupted Wagner.

“Yes My Leige,” I replied. “I was just trying to help you explain the inequality between geographic regions. If things like words and letters and numerals can be unequal, it is natural that ...”

“I’d like to get back to the business at hand,” interrupted Wagner. “We’ll get to the religioso locas idiots in a moment and then I’d like to hear from you. Can you SHUT UP till then Rabbi O’Brian?”

I silently rotated my head up and down.

“Sahbaka is also recruiting into his oposición gang many TCs based in CentAsia, Africa, SoutAmer, and, to some extent, the MidEast, which are relatively poorer than the other areas of the world. He is urging those TCs to say the Hawking Plan is a gigantic boondoggle designed as a power grab for TABB money by greedy TCs based in NortAmer, Europe and EastAsia, which will get nearly ninety percent of the work on the Hawking Plan when it gets to the development and implementation stages. Stephanie, I reviewed your proposed contract award list and you have balanced them geographically, but the study contracts are relatively low funded. The really juicy expenditures will come with the development, production, and operational phases. We all know which regions will benefit most: NortAmer, Europe, and EastAsia.”

Wagner stood up to emphasize his next point. “How do you argue with the proposition we are imposing costs on the entire population of the world in order to fund a technological boondoggle that will bring absolutely no benefits to most of the population of Earth? I know your argument that the Hawking Plan will spark tremendous growth in travel, medical, communications, and computer industries. However, where are most of these located? . . . Not in the backward muffing regions of the world!”

Stephanie began to reply, but Wagner was on a roll and he spoke over her. “Which brings us up to you, James O’Brian,” he huffed, “Or should I say Rabbi James O’Brian. What kind of a fur-schtinkiner name is that for a Jew? You should be an Irish cop!”

I squirmed in my chair, but remained silent. What did I care if the Irish were being belittled? I was not Irish. My father was British Protestant. As for the Exec’s comments about being a rabbi and about Jewish people, they were not really anti-Semitic at all. Actually, ‘James O’Brian’ was not a normal name for a rabbi or a Jew!

Wagner manipulated his codip and a photo of a naked woman in a suggestive pose came up on his display wall. “Oops,” he said, laughing, “Wrong meeting for that one! I’d like to wring the neck of the bozo idiot engineer who designed this co-muffing-dip. Come to think of it, that woman is co-co-co of a muffing dip-dip-dip.” He struggled with his codip for a couple more minutes, bringing up a number of unrelated photos and charts. I looked at Stephanie, who, like me, was having difficulty concealing her schadenfreude.

At long last, he got the before and after photos of the Dead Sea Scrolls up on his display wall.

“Whose idea was it to change the muffing un-holy scriptures of every stupid religion in the world?” Wagner continued. He finally stopped talking and waited for an answer. Stephanie and I exchanged worried glances.

I had carefully compartmentalized the updates to the scriptures of the world’s religions. Everyone on the project was a non-believer who had been vetted by the TBI and sworn to secrecy. No one was supposed to be informed of the máquina del tiempo unless he or she had a specific “need to know.” Even Luke, as intimately involved with the Hawking Plan as he was, had not been read into that part. How did this TABB Executive know? And, more important, how much did he know? And, even more important, who told him? And why?

If this pork-pie dimwit, who Luke said was ‘the number one jerk-off at TABB,’ knew about our máquina del tiempo, the secret was definitely out to the whole world – including Tsar Sahbaka, who was many bad things, but definitely not a dimwit. I analyzed Wagner’s words: “… un-holy scriptures of every stupid religion in the world…” and wondered if he knew the extent of the updates or if he was just extrapolating from the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Finally Stephanie spoke. “My Liege,” she began, “Are you by any chance familiar with the contra-terror program of the TBI?”

“Never heard of it,” Wagner answered, “Those muffing idiot TBI bozos screwed around for half a century fighting a bunch of crazy Islamistas in the mountains and deserts. Nuke the whole region is what they should have done!”

“My Liege,” replied Stephanie softly, “You can’t just nuke a whole region and kill millions of innocents just because some of the people there are religious terrorists!”

“Why not honey doll? If the TBI actually had a contra-terror policy and strategy, it is news to me. Ask the hundreds of thousands of innocent people all over the world who were blown up, poisoned, and dirty bombed by the terrorists what they think of the TBI. The muffing contra-terror program was a boondoggle for the TBI.”

“My Liege,” she continued calmly, though she was seething inside, “The TBI contra-terror program was not a boondoggle. It …”

“It takes one to know one!” Wagner interrupted her. “I AM THE MUFFING KING OF BOONDOGGLES. If I get your stupid Hawking Plan funded despite the efforts of little Rabbi Jimmy and big Tsar Sahbaka, it will be the icing on your muffing boondoggle cake!”

Stephanie let him finish and then continued. “My Liege, my previous job was in the TBI but I got there just after religioso-based terrorism finally petered out in 2040 or so. I worked with many of the brave men and women of the TBI who finally won that war, and I am more than a little upset that you denigrate their efforts. Some of them infiltrated the training camps and were discovered. They were tortured and had their heads sliced off for their efforts. And, I’ve spoken to more than a few who escaped or were rescued by other brave men and women who were definitely not ‘bozos,’ with all respect My Liege. By ‘torture’ we’re not talking just about cold and cramped jail cells or loud noises or simulated drowning or threats of bodily harm, but starving, no water for days, cutting fingers off and twisting limbs until they broke and poking out their eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Wagner, a big smirk on his fat face “You are loyal to the TBI – I can understand that, it’s a good trait. I only wish more of the muffing locas idiots who work for me here were loyal like that. Tell me about the contra-terror program. I’m all ears.” With that, he cupped his hands over his ears and grinned widely.

“This idiot,” I said myself, “Talks about ‘bozos’ at the TBI – he was right, 'it takes one to know one'! Luke was misunderestimating him when he said he was the number one jerk-off at TABB, this guy must be the number one jerk-off in all of world history!”

“My Liege,” she said, not reacting to his insulting demeanor, “The TBI defeated religion-based terrorism in two major ways. The first you know was ‘positive ID’ technology. The second is still TBI-Secret and must not be revealed to anybody without a ‘need to know.’ It was the máquina del tiempo, which means ‘time machine’”

“I majored en español, at Grey Poupon University” said Wagner, “I know what máquina del tiempo means.”

“I got my BA at GPU, in 2042,” she said, trying to establish a personal relationship with the Exec “When did you graduate?”

“I know you went to GPU – I looked up your records this morning. I got out in 2040,” replied Wagner. He gave her a penetrating stare. “So we were there at the same time. Too bad we never dated, my love, as far as I know.” He laughed energetically. Stephanie remained silent. I shifted in my chair and looked down at my feet. “Although I didn’t major in science,” Wagner continued, “I’m pretty sure they haven’t yet mastered the art of going back in time. So, what máquina del tiempo are you getting at, honey doll?”

“My Liege,” she continued, flexing her right leg, tightening her right hand into a fist behind her back, and carefully choosing her words, “These were not physical time machines that could take you back in time. Rather, the TBI went and modified the scriptures of a certain religion as they appear in the e-texts and e-photos on WIN, which is equivalent to going back in time and changing history.”

“Sounds pretty clever,” said Wagner, “Change some of the radical calls to arms the Islamistas were using to stir up the muffing bombardeos del suicidio. Great idea! Good for the TBI!”

“Thank you My Liege,” she continued, “On behalf of my former colleagues at the TBI. They told me they had to make corresponding changes in the originals or oldest extant copies of the scriptures to prevent religious historians and religioso literal believers from proving that the changes had been made.”

“OK, NOW I’VE GOT IT!,” shouted WAGNER, “Your brave heroes of the TBI changed the words of one particularly fierce and idiotic religion to save the world from terrorists, so you got it into your pretty little head to change all the stupid words of all the world’s locas religions to help sell the Hawking Plan. Right?”

“Not quite, My Liege,” Stephanie replied, “I hired Jim to find scriptures that supported the idea of human space exploration and spreading human life and civilization to the Heavens.”

“And,” said Wagner, “Was that all he did?”

“My, ... My Liege,” said Stephanie hesitantly, “What …”

“Sweetie, pie,” Wagner interrupted boastfully, “I know everything! I have been getting reports all week about changes in dozens of damned so-called ‘Holy Books’ all over the world. They can’t all be false, can they? So far, the only proof anyone has is the film of the Dead Sea Scrolls. No one knows where the original negatives are. My security person thinks an Israeli, ‘Yitsy beer Matzos’ or some crazy name like that, has them. Right now, all we have are high-resolution digital photos of the supposed film originals. See them on my display wall? What the hell do you know?”

“My Liege, we’ve heard about Yitzchak bar Mats in Be’er Sheva, Israel. He is a document custodian at the museum that sent the Dead Sea Scrolls to Tokyo to be preserved. Bar Mats made some PID queries about me and some of my staff who were in Tokyo last June.”

“Were the Dead Sea Scrolls changed by order of your Branch?” demanded Wagner. “Were any other God-damned relics?”

“My Liege,” said Stephanie, putting on her “vulnerable” face, “I mentioned the máquina del tiempo and Jim apparently put two and two together and got twenty-two. He misunderstood and went too far. I never told him to modify the Dead Sea Scrolls. Did I Jim?”

I squirmed a bit and answered quietly, “No.”

“No what, Jim?” asked Stephanie.

“You did not specifically ask me to modify any scripture or mention the Dead Sea Scrolls. That was my idea, entirely.”

“Jimmy boy,” Wagner growled, “How many un-holy, muffing, God-damned scriptures have you changed?”

“My Liege,” I began, looking at Stephanie who signaled I had to tell all, “We have updated the e-texts for four-thousand two-hundred twenty eight phrases for thirty-six religions and religious denominations in eighteen languages. We have made corresponding e-photo updates for about half of those, and the remaining updates will be completed within six months, I expect.”

“Incredible!” said Wagner in disbelief. ”You have been a very busy boy! I only wish my muffing employees were so productive. And, how many originals or relics or whatever have you butchered?”

“My Liege,” I continued, again looking at Stephanie whose face indicated a combination of admiration at my hard-working obedience and horror at the extent of what I had done, “We have made changes to a total of eighteen originals and oldest extant manuscripts for six religions in five languages. Several more are in the process of being updated at museums in all over the world.”

“I WANT TO SEE THAT MUFFING LIST!” He shouted.

I looked at Stephanie and she made a gesture that indicated I must comply. I took my read-WINs out of my pocket and put them on. “My Liege,” I began, “I brought the list up, and here, you can borrow my read-WINs.”

“And get your cooties?” he laughed. “I can’t use those muffing things. Put the list on my display wall.” Again, I looked at Stephanie. “I SAID,” shouted Wagner, “Put the muffing list on my display wall. And look at me when you need to know what to do, not some flirty girly muy caliente chick!”

I walked over to Wagner’s codip, being careful not to slip in the sputum puddles, the surfaces of which had by then congealed a bit into jelly-like skin. I typed a code and a password and slid my “boy scout fingers” over a sensor that read my finger geometry, vein pattern, and fingerprints. It also checked my pulse to be sure it was scanning a live hand, not a plastic replica or a hand that had been severed from its owner by thieves or terrorists. As a further security feature protecting the highly classified list of updates, I looked into a small mirror on Wagner’s codip. An optical sensor beam scanned my face geometry and iris pattern. A light flashed a few times at the end of the scan to cause my iris to contract, proving the eye was indeed still attached to its live owner and not a photo or a purloined eyeball. The list appeared on Wagner’s display wall. I returned to my chair, again giving the sputum puddles the respect they were due.

“My Liege,” I said respectfully, “The file will delete when you turn your computer off. It is muy importante this TBI-Secret list not be released to anyone without a ‘need to know’.”

“Yeah, Dick Tracy,” He said sarcastically, “Like I was gonna trade your muffing list for a Crime Stopper ring!” He scrolled up and down the list, breezing past the Hebrew, Greek and English and stopping at the Spanish section. He made some sarcastic comments about the Spanish spelling and grammar being “all screwed up.”

“My Liege,” I replied, “Some of that is Castellano medieval.”

Wagner looked at me with contempt. He stood up and pointed his finger at me. “YOU,” he shouted, “Are a very productive GAS-BUTT!” With that, Stephanie leaned forward, as if to speak, but did not say anything. “You know,” continued Wagner, pointing at me, “There are four kinds of people in the world: the productive smart people, the lazy smart people, the lazy gas-butts, and the productive gas-butts! The first group is responsible for progress in this world. The middle two groups don’t do much good or bad. But, it is the last group, people like you, who cause all the trouble! You are a God-damned muffing over-productive GAS-BUTT!”

I thought briefly about telling Wagner that the two-dimensional dichotomy, about smart and stupid people being either lazy or active, was in the Talmud. Was this fur-schtinkiner guy also Jewish? I remained silent. Wagner turned to Stephanie, and pointed at her, “And you, honey doll, where in hell were you when all this was going down? You are the muffing Branch Chief. You were supposed to be watching what he was doing. How’d you get your goddamned job, bimbo? I heard you muffed your way to the top. I’ll bet you’re good at that! When do I get mine?”

I watched in amazement as Stephanie stood up and walked towards Wagner. I hoped she would not slip in the slick spots, and was quite relieved when she sidestepped them neatly. As she stood toe to toe with Wagner – she was at least three inches taller – poking her finger into his shoulder, she shouted, “Don’t you dare call one of my best employees a gas-butt. You are the biggest damned gas-butt in this building! And, cut out the ‘honey doll’ chauvinism, I could pick you up and wipe the floor with you, you know that! And, how did majoring en español qualify you for your high and mighty job?”

“Look who’s talking,” Wagner replied with a grin, “As I said before, I looked up your records this morning and your Ph – muffing – D is in Theater Arts at Grey Poupon University.”

That broke the tension and they both had a hearty laugh. I shook my head and tried to act happy.

“Good old GPU,” shouted Wagner, “Remember our fight song for ‘the Old Gray Goose’?”
“Sure do,” said Stephanie. They faced me and did their cheer: "Say hooray! / Yellow and gray. / Ballyhoo / Grey Poupon U! / Let ‘er loose / Our Old Gray Goose. / Glory to / Grey Poupon U! ”

“Our school had a bootleg version,” she said enthusiastically: “Theater Arts are in our hearts. / Pas de deux / Grey Poupon U! / Act, joke, sing / Any old thing. / If you boo / Goose poop on you! ”

“So did we,” added Wagner: “Español no inglañol. / Amig-oo, Grey Poupon U! / La muerte, el ataque / Ganso gris, apoderaréis! ”

“And the medical school,” they said in unison: "Dr. Seuss is on the loose. / He’ll teach you / Grey Poupon U! / Body parts / Belches and farts. / If you sue / Goose poop on you! ”

“I like a spunky dame!” He said, “Are you married?”

“My husband and I recently separated,” she said, throwing her head back and brushing her hair with her right hand. “We’ll be formally ‘splitting sheets’ in a few months.”

She did a dainty plié dance hop over the sputum, bowed, and returned to her chair. That was a surprise to me. In Tokyo, she said her relationship with her husband was a happy one. They had just had a baby, for goodness sake. Was she lying to Wagner to charm her way out of this problem?

“Let me give you the bottom line,” Wagner said matter-of-factly, “Several large TCs are pushing the Hawking Plan not because they think your great grand-dad was correct or anything, but for lots of juicy production contracts a decade from now. These TCs have a technological lock on spaceship design and genetic engineering and so on. They will weigh in and keep the Hawking Plan on track for their own selfish interests.” He pointed to his display wall. “So far,” he continued, “The only serious problem is those damned photos. If Tsar Sahbaka and his oposición group get the film, all hell will break loose. You muffed up and must get those original photographs and put them where the sun ain’t never going to shine. Got it?”

“Yes, My Liege,” replied Stephanie, “I guarantee we will get those original film negatives and destroy them.” She signaled to me the meeting was over and we started to walk out.

“Say, Stephanie,” Wagner called after her, “Care to have dinner with me tonight? I know all the great places in Atlanta. Even a place with human waitresses – imagine that!”

“Dingleberries on Peachtree, near Poplar Street,” I blurted, remembering what the waitress I’d met on the p-pod-train had told me. I had not intended to say it aloud.

Both Wagner and Stephanie looked at me. “At least you got the location right,” said Stephanie, laughing.

“It’s ‘Dingle’s Verities’!” shouted Wagner, his face red with anger. ‘Dingle‘ was a Confederate war hero. ‘Verities’ means realities – real girls not robots. You are the gas-butt dingleberry.”

“Jim is impulsive,” Stephanie said, posing and making her hair bounce around. “That’s not the least of his charms.”

Wagner shifted his gaze from me to Stephanie and regained his smarmy smile. “So,” he continued, “How about it?”

“Thanks but no thanks,” she answered softly, “My dear old grandmother lives in Atlanta and I’ve promised to have dinner at her house. Perhaps next time, after contract awards?” She rushed over and gave him an enthusiastic kiss and a lambada hug. And then we left.

As we went down in the elevator, Stephanie gave me a kiss and a lambada hug – the first time I had gone down and “up” at the same time. “Dingleberries,” she said with a laugh. “I like that! You should look it up on your read-WINs sometime!”

Stephanie told our team all would be OK and the contract awards would most likely be announced officially within a few days.

The wall opposite the bed in my Atlanta hotel room was a giant display screen set for classic paintings and a beach view in Tahiti. It also served as a TV screen and WIN-surfing display. I initiated a conversación video with my family. I was surprised when Esther answered my call on her read-WINs. “Don’t tell me our display wall doesn’t work,” I said.

“Oh no,” Esther answered, “Thank God, it works fine, but we’re not at home. You’ll never guess where we are and who called me today!” Without waiting for my answer she went on, “It was Jane, Luke’s wife! You know she’s home schooling their children. She’s also a volunteer at the church shelter and is in charge over here, doing God’s work and ‘Thank you Jesus’ and all that. Well, she calls and gives me the name of a Latino gal in her church who has a small contracting business. She can’t tackle the large rebuilding jobs but is perfect for our small roof and ceiling repair. So, the contractor gal comes over today and tells me they’ll start the mold treatments tomorrow and have the rest fixed in a few weeks. And she goes into Rebecca’s room and disconnects some wires and the circuit breakers don’t pop and the me-wall works like it was new. Thank God!”

“Terrific news,” I said. “I mentioned our problem to Luke this morning and I guess he told Jane. So, where are you? And why?”

“I’m at the church shelter and I’ve got more news. After work today, I went with Adam and Rebecca over here to thank Jane and show our spoiled kids how blessed we are in our own house. The people here lost everything but their religious faith is wonderful.”

“Great, I agree our kids have been a bit spoiled and …”

“Let me finish!” interrupted Esther. “Jane, you know, is very good with people – she is the best. Everybody over here is so positive with unlimited faith in God and Jesus. However, as a professional administrator, I see immediately she does not have a clue how to schedule and track finances and resettling families into rentals.”

“Really?” I replied.

“Well,” she continued, “I volunteered as their business manager and Jane was so happy! I set up a schedule and a roster of families in the shelter and volunteer skills and contact information. Rebecca and Adam fit right in with the kids and they even helped with the cleanup after dinner. We’ll work here ‘til ten PM lights-out.”

“Sounds like a good educational opportunity for our kids. You’re doing the church shelter a big favor with your admin skills.”

“I look forward to a few hours over here every day after work and all day Saturday and Sunday. I am also sorry I was so testy with you last week about the live oak tree and the me-wall and all that. Their minister gave a wonderful talk after supper about God forgiving those who forgive others and so on. I totally forgive you – please forgive me. It's my entire fault and I was so selfish and mean …”

“Certainly, forgiveness all around! And good to hear the great news about the repairs!” I replied. “But, please assure me you’re not going to go religiosas locas on me. You know those people are dedicated missionaries for Fundamentalist Christianity. Watch out for Rebecca and Adam. Kids are especially susceptible to that stuff.”

“Too late already – we converted! Praise the Lord! Jesus is King! I quit my job and we start home-schooling next week …”

“Esther! You can’t do that without my permission. I forbid it! Have you lost your mind? What the hell are you thinking? …”

“Jim … JIM!” Esther replied, laughing. “I wanted to scare the be-Jesus out of you and I certainly did!”

After the conversación, I ordered a lite room service meal to try to lose some of the weight I had put on over the past few months. As I was munching on my salad, which I had squirted with lemon juice instead of fattening dressing, I heard a knock on the door. I paused the movie and flipped the display wall screen to “Peephole” view.

Peephole TV was a feature invented some forty years prior by a guy who had lost his right eye when the man whose wife he was having an affair with shot it out through a motel door peephole. He was blinded in that one eye but not killed. That tragedy led to his invention, which consisted of a small TV camera mounted in the door that displayed the view on channel 99 on the TV set. He became rich and had his name legally changed to “Oneeyeshy Theoneeyeguy.”

It was Stephanie at the door! She was wearing a flimsy nightgown. I immediately understood her grandmother story was a ruse to avoid going out with Wagner, the boorish TABB Exec, and she intended to celebrate her victory with me. I walked to the door slowly, uncertain what I should or would do. I left the chain on the door and opened it a bit. Stephanie smiled through the crack and asked me to let her in to talk. “Sorry,” I said, “I’m having my dinner and watching a movie. Can’t the talk wait till breakfast tomorrow?”

“Talking can wait, but this cannot. She pulled her nightgown back to reveal her milk-swollen bosom. “I just pumped a couple bottles for my darling Diega and I have some left for my darling Diego.”

“Sorry Estephania, It’s not right. I’m happily married and also a rabbi.” I was surprised to hear myself say that so unambiguously.

“I had an amigo at the TBI,” she said, “Who was Orthodox Jewish and married who told me Jewish law allowed a man to sleep with an unmarried woman. My husband and I are separated.”
“Stephanie,” I replied, “Your amigo was correct about Orthodox Jewish law. But I am Reform Jewish and, in this one area of morals we have higher standards. “Besides, how do I know you’re telling the truth? You lied to that TABB Exec about dinner with your grandmother. The Talmud says if a witness lies about anything, the jury can assume everything else she says is also a lie. Besides, you are still married until the final papers go through.”

“Diego, my love, you know Diega is your daughter. They did a DNA test that proved she was not my husband’s. He was having an affair – with a man, do you believe it? – and that is why we are splitting sheets. Can you refuse your daughter’s mother?”

I did not reply. I simply closed and locked the door. I finished my salad and the movie. Then I remotely accessed my home computer and put up a slide show of family videos Esther had recently prepared as a present for my thirty-third birthday. When it was time to go to sleep, I darkened the display wall and got into bed. My autoerotic fantasy featured Esther. Stephanie no longer had any part in our very satisfying love affair.

When I returned to Orlando the next day, Rebecca and Adam had just come home from school. They gave me an unusually big, warm welcome. “We have work to do!” said Adam proudly.

“Your homework for school?” I asked.

“Oh, no, that’s not what Adam is talking about,” replied Rebecca. “Mom and us took home some laundry from the church and we volunteered to wash and fold it.”

I watched in pleasant amazement as our children worked as a team to do laundry for people who had been strangers the day before. By the time Esther got home from work, one bag was done, the second in the dryer and the third in the washer. An hour later, after we had shared a simple supper, I helped Esther carry it to the car for transport back to the church shelter.

“I’ve never seen Adam and Rebecca work so nicely and productively,” I said. “And, you seem tired but very happy to be going back to help administer that place!”

“I am very satisfied about recent developments,” she replied. “I’m back by ten-thirty. You wait up for me. You know what I mean.”

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Chapter 6 -- Israeli Adventure

2009-01-04T10:24:00.008-05:00

February 2053

A month after the official contract awards, Stephanie called Luke and me to her office. Barbas was there. “Gentlemen,” he said soberly, “The news will soon feature the Hawking Plan.”

“Great!” I replied, “There was lots of good press last month about the contracts. What’s this news report going to focus on?”

“Your God-damned butt-gas!” said Barbas, “The news will be all about your stinking butt-gas! About your idiotic modification of the scriptures of all the world’s religions! My security contacts in CentAsia and the MidEast gave me a heads-up that Tsar Sahbaka and his unlikely team of conservadores fiscales, advocates of the poor, profesoros de la Universidad for integridad académica, and religiosas locas will announce that TABB has been modifying religious scriptures. The news could come out this month, as soon as Tsar Sahbaka and his cohort gain access to the proof.”

Luke shook his head from side to side. He started to ask a question, but changed his mind. That confirmed for me he had no idea of the máquina del tiempo aspect of the Hawking Plan.
Barbas manipulated the codip and the before and after photos of the Dead Sea Scrolls appeared on the display wall behind Stephanie’s reclining chair. “As proof,” he continued, “They will show the film negatives of these photos and correlate them with changes they say they have detected in the e-texts.”

“Did Sahbaka get the film negatives?” asked Stephanie.

“My sources are not sure if he has them,” replied Barbas, “But the word is the guy who queried all your PIDs, Yitzchak bar Mats, is the source of the information and he’s probably the guy who took the photos and has the negatives or knows where they are.”

Stephanie manipulated her codip. A moment later information about Yitzchak bar Mats was displayed on the wall behind her. He was 53 years old and worked as a document custodian at the Shrine of the Book museum in Jerusalem. The two locations where he had recently lived were displayed on the wall behind her: Mats Camp: West Southwest of Be’er Sheva, at 31” 13’ 37.00º N, 34’ 44’ 59.25º E. Mats House: Southwest corner of Be’er Sheva, at 31” 13’ 17.45º N, 34” 45’ 46.52 E. Satellite maps showed the camp was about two kilometers, as the crow flies, from his house. However, the walk along the dry river bed between them was about five kilometers because the river curved. There was a dirt road north of the river bed between his house and camp that was about as long.

“Good,” began Barbas. “Let’s assume, for the moment, this is the guy with the film. He wouldn’t keep it at his house or camp because he knows we are suspicious and we could get a warrant.”

“Barbas,” I asked, “How could we get a warrant to search? It’s not illegal to have film is it?”

“OK, Jim. Bar Mats’s employment contract at the Shrine of the Book prohibits unauthorized photos. Even if he did not take the pictures, I know some guys in Israel who owe me a favor from years back who probably have the contacts to get a warrant. If I was the guy with the film, I would put it in a metal can and bury it in the desert.”

“Why a metal can?” asked Luke. “Wouldn't plastic be better?”

“God-damned engineers!” blurted Barbas. “He'd put it in metal so he could find it with a metal detector. Some stupid TBI engineers once buried a secret code gadget for me while I was on a clandestine mission. It was in a plastic baggie and I had to dig up a wide area to find the thing! That almost gave away my identity. Idiot engineers! If they had put it in a metal can I could have located it accurately in a minute! You can't get along with 'em and you can't get along without 'em. Worse than my ex-wife, may she rot in hell.”

“Thank you,” replied Luke. “I once did a project for the TBI and I was impressed at how the secret agents sometimes were smarter than my fellow engineers. One time I even ...”

“So,” interrupted Stephanie, “Assuming bar Mats is the guy with the photos and assuming he buried them somewhere near his house or camp, what shall we do?”

“Go dig them up!” I replied. Everyone looked at me! I was surprised to hear myself say that. I had intended to simply think it to myself. I put my hand to my mouth.

“Jim,” said Barbas enthusiastically, “I like that idea! We can contact some of my old amigos en persona and get some real leads. Stephanie - let’s make it look like a TABB team building exercise!”

“Whoa,” I cried. “I didn’t mean we should do it – as in me – don’t we have TBI guys who do that stuff?”

“Yes we do,” answered Stephanie, “But we’ve got no real evidence to get the TBI officially involved yet. We don’t know if this bar Mats guy has anything to do with this. He’s our only suspect so far, but we shouldn’t focus down too narrowly too soon. In any case, why don’t we do it? The studies are in process and you have worked so much unpaid overtime evaluating the proposals and all, and I’m no longer carrying that baby around, why not take a paid vacation?”

“What about your new baby?” asked Luke, “Don’t you want to be with Diega as much as possible?”

“I hate her crying!” said Stephanie. “I can afford to pay the nanny to work full time. DG - that's what we call Diega - is cute when she’s happy and clean, but she sleeps most of the time and cries and poops and pees a lot. I need a break from both DG and work!”

“Why am I in on this thing?” asked Luke, “I had nothing to do with the religion aspect of the Hawking Plan.”

“You were at the DoHiMuTo,” said Barbas, “The Documentary History Museum of Tokyo when the Dead Sea Scrolls were supposedly modified, right?”

“No!” shouted Luke, “The PID records are false.”

“Luke,” replied Stephanie, “I believe you. You are religiosas locas and won’t lie. But the PID records are what they are. No one will believe you were elsewhere. If those documents were actually modified, you and Jim are the guilty parties!”

“Religiosas locas?” Luke asked, “That means ‘crazy religious’ doesn’t it? Even if my Latinized first name is Lucas that doesn’t make me locas! And, who the heck said the Dead Sea Scrolls were actually modified at the DoHiMuTo? I thought we concluded they were photo shopped or the film negatives were changed or something like that.”

“Luke,” said Stephanie, “Are you by any chance familiar with the contra-terror program of the TBI?”

“Sure,” Luke replied, “The TBI lead the heroic war against the crazy Islamistas in the mountains and deserts. One of my former college roommates who went to work for the TBI told me personally how he was tortured. That covert war plus the positive ID technology finally put those terrorists out of business. Everybody knows that.”

“There was another aspect of TBI contra-terror. It is still TBI-Secret and must not be revealed to anybody without an official ‘need to know.’ As I’ve told you before, I was at the TBI before I came to TABB to be Chief of the Infinite Future Branch. Barbas, here, was one of my mentors. In his younger days he was personally involved in some of the most heroic parts of the contra-terror program.”

“At the time,” said Barbas, “I was young and foolish.”

“Now,” replied Stephanie with a broad grin, “You’re old and foolish.” With that she rushed over, sat on his lap, and gave him a big hug and a warm kiss on his cheek. Barbas and the other long-toothed barbas grises at the TBI took me under their wing. At first I was an intern, then a graduate student doing part-time work-study for them, and then they gave me my first job after my PhD. They told me about their máquina del tiempo, which means ‘time machine.’”

“Engineering technology,” replied Luke, “Has not yet been developed to reverse time and I don’t think it ever will.”

“These were not physical time machines, Luke,” she continued, “Rather; the TBI went and modified the scriptures of a certain religion as they appear in the e-texts and e-photos on WIN, which is equivalent to going back in time and changing history.”

“Good idea,” said Luke, “The Quran could stand some editing. I’ve heard it was the moderate Imams who finally tamed the Islamistas and called off the suicide bombers. I didn’t know about the TBI ‘time machine’ program but it seems they did real good there!”

“Thank you Luke, on behalf of Barbas and the others at the TBI who gave their lives to defeat religion-based terrorism. It wasn’t my idea and they did it before I joined the TBI. Barbas told me they had to make the same changes in the originals or oldest extant copies of the scriptures to prevent religious historians and literal believers from proving that the changes had been made.”

I watched Luke closely, hoping against hope he would not make the connection between the TBI máquina del tiempo project and the claim the Dead Sea Scrolls had been modified at the DoHiMuTo, which, of course they had at my direction. Luke's head was bobbing up and down and he was smiling broadly. He gave Stephanie an enthusiastic thumbs up!

Suddenly the smile vanished. Luke put his right hand to his face and glared at me. “Stephanie,” he began in an even, foreboding tone, “Are you about to tell me you authorized Jim to play ‘time machine’ with scriptures to promote human space travel?” Before she could reply, Luke continued, “Jim, my friend who I thought was honestly searching for his true faith, did you direct changes to the scriptures of the world’s religions – including Judaism and Christianity? I mean – now I think you even changed the Dead Sea Scrolls! You put space travel words into the Dead Sea Scrolls? You modified documents that are 2000 years old and were only discovered a hundred years ago? You, an historian for God's sake? You, a rabbi? What were you thinking man? Was that why we visited the DoHiMuTo? It's true, isn't it?”

I looked down, too embarrassed to face my dear friend. Silently, I shook my head up and down, very slowly, up and down.

Luke stood up and punched at the air. We remained silent wondering what he would do next. He turned towards me, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look him in the eye. “Hola Diego,” he began, uncharacteristically using Inglañol, “Did you also change the oldest copy of the 1611 King James Version? Diego, say it isn’t so!”

Before I could answer, Barbas interrupted. “I have a retired amigo who has done antiquity digs in the desert. I’ll bet she’d love to come along and help us look like archeological researchers.”

“Not yet,” I replied to Luke, “But, I confess it is on my to-do list. I promise to take it off and ...”

Luke gritted his teeth. He held his hand up to my face like a stop sign. “’Get thee behind me Satan.’ For it is written, ‘Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve’. Say no more about your evil works to me.” That was the worst moment of the worst day in my entire life.

Luke and I protested but Stephanie was the boss. So, by March 3rd, five of us, Barbas, his lady friend Betsy, Stephanie, Luke and I were off on a “team building exercise” to the area west southwest of Be’er Sheva in Israel. Barbas and Betsy rented a four-wheel-drive vehicle and two camping caravans. They set up an “archeological dig” camp along the dry river bed about four kilometers south-southwest of Be’er Sheva and had the camp stocked with freeze-dried food and barrels of fuel and water. They also rented appropriate digging equipment, clothing and footwear for us.

When Stephanie, Luke and I arrived, we were pleased with the setup. Using the powers granted by her scepter, Stephanie had created a false identity for herself, under the name “La Reyna Abeja” and one for Barbas, under “Barbas Grises.” La Reyna and Barbas posed as archeology Professors from Yale and Princeton. Betsy used her true identity; Professor Emeritus at Harvard, which I suspect was her cover while she was a TBI agent. Luke and I used our true identities as TABB employees being rewarded for our work on the Hawking Plan.

La Reyna named the two caravans after my children, Rebecca and Adam. “Why did you choose those names?” I asked, “Why not just ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ or ‘Adam’ and ‘Eve’? Why my kids names?”

“Jim,” she replied, “I thought you would like it! I met Adam and Rebecca at the TABB family picnic last summer, and I thought they were both delightful kids. You and Esther have done a fine job.”

The women shared the Rebecca caravan, with La Reyna in the private bedroom at the rear, and Betsy in the front bunk over the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The Adam caravan was for the men. Barbas would get the rear bedroom the first week, Luke the mid-bunk and I the front one. We would rotate positions each week.

Barbas showed us maps and satellite photos of the area between the Mats House and Mats Camp. He had arranged with former TBI colleagues for satellite images of the area. Sophisticated TBI software compared monthly satellite photos and noted changes, such as those that might have been made to bury a can of film. He reduced the two-hundred candidate sites to twenty by imagining he was Bar Matz. He would hide it within walking distance of the Mats House or Camp, not too close or far from the dirt road, and relatively isolated by the terrain, such as in a hollow or a dry canyon.

The top twenty candidates were indicated and located on his map. He said our team would stage an “archeological dig” at each site while he used a metal detector to search for the can of film. He estimated it would take two days at the first site and a day for each additional site, for a maximum of three weeks.

The first day, our eager team went to “site Able” where Betsy gave an informative lecture on archeological digs and the flora and fauna of the desert around Be’er Sheva. Then, while Barbas scoured the area with his metal detector, disguised as a walking stick, Betsy set up the grid and explained how archeologists track their finds.

Just after the noon meal, Barbas detected some metal and we amateur archeologists extended the grid to that area and began to dig in earnest. Within a half hour we found an old bullet casing – not the can of film. Betsy insisted on taking photos, marking it as a “find” and listing it in her record book. This process went on for the remainder of that day and the next. Other than the photos and the records in Betsy’s book, as well as a box of scrupulously labeled old metal junk, site Able yielded nothing but sore hands, arms, and backs.

At camp that late afternoon, Barbas announced we were in for a treat, an old-fashioned camp cookout. He had gathered some fallen tree branches and built a fire ring of rocks. The menu was hot dogs and buns and a bottle of kosher wine. He had obtained special permission from La Reyna for the wine, using the excuse that it was kosher and we were in the Holy Land. He poured a small cup of wine for each of us and toasted “to our health, may it never be worse!”

Luke was hesitant to drink the wine because his church forbad alcohol. “Isn't the wine supposed to be Christ's body and blood according to the Old Testament?” asked La Reyna.

“Yes,” replied Luke, “They probably used alcoholic wine in Jesus’s day, to preserve the grape juice from spoiling. That is no longer necessary given good sanitation and refrigeration. However, in honor of being here in the Holy Land, where Jesus Himself may have consumed wine, and after all this is kosher, I'll have one small cup!”

As dinner proceeded, Barbas consumed a second and third cup until he drained the bottle. He arose and danced around the fire. “Say Jim, or is it Luke?” he asked, “Who brought the yellow manual toothbrush I saw on the shelf of the head of the Adam caravan?”

“It was me,” I replied, “I wasn't sure we'd have reliable electricity in the camp so I bought it at a camping store.” Both Luke and Barbas had brought their ultra-violet laser supersonic tooth wands that stimulated the gums, killed germs, flossed and cleaned the teeth.

“Reminds me of an old camp song,” said Barbas cheerfully: "That old yeller toothbrush with bristles so fine. / That old yeller toothbrush with bristles so fine. / My father he used it. / My mother refused it. / My sister abused it. / And now, now it is mine!” La Reyna joined Barbas in a hearty laugh and I half-heartedly went along. Betsy seemed embarrassed by the song and Luke smiled and tried to chuckle but it was clear he didn't understand it.

La Reyna danced with Barbas around the fire, singing the key line and adding some of her own: “My sister abused it. / She surely confused it. / My sister abused it. / Though no one excused it. / My sister abused it / She sorely misused it. / And now, now, now, now - now it is YOURS!” She pointed to me as she sang the final line, skipped over, sat in my lap, and gave me a hug and a kiss on the lips.

That evening as I prepared for bed I considered how I could use that lap dance and hug and kiss in my autoerotic routine. While brushing my teeth I thought I detected a strange taste. Had Barbas put something on the toothbrush as a mean joke?

We spent the third day at site Baker. There we dug up more junk, plus a badly gnawed bone. Betsy was not sure if it was human or not. The fourth day, at site Charlie, we found evidence Betsy interpreted as very recent digging. It could not have been more than a month ago. She critiqued their technique as not compatible with good archeological practices. Barbas worried the recent digging was evidence that bar Mats had returned and recovered his can of film.

La Reyna suggested our team spend an extra day at site Charlie, seeking evidence of who the recent diggers might be and what they were looking for. The only unusual things we found were a few beer cans and food wrappers as well as some buried human scat. These finds confirmed the digging was recent, but were inconclusive as to their purpose. They could have been anything from a family picnic to a high school “archeological dig” to bar Mats recovering the film can. La Reyna decided to simply record what we found and move on.

That evening, as I returned from my evening walk, I saw La Reyna hurriedly exiting the Adam caravan. I wondered what she had been up to in there. That strange taste on my toothbrush persisted throughout our Israeli adventure. Perhaps I was confabulating it?

The sixth day at site Dog, the seventh at Echo, and the eighth at Fox were similarly unproductive. I had been looking forward to the eighth evening because Barbas had to give up the private bedroom in the Adam caravan to me. I was delighted to find a real mattress on the queen-sized bed, unlike the thin foam mats in the other bunks.

I was sleeping peacefully when I was awakened by the squeak of my bedroom door opening. The scent of lemon blossoms greeted my nose and I sensed the presence of an intruder. Before I could react, the bed rocked a bit and I felt a warm body sitting astride me. With a tremendous push, I shoved that person off and the two of us crashed to the floor in the narrow aisle beside the bed. It was La Reyna!

A moment later Barbas came storming into the room, a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “What in hell is going on?” he demanded. I got off of La Reyna and back onto the bed.

La Reyna stood up and, quite calmly, spoke to Barbas. “I’m sorry for the commotion,” she began, “This was entirely my mistake. I had trouble sleeping and took a walk in the desert. When I returned, I got a bit confused and thought this was the Rebecca caravan. I went back to what I believed was my private bedroom and jumped into bed, apparently startling poor Jim here. His reaction was quite normal.”

“Right!” said Barbas, as he dropped his gun and turned on the safety. “My dear, I could have killed you. Please be more mindful in the future, my love.” He and I walked La Reyna to the caravan door. Luke, in the front bunk, had slept through the whole event. La Reyna gave me a hug and a kiss and then did the same for Barbas. In the privacy of my bedroom, I had a wonderful autoerotic fantasy with Stephanie. I slept very well the rest of the night.

The next three days, at sites Golf, Hotel and India, came up empty. What had started as a grand adventure deteriorated into mere back-breaking labor. At one point, Luke inadvertently tossed a shovelful of sand into Barbas’ face and tempers flared. Barbas drew his gun and threatened to kill him. Betsy reverted to her professorial demeanor and began making ridiculous demands regarding the accuracy of locating and recording our “finds.” La Reyna, for her part, worked extremely hard – this, she explained, was a good substitute for her normal physical exercise regimen. She scrupulously followed Betsy’s archeological dig rules. She tried to keep our team spirit up. Luke and I simply wanted it all to be over.

On the morning of the twelfth day La Reyna announced there would be no digging. We would spend our morning at leisure and then go into Be’er Sheva for a nice lunch at a café. Betsy offered to lead an adventurous morning hike and give us information on the geology of the dry river bed. La Reyna urged Luke and me to come along. We reluctantly agreed. Betsy packed a couple of knapsacks with water and energy bars and we all piled into the four-wheel drive.

Barbas drove us down the dirt road, heading west, about two kilometers beyond the Mats Camp, to an area we had not previously explored. He followed the dirt road and then drove along a dry canyon north for a couple hundred meters. We got out of the four-wheel drive and walked further north along the canyon and then east to a high point where we could get a better view of the area. Betsy gave an interesting lecture about the geologic history of the area and answered the questions La Reyna, Luke, and I asked.

La Reyna urgently motioned to stop talking and drop to our knees. “I hear voices,” she whispered, “off to the east.” The voices were too distant to make out. La Reyna took her scepter out of her jacket pocket and pointed it in an easterly direction, down into the hollow from which the voices originated. She explained that a scepter had the ability to directly query PIDs of anyone within a narrow cone of its axis and up to about thirty meters away without any need for WIN coverage. “We’re too far away to get a direct PID reading,” she whispered, “You all say right here and I’ll sneak closer.”

After a few minutes the voices stopped and La Reyna came running back. “They heard me and I think they saw me,” she said quietly. “Six to eight men and women were digging and speaking a language I couldn’t identify. I got a few direct PID readings but couldn’t decode them because there’s no WIN coverage down in that hollow. I’ll go up the hill to the north where there may be WIN coverage from Be’er Sheva there and see you at the four-wheel.”

Barbas, Betsy, Luke and I hiked back to the four-wheel drive as quietly as possible. A quarter hour later, a white-faced La Reyna joined us. “I got some WIN coverage and decoded the PID readings. Four of them are from the southern Russia-Kazakh border area. That is where our CentAsian conservadores fiscales adversary Tsar Sahbaka is from. The other two are from Iraq. I don’t recognize the names and I couldn’t do a search on them because the WIN coverage is so spotty it would have taken too long. What shall we do?”

Barbas thought for a while and spoke. “They are probably Tsar Sahbaka’s team also looking for that God-damned can of film bar Mats hid. They saw you and probably detected the direct PID queries transmitted by your scepter. It’s too dangerous for you, as a scepter-holder, to be out of contact with the WIN under these circumstances. If they capture you and the scepter in a non-WIN area, the authorities will not be alerted to come look for you. If they do it in a WIN area, the authorities will come and blow our ‘archeological dig.’ Either way, you have to stay here where it’s safer.”

“So,” said La Reyna after a bit of contemplation, “Should we just return to our camp or go into Be’er Sheva as we originally planned for lunch at a café like nothing happened?”

“No,” replied Barbas. “If they saw you they’re probably organizing a search party and may set up an ambush along the dirt road to town. You stay here with the boys. Betsy and I will don our knapsacks and take a little hike in that direction. If they discover us – and we’ll make enough noise so they are sure to do just that – we’ll appear to be a couple of ancient Americans out on a desert adventure. Betsy is slim and fit like you and, from a distance, they’ll assume it was Betsy they saw twenty minutes ago and call off their search.”

“OK,” replied La Reyna.

Betsy and Barbas put on the knapsacks and headed out. He turned back and shouted, “If we don’t return in an hour, you can just go into town for lunch. We have enough energy bars and water to survive in the desert this evening and even into tomorrow. If need be, we can hike the four kilometers to our camp. Don’t worry about us!”

La Reyna, Luke and I sat silently in the shadow of the four-wheel drive. About ten minutes later we heard three closely-spaced shots east of our location. Then a few minutes silence and two more shots. “You boys stay here,” said La Reyna firmly, “If I’m not back in an hour and Barbas and Betsy don’t return either, drive to our camp and wait there. I’ve authorized your PIDs as ‘keys’ to this four-wheel.” She took a water bottle and stuffed a couple energy bars into her jacket and ran in the general direction of the shots.

Luke and I sat silently for several minutes. “We can hide over there,” he whispered, pointing to a shady area of boulders about ten meters away. “Someone might come by and see the four-wheel but we’ll be safe if we hide.” We each found a suitable rock to sit on where we were unlikely to be spotted. Luke sat so he could see towards the east, where we expected La Reyna, Barbas, and Betsy to return. I sat where I could see the four-wheel.

“If I see anyone coming,” he said, “I’ll tap you on your left shoulder, and if you see anybody you tap me on my right. That will be a signal to be silent and turn around and observe.”

We sat there in silence for a while and then I spoke. “What do you know about the scepter-holders, Luke?”

“Only what’s been made public, plus some informed speculation,” he replied. “I’ve never worked on that technology or been read into the secret parts of it so I’m free to talk about it.”

“All I know,” I replied “Is that Stephanie is a scepter-holder, that they call themselves the ‘700 club’ but there are supposedly sixteen-hundred of them, and they have some special powers. I didn’t know about the power of scepters to directly query PIDs, for example, until Stephanie did it back there. Ordinary PID readers can query other PIDs but those PIDs won’t respond unless the querying PID is on their authorized list. Apparently Stephanie’s scepter can read any PID. What are your speculations about the scepter holders?”

“Jim, on this mission, we’re supposed to call her ‘La Reyna Abeja’ – ‘the Queen Bee’. If I tell you everything I know,” said Luke with a sly wink, “Will you tell me everything you know?”

“Sorry, Luke,” I replied, “I have certain information you don’t have an official ‘need to know.’”

“Does it have anything to do with that phony PID data about me being at the DoHiMuTo on June 11th last year?”

“I can’t say,” I said sheepishly, “I just can’t say.”

“That sounds to me like a ‘yes’,” replied Luke, a bit testily.

“Let it sound any way you want,” I replied, in as friendly a manner as I could manage under the circumstances.

After a while, he spoke up. “Sixteen hundred people are way too many for there not to be a hierarchical structure. If the scepter-holder system was properly designed, according to system science theory at least, there would have to be several grades above the lowest class of scepter-holder.” He took out his read-WINs and put them on.

“Luke,” I observed, “There’s no WIN coverage here …”

“Right,” answered Luke, “But there are processors and software in read-WINs. I’ve got a program for ‘optimal span’ – you know the ‘magical number seven plus or minus two.’”

“What the heck is that?” I asked, “And why would I care? Where are we going here?”

“Well, back about a century ago, a psychologist named Miller discovered that human perception, such as sight and smell and taste and memory and so on, is limited to five to nine gradations. He called it 'the magical number seven, plus or minus two' or, more scientifically, the 'span of human perception'. An engineer named Glickstein, about sixty years ago, proved the optimal span for any structure is one plus the degree of the nodes times 2.71828459, the natural number ‘e.’ For a one-dimensional string, the degree is two and optimal span is around six point four. He also showed with Shannon’s information theory that the range five to nine was, at least theoretically, over ninety-six percent efficient and four to twelve was over eighty percent efficient. And that’s not just for control hierarchies like a management chain, but also containment hierarchies in all types of physical systems and even software systems like …”

“You just told me how to build a clock,” I laughed, “All I want to know is what time it is! Please, tell me why I give a hoot about the range five to nine or the number six point four?”

“About forty years ago,” continued Luke, “A management expert named Meijer rediscovered the optimal span theory and proclaimed that all management structures must adhere to it! Did you ever notice how nearly all departments at TABB have either six or seven workers to each manager? How each second-level manager has six or seven first-level managers working for him or her?”

“Yeah, come to think of it,” I replied, “That’s how it is. On the other hand, when I worked in a factory as a college summer job, we had about a dozen guys and gals in our team.”

“Well,” replied Luke, “The lowest level, like a platoon in the military, can have ten or twelve or sometimes a bit more. The theory only applies when the workers have to interact with each other in complex ways, not when they’re doing grunt work.”

“OK,” I replied, “So, where are we going here?”

“If you’d quit interrupting, I’ll tell you,” Luke said good-naturedly, “According to the optimal span program in my read-WINs, sixteen-hundred scepter-holders would break down into about two-hundred-fifty first-level ‘departments,’ each with six or seven scepter-holders and one higher-level scepter-holder ‘managing’ them. The two-hundred-fifty second-level scepter-holders would report to thirty-six third-level scepter-holders who, in turn, would report to six fourth-level scepter-holders who would report to the top dog scepter-holder.”

“OK,” I replied, “So the scepter-holders are hierarchically organized … Wait a minute, did you say thirty-six?”

“Yeah,” replied Luke, “There should be thirty-six scepter-holders at the third level. What about it?”

“Well,” I began, very seriously, “We have a tradition in Judaism that there are thirty-six ‘tzadikim’ or ‘righteous ones’ for whose sake the world exists. No one knows who they are. When one dies God somehow chooses another. They are sometimes called the ‘Lamed Vovniks’ because, according to gematria, which we discussed some months ago, the Hebrew letter Lamed stands for thirty and the letter Vuv for six, which adds up to thirty-six.”

“So,” replied Luke with an intensity of interest that surprised me, “There would be thirty-six especially powerful scepter-holders who would regulate the rest! I’m not one-hundred percent pleased with Stephanie’s ethics – I should say La Reyna’s ethics – and I’ve wondered why the higher-level scepter-holders don’t rein her in.”

“Neither am I,” I replied, “But, sadly, when she gives me an assignment, such as altering the scriptures of all the world’s religions, despite my better judgment, I go along with it!” I opened my mouth and then covered it with my right hand. “Dohi muto!” I exclaimed, “I’m a ‘misguided servant.’ My ‘guiding lights’ have gone out.”

“What are you saying about the Tokyo DoHiMuTo museum?”

I lowered my head to my chest and rotated it left and right. “Luke,” I began, “Let me confess that, yes; as you guessed back in Orlando some weeks ago, I did order changes to be made in the oldest extant copy of the 1611 KJV. After you found out about the máquina del tiempo I countermanded that order. No changes will be made.”

“Jim,” said Luke very quietly, “At that time I was a bit angry with you. But, after thinking about it, I concluded it was not my role to protect the 1611 KJV or any other copy of God’s words. I have faith God will protect what needs protection and allow modifications to what needs to be modified. I forgave you a month ago.”

“Thank you, Luke. Thank you very much. Perhaps you believe having you find out about the máquina del tiempo and my feeling guilty about ordering changes to the very relic you considered the absolute word of God, and my countermanding my order to change the 1611 KJV was God’s way of protecting it?”

“Perhaps,” answered Luke, “And, have you considered the possibility this whole event, and our adventure in the Israeli desert and the danger we face from the recent shooting is God’s way of giving you the gift of faith. I pray to God it is!”

“Are you trying to convert me to belief in God? Do you expect me to embrace Christianity?” I asked.

“It is the mission of every Christian to spread the Gospel. In these anti-religious times that is dangerous except in private in the company of friends. Please take my efforts as a compliment. As an indication of my high regard for you and my trust in your judgment.”

“This talk of conversion reminds me of this guy who goes to his rabbi,” I said. “He tells the rabbi his son is converting to Christianity and he can’t argue him out of it. The rabbi says, ‘What a coincidence you came to me! I also had a son! He also converted!’…”

“Is this one of your jokes?” asked Luke, a frown on his face.

“So,” I continued, ignoring Luke’s question, “The rabbi tells the guy what he did when his son converted. He prayed to God and God answered! Do you have any idea what God said?”

“Yeah,” replied Luke, “I know what God said. He said ‘What a coincidence you came to Me! I also had a Son who converted.’ Right? When your faith is in danger of awakening you make a joke. I think you are afraid to allow your true faith and religious feelings to come out!” Luke stood up and looked to the east, from where we expected La Reyna to return. He shook his head and sat down.

“Luke, I’ve been thinking about your faith in the Genesis creation myth in the face of your detailed knowledge of biological evolution. I assume you also believe in so-called ‘intelligent design’? I’ve heard there are scientists who believe in that pseudo-science but I’ve never had the opportunity to talk to one, face-to-face.”

“Well, I do have some special knowledge of biology and genetics, due to my role in the Hawking Plan and some biotech work I did ten years ago. However, I’m not an expert by any means.”
Luke stood up again and flexed his legs. “The mainstream scientific explanation of the origin of life on Earth is that atoms naturally join together into molecules, such as two hydrogen atoms joining with an oxygen atom to form H2O, which is water. Some molecules form long chains. A random bunch of these molecules can form what are called ‘autocatalytic cycles’ that can sustain themselves if they happen to be trapped in porous rock or some other semi-pervious material. That, of course, is all scientifically true.

“The next step in the mainstream scientific explanation is where I, and the ‘intelligent design’ scientists, have problems with it. The mainstream scientists say some of these long-chain molecules randomly happened to form primitive RNA, which, though not quite alive, can reproduce itself and also act as catalyst for the formation of some proteins. The step from RNA to primitive DNA is, they claim, almost inevitable, although it has never been reproduced in a lab.

“So, they claim, DNA was produced. It has the double-helix that makes it more stable than RNA so it has ‘memory’ capability. They claim primitive single-cell organisms called ‘prokaryotic’ cells, like blue-green algae, came into existence. According to their timeline, it took a couple billion years for the prokaryotic cells to evolve, by random mutations and genetic crossover according to Darwinian evolution and natural selection, into eukaryotic cells. Once that happened – eureka! they claim – you have multi-celled plants and animals and, eventually, some billion years later, Homo sapiens!”

We heard a sound from the direction of the dirt road, and soon saw a plume of dust. Apparently, a car or truck had passed on that little used road. We dropped down on our knees and remained silent until it became apparent we had not been observed. “Please continue,” I said. “It’s a bit technical but I want to understand.”

“OK, the scientific ‘intelligent design’ proponents – one is a member of my church – do not believe random processes were capable of creating prokaryotic cells. Most scientific ‘intelligent design’ advocates do not believe, even given prokaryotic cells, they could ever evolve into eukaryotic cells for multi-cell plants and animals. Not even given two-billion years. Even primitive biological cells are so complex they could not have come into existence via random processes. A design that complex demands a Designer!

“Therefore, ‘intelligent design’ requires God at least for Creation of the first prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells. He planted them here on Earth. After that, it is possible random mutations and genetic crossover could explain the evolution of life on Earth. Of course, those of us who are believers do not think God went away after the first biological cells were planted on Earth. We believe He continues to intervene in the process of evolution to this day.”

“So,” I replied, “God is not dead?”

“You are paraphrasing Nietzsche, who claimed something like ‘God is dead.’ Of course God, after due consideration, came back and said ‘Nietzsche is dead.’ Only the latter assertion is certainly true!”

“Well,” I said, a satisfied look on my face, “If primitive cells are too complex to come into existence by random processes and require a God to create them, who created God? I mean, God is certainly more complex than primitive cells, so He must have been created by a Super-God. Then, who created Super-God? Is it Super-Duper-God, is it an infinite regress of ‘Gods all the way up?’ I know the standard answer: ‘God is Eternal, He has always existed.’ That, if you don’t mind me saying so, is the ultimate ‘cop out’.”

“I do believe God is Eternal, and we will never know how or why. It is something we have to accept by faith.”

“Why not accept the scientific account of the origin of life you outlined for me? In billions of years, random mixing of atoms and molecules could, according to the Laws of Nature, result in primitive RNA, then DNA, and then living, reproducing biological cells.”

Luke smiled. “Jim, my friend, I have two questions for you. First, if some ‘scientist’ told you a tornado had swept through a junk yard and, through random mixing and matching of bits and pieces of hardware junk, a shiny spaceship appeared, what would you say?”

“I would say it was possible,” I replied, “But so unlikely I would rather believe some competent engineers had designed and built that spaceship. Bolts and metal sheets are not on a small enough scale. But, I believe long-chain molecules, given sufficient time, could come together. As you explained, RNA and DNA have sufficient stability of memory as well as flexibility to evolve.”

“That’s a good answer,” admitted Luke, “And one I have to accept. The ‘tornado in a junk yard’ is a ‘cheap shot’ and I only mentioned it to test your understanding of my outline of the accepted scientific explanation for the origin of life on Earth. Although some of my fellow church members would disagree, I have to admit the scientific explanation is possible, though I disagree with it!”

“OK Luke. You said you had two questions for me. Now that I’ve passed your test with the first one, which you admit was a ‘cheap shot,’ I’m ready for the second!”

“Great. Here it is: where did matter and energy and the Laws of Nature come from? They are quite complex. Who created them?”

“Well,” I replied, “Don’t scientists day they have always existed? Don’t they believe the Laws of Nature are unchanging and unchangeable, the same at all times and in all places?”

“Exactly,” said Luke, “Isn’t that as much a ‘cop out’ as believing God is eternal and unchanging?”

“Well,” I replied, after thinking about it for a moment. “It saves a step or two. But I guess we have to accept, on faith, the basis for our existence. You are right! At least with your system, which I wish I could believe in, bad people will get their just deserts … eventually. Speaking of which, where in hell is La Reyna?”

“I wish I knew, she’s been gone for nearly twenty minutes,” replied Luke. “I do know La Reyna is an evil person and I have absolute confidence she will get exactly what she deserves.”

Before I could respond, we heard five more sharp shots, also from the east. I felt a warm sensation in my crotch and realized I had peed my pants. We sat silently for a few minutes.

“What if La Reyna doesn't return?’ I cried, breaking the silence. “And Barbas and Betsy? What will happen to us? What if we get shot and killed out here in the desert? What will happen to our families? They could be widows and orphans tomorrow ...”

“Don't worry Jim,” interrupted Luke, quite calmly. “Don't worry about the future, God is already there! God provides. The Lord givith and the Lord taketh away, Blessed be the Lord!”

“I’m a very weak person,” I whispered sadly. “She’s a God-damned temptress tool of Satan, and I’m her willing accomplice, her dohi muto. I deserve to get shot here in the desert. God forgive me for I have sinned. Sh’ma Yisra’el, Adenoi Eloheynu, Adenoi Echod.”

“Hola Diego,” whispered Luke, using my Latinized name to signify the unusual nature of my utterance, “You’ve finally found both God and Satan – a ‘foxhole conversion’ – those gunshots have finally scared some sense – and faith – into you …”

I did not reply. Instead, I kneeled and traced the words of the Sh'ma in Hebrew in the dust on the stone next to me:

שמע ישראל יהוה אלהינו יהוה אחד

Luke watched intently. He bent down and pointed to each letter, right to left, mouthing each sound "Sh .. Muh .. Yuh .. Ess .. Ruh .. El .. Yuh .. Huh .. Vuh .. Huh ..." I recalled him telling me he had once tried to learn to read Hebrew and he apparently still remembered the letters. He looked at me with a “spiritual” expression on his face. We stood briefly and hugged each other. I was trembling but he was calm. We sat on our appointed stone seats. A few minutes later, Luke tapped me on my left shoulder. I turned around to see La Reyna running towards the four-wheel drive. We scampered towards her.

“Luke! Jim! In!” She urgently motioned to us as she jumped into the driver’s seat. “I’m really angry! Good Lord I could kill Sahbaka! The enemy is near!”

We took off down the dry canyon to the dirt road. Luke and I looked at each other. We silently mouthed messages: “What happened?” “Should we ask her?” “No, silence is best right now.”

Once on the dirt road, she drove as fast as possible given the rough conditions. We buzzed past Mats Camp and, two kilometers later, flew into ours. “Go and grab your laundry and also Barbas’s dirty clothes,” ordered La Reyna, “And get back here pronto!”

Some moments after we came out with our laundry, La Reyna emerged from Rebecca with her laundry and Betsy’s. She was wearing a different shirt, jacket, shorts, and shoes. Had she told me we had time to change clothes I could have changed my pissed pants.

We all jumped back into the four-wheel with our laundry and La Reyna drove us into Be’er Sheva. She said absolutely nothing. We could see by her demeanor we were to remain silent as well. We drove around the southwest neighborhood of Be’er Sheva until we came upon a non-descript café. She parked the four-wheel, and turned to us.

“Act totally normally,” she said. “We’ve been on an archeological dig with Barbas and Betsy for a week and a half as a TABB-sponsored team building exercise. We took today off and Betsy led us on a nice geological exploration in a canyon west of Mats Camp. Barbas and Betsy packed their lunch because they wanted to be alone together. They’ll hike back to our camp this afternoon. We three came into Be’er Sheva to have a nice café lunch, do our laundry, and buy some things. This is the first time in a week we’ve had solid WIN coverage, so we’re also going to send messages to our families, amigos and colleagues back in Orlando.”

It became clear something terrible had occurred in the canyon. I had no idea what it was. Why did La Reyna choose to come into town and have lunch precisely during this crisis? Luke and I shook our heads up and down and remained silent. The café proprietor looked at the rough clothes and dirty boots Luke and I were wearing, and my wet pants, and sat us at a rear table, adjacent to the restroom. I excused myself and retreated to that room to try to dry my pants.

While on the “throne” I used paper toweling to blot up some of the urine from my underpants. As I did so, I noticed my hands were shaking. I was also a bit light-headed and felt some chest pains. Fearing I might faint, I stood up and staggered to the sink. I washed my face with cold water, getting some more liquid on my pants.

As I stood looking in the mirror, Luke’s voice bellowed through the thin door: “How beautifully blue the sky. / The glass is rising very high. / Some people say I know not why. / That we shall have a warm July.” The words were the song of the Major General’s daughters from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance. Why now, of all times, would Luke would be singing it, and so loudly in public? I heard La Reyna answer with the following verse about pirates and dreaming!

Has the whole world gone mad?” I asked myself.

I emerged from the restroom not a whole lot dryer than when I went in. I stormed over to the table and asked, “What the hell are you doing? Everyone in this café is looking at us!”

La Reyna responded brightly: “Things are seldom what they seem. / Sing together as a team.” She excused herself to the rest room.

“Luke,” I demanded as I sat down, “What in hell is going on?”

“Jim, my hiking and digging buddy,” he exclaimed, “La Reyna said we should ‘talk about the weather’ so I remembered that song from ‘Penzance’ and she joined in.”

“Have you two lost your minds?”

“Jim,” Luke whispered, “She wants to be noticed. Something awful happened in the canyon and this is her alibi. Don’t worry; you and I did not commit any crime so we won’t be punished. God will take care of us. He will ‘let the punishment fit the crime’.”

I suddenly understood the game and reared back and began to sing in a loud voice: “My object all sublime / I shall achieve in time. / To let the punishment fit the crime / The punishment fit the crime.”

Restaurant patrons turned and stared. Luke replied: “The billiards sharp that anyone catches / His fate’s extremely hard. / He’s made to dwell in a dungeon cell / On a spot that’s always barred. / And there he plays extravagant matches / In fitless finger stalls. / On a cloth untrue, with a twisted cue / And elliptical billiard BALLS! ”

I joined in for the final line, over-emphasizing the “balls!” As we two friends laughed together I felt a lot better. I had done nothing wrong and Luke was right, God, however He (or She) might be thought to exist, would protect us! Don't worry about tomorrow - God is already there! La Reyna returned and we three “buddies” laughed and sang and ate the excellent café food. It sure tasted good after a week and a half of freeze-dried camp food.

While we were eating, I brought up the topic of the Ten Commandments. “Luke,” I began, “On my first day at work, La Reyna asked me about the Ten Commandments, mentioning that the Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant traditions included three different versions of them. Since we are here in the Holy Land, I’ve been meaning to ask you which version is the one God gave to Moses not far from where we are now.”

“The version in the King James 1611,” replied Luke.

“Well,” I countered, “Now that we have good WIN coverage, I’ve brought up the Ten Commandments. I’ll beam them to your read-WINs and La Reyna’s. There are three different versions in the KJV! Look at Exodus 20 and 34 as well as Deuteronomy 5.”

“OK,” replied Luke and La Reyna. “I have them.”

“Please notice,” I continued, “The keeping of the Sabbath is found in all three versions; however it is number four in Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5, but number five in Exodus 34! Also notice Exodus 34 has only three Commandments in common with the Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5 lists of Commandments. It is missing some of the ‘biggies’ – the ones about ‘honor your father and mother’ and prohibition of killing, adultery, stealing, lying, and coveting!”

“I guess,” laughed La Reyna, “They invented máquina del tiempo well before my graybeard mentors!”

“This café is not the place to resolve this issue,” said Luke. “I’ll have to get back to you on it after I do some more checking.”

La Reyna drove the four-wheel all over Be’er Sheva on a “sightseeing” tour. She found a motel with a laundry room and we filled both machines with our dirty clothes. Having solidly established our alibi, we returned to our camp.

While Luke and La Reyna hurriedly strung a rope line and hung all the damp laundry out to dry, I headed into the Adam caravan to take a shower and don some dry clothes. As I left the Adam caravan, a grim-faced Luke entered it. “I’m going to take a shower,” said Luke, “And then I’ll be seeing you after a while. It might be quite a while.” I assumed Luke meant he was going to take a nap after his shower or perhaps a walk or something. I entered the Rebecca caravan and was greeted by La Reyna, who was also grim-faced.

“Jim,” she began, “Please have a seat, I have to tell you exactly what happened in the canyon.” I sat down in the dining area of the caravan with La Reyna opposite. “Barbas and Betsy are dead,” she said, “Killed by Tsar Sahbaka’s people.”

I sat there dumbfounded, panicked. I didn’t know what to say.

“After we heard the gunshots and I left you and Luke by the four-wheel, I went looking for them. I heard joyous voices and snuck up. There were five men and one woman dancing around the lifeless bodies of Barbas and Betsy. I saw one of the men run away to the east but the others continued to shout praises to Allah as the woman pulled Betsy’s jacket off of her. Finally, one guy took Barbas’s gun out of his hand and tried to fire it at him. When it didn’t work, he stuck it in Betsy’s crotch. Then they headed east, singing a song!”

I shook my head and said nothing. I took my trembling hands off the table and placed them on my lap.

“As soon as they were gone,” she went on, “I grabbed Barbas’s gun. Tsar’s people couldn’t use it since it was coded for his grip and fingerprints. Barbas also had it coded for Betsy and me. I took the gun and quickly caught up with the murderers. I was so angry I shot them, one by one, without a warning. I shot the woman last, as she drew her gun and turned to face me.”

“Sh’ma Yisra’el,” I cried. “What will happen to us now?” My hands began to quiver and I felt faint once more.

“I took Betsy’s jacket from the dead woman,” La Reyna continued calmly, “And used it to gather the guns from that bitch and one man. I used the jacket to carry the guns back the short distance to where Betsy and Barbas lay. I dumped the guns near their bodies. I used the jacket to wipe Barbas’s gun clean and placed it in his hand. Rigor mortis had not yet set in. Since he had fired his gun during his battle with them, he had powder burns on his hands and clothing. If anyone finds his body before we dispose of it, they’ll assume he shot Tsar’s people before he passed out and they died from their wounds a short distance away. I covered Betsy’s body with her jacket.”

Feeling faint, I stood up and tried to walk to the sink to splash cold water on my face. On the way I fainted, striking my head on the dining table as I went down.

I awoke several hours later, finding myself in La Reyna’s bed in the Rebecca caravan. She was beside me reading an e-book. As she saw me stirring she threw it to the floor and quickly sat astride me. I was helpless to resist her seduction.

After we were done, I noticed it was ten PM and I felt hungry. I prepared three cups of instant noodle soup and went to the Adam caravan to get Luke. I found a note in Luke’s empty bunk:

I’ve had enough of this adventure. My wife and children come ahead of my job and I’ve decided to go home to them. I took some of my personal things and plan to walk into town and get a bus or taxi to the airport and catch the next sleeplane back to Orlando. May God bless.

La Reyna accepted the note calmly. “OK. Here is the story we’ll use. Luke was missing his family and planned to go home early. That was why we took today off from digging and went on a final geological tour and had lunch at the café in town. When we got back to our camp, Barbas and Betsy had not returned. We had to wait for them, so, instead of driving Luke to the airport, he volunteered to walk into town and take a taxi or bus from there to the airport.

“When Barbas and Betsy still hadn’t hiked back and it was sunset it was too dark for us to drive the rough dirt road into town to get help. We knew they were experienced hikers and had ample food and water and warm clothing and so on, so we didn’t think it was urgent to seek help.

Tomorrow morning we’ll go out and call to them. Then, we’ll drive along the dirt road and look for them. When we don’t find them, we’ll drive into town and report them missing to the authorities.”

I rotated my head up and down. We each ate our noodle soup in silence. Then, we split Luke’s cup. I retired to my bed in the Adam caravan and slept soundly.

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