Next History: The Girl Who Hacked Tomorrow (39 page)

Lillian returns her gaze. “He is. I’ve been a fool. But still he doesn’t know
what you do.”

“Doesn’t matter. He is still right.”
Tharcia’s face so discouraged, her idol fallen.

Lillian holds out a hand. “Please, Tharcia.
You know it’s complicated. Come.”

Tharcia does not take Lillian’s hand,
but follows uphill among the redwoods. They enter a grassy clearing, flowers with giant blossoms hang from above. To Tharcia it is the garden dream where she met her secret twin. When Lillian turns around she is dressed exactly as in the dream, looks the same, sounds the same. She’s not Lillian in the Cynthia Mullen avatar, she is Lylit.

“Sis, we could have missed out being part of what’s coming. In the end you’ll be glad. I am overjoyed to know you.
I am now, I will be always.”

Lylit
opens her arms. Tharcia, in spite of her anger, accepts the embrace. Lylit looks into her eyes, kisses tenderly her mouth. Tharcia turns her cheek.

“I thought
all along I would love doing that. Now it seems weird.”

Lylit smiles.
“No. It’s not what you want. Not anymore.”

“Lylit, make it so Clay understands. So he doesn’t hurt.”
Her words plead but her look is hard.

“I can do that. Tharcia, there are things you must understand about him.
Clay is on a spiritual path. It made him look within and come to love himself. He attracted me because that is where Lylit lives, inside of every man. The ones who are unsatisfied with Eve come looking for me.”

To Tharcia this sounds like so much
doubletalk. “Just be sure he is okay, will you? Even if I…”

“If you don’t make it through? Yes, Tharcia, I plan to take care
of him. There is work ahead, for you and for me. And I will be with you.”

“Secret twins?”
Words drenched in irony.

“Always. Now come, we must go back. I must say farewell to Clay.”

“You leaving now? Will I see you?”

Lillian holds Tharcia’s shoulder
s. “Yes, and yes.”

“But wait. Was he right? Do women really do that?
Manipulate? Do you?”

Lillian sighs. “He was completely accurate about one thing. I did manipulate him. I have manipulated you as well. I saw that when I read your poem.”

“My poem.”

“On your wall, about becoming human.
Sis, I am sorry for my bad example. I know I must make it right. Tharcia, I will live up to you. You will not be a deceiver. You will teach others that.” The look that passes between them meant only between sisters. “You’ll need to say farewell to someone else.” Leaning close, she whispers in Tharcia’s ear. A spell, three simple words to free herself of Vardøger.

Laughing, Tharcia runs down the path, leading the way.

Driving across the Potomac on Curtiss Memorial Parkway headed for
Cleveland Park, Strand on his phone tries to make General Solberg understand why the Whalesong decoding is taking so long. Solberg presses hard for answers. It’s after seven, full dark, the evening rush still on, those both willing and so needed at their jobs they cannot stay home. In his mirror, a dark Chevy Suburban, Solberg’s armed guard.

“Ralph look. I have
the best interests of the country at heart. We are finding explosive things in the whale messages. We need to understand what it means before we hand it over. Anything less would be irresponsible.” Strand peers through his windshield at tail lights stretched far ahead.

Solberg’s voice is raspy in his ear, not the cool fighting man Strand has known since their duty in the Persian Gulf.
Neither man has slept properly in four days.

“Chris, my butt is hanging out over here. If there is information in those whale messages, we need it now.
The President… Tell me now, Chris. When can I have it and why is it so goddamn privileged?”

“Ralph, you
told me there are factions at high levels. I can guess what that might mean. This information could throw the momentum in the wrong direction. Seriously, we have to know more.”

“Chris you give me no choice. I am putting another team on it.”

“Dammit Ralph! Look, I know that’s your prerogative, but please take my warning seriously. Whatever they give you, keep it under wraps until you fully understand. Talk to me before you go public with it.”

“I have zero choice,” Solberg’s tone is grim as the connection goes dead. Strand’s mood is dark as he fi
nds his way to Sami’s town house. At the curb, he watches her graceful turn as she heads his way. She gets in.

“
Who are the dudes in the Suburban?” Sami asks. “And why the hush-hush? Where we going?”

“
Solberg’s shadow, remember?” Strand pulls away from the curb. In the mirror, the dark vehicle keeps pace.

“The woman we’re going to see has
knowledge that could explain the Whalesong.”

“
Ah. You said.” She turns on the seat to face him, “she knows all and sees all, a fortune teller.”

Strand’s yell is
sudden in the hushed interior. “Sami it could mean everything!”

She pulls back. Waits for the tension to bleed away. Sees from his set jaw he’s outside his usual envelope.
Poor guy’s not sleeping.

“Okay, Chris, if it’s that important.”

“It is. I apologize for losing it. I just had a very bad time with Solberg.”

She’s
silent. Her hand rests briefly on his shoulder.

He takes a deep breath.
“One of the Whalesongs I unpacked. It’s a convo among our team.”

“So?”

“It was about something Next History hasn’t done yet.”

“Wh
at?”

“Sami, I showed you that first article, how much information the Whales
ong can possibly hold. I unpacked some single messages up in the six thousands. One is a conversation between Carl and Gary. Thirty-two years from now.”

“
Thirty-two… you found another message supposedly from the future?”

“
I did. It’s convincing. A transcript. A convo in a coffee shop near the office, a place that’s not there yet. An algorithm of Carl’s. It uses psychological data and some mathematics that’s completely new. Purpose is to guide a person so they do well at a task.”

“So if we have a history on a person, you can predict… But how did the whales get it?”

“That’s why we’re seeing my fortune teller, as you like to call her. The whales dream about it.”

Sami sits up straight, leans close. “Wait, you’re telling me that with no technology, the whales can retrieve the inform
ation written in… what? DNA?”

“What it sounds like. I expected to find a design for a machine, a decoding device and algorithm.
Instead, I found meditation techniques.”

“Chris, no.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve been meditating since I was fifteen
,” Sami says quietly. “An hour a day every day.”

Strand looks over with a grin. “Well, genius, why do you suppose I want
ed you along? It’s in your bio.”

They pull up in front of a well-kept home on a wide street of broad lawns and trees.
The dark SUV parks discretely behind. Strand and Sami head up the flagstone walkway. At the door they are met by a small man with silver hair and an infectious grin. “You’re here for Grace?” The way he says it, grace could be a name, or a state of being.

“
I’m Chris Strand, this is my partner Samantha Lang. We called.”

“
She is here, please come in.”

They are shown to a
comfortable living room and left alone. Sami looks around. “Good taste. The psychic network must pay alright.”

“Shhht. Philistine.”

She frowns, makes like she’ll stick out her tongue, thinks better of it. A smiling woman enters the room, short cropped white hair, silver jewelry.

“You are Mr. Strand? I am Grace Cooke.”

“That makes two of us,” Sami laughs. “My middle name. Call me Sami.”

“So I was told. Sami, then. Please come.”

They follow to a spacious sitting room with a neat desk and armchairs, tall bookshelves on every wall. Mullion windows frame a lighted garden. Grace takes a comfortable high-back chair, gestures them to sit around a stone coffee table.

“How was your drive up? Roads alright?”

“Not bad. A little lighter. People are staying home.”

“One cannot be too careful these days. A lot of energy is being released.”

Strand looks at her carefully. “Yes. Grace, before we start, can you tell us what you’re hearing on the news?”

The woman smiles. “
Oh, we don’t watch much television. But we’ve heard the Pentagon was evacuated. The explanations aren’t clear. We’ve heard a delegation of priests is traveling to Virginia. Frank and I are Catholic, we’re being asked to pray tonight.”

“Really,” Strand says. “Priests. I missed that one. How does that come up?”

“It is about the Pentagon, a visitor they can’t get rid of. I see many disturbances in energy fields.”

Sami settles in her chair.
“We’re seeing that too.”

“Mr. Strand, on the phone you wanted t
o know about the Akashic Record. What brings you to that question?”

“I confess I am completely
ignorant about this, the Record, in the way you spoke of it. I am a scientist. Information has come to me from a very unusual source. I don’t want to waste your time. If you can convince me in five minutes that you can give me substantial guidance, I’ll pay you well for the next two hours of your time.”

“Oh my,” Grace
says. “You certainly do know what you want. Fine. This might interest you. We’re approaching a time of fundamental change. More people are prepared, the veil of the Record is lifting. Human consciousness is absorbing the light of Spirit at an unusual rate. This infusion has already brought radical upheaval in all areas of life. We are seeing that over recent weeks, even on the news. I feel you can tell us more, Mr. Strand, if you’d care to. Friends are concerned. I’m sure there are many things which are not made public.

“But whatever the energy, this turbulence is intended to bring u
s into a closer alignment with divine reality. You came to ask about the Akashic Record. The Record is one of the supreme tools for development of human consciousness.”

“What is the Record?”

“The Akashic Record is a dimension of reality that contains vibrational traces of every soul’s journey, and much more. Location and time do not affect the Record. It is written by every conscious being, and watched over by beings unbounded in time. Humans have been interacting consciously and unconsciously with this information during all of history.”

“Grace,” Sami says, “you said beings not bound in time?”

“Yes. It’s about consciousness. There is a single consciousness in the universe, which gives rise to all beings, mortal and supernatural. This consciousness is shared.”

Sami takes a deep breath and waits. Her eyes shine.

Grace goes on. “The Akashic Record is referred to in nearly every major religion. Some call it the Book of Life, the Book of God's Remembrance, the Mind of God, the Book of Decree, and so on.

“
In Hindu mysticism, the Akasha itself is seen as nature’s fundamental substance, from which earth, air, fire, and water are derived. It’s believed that historical saints and mystics could retrieve information about the origins of the universe and the human soul. Indian and Tibetan yogis, Persian and Greek oracles, the Druids and shamans of Mayan culture may have received insights from this universal source. The Akasha is the pregnant space where all possibilities arise.”

“The womb of time,” Sami breathes. Grace looks at her with
clear recognition, their gazes lock.

Strand looks from Sami to Grace.
“So in your view, this is well-documented?”

“
Yes, Mr. Strand. For forty-three years I’ve immersed myself in these concepts. I have a Masters from Northwestern in Comparative Mysticism, and I travel extensively and lecture through India and Indonesia.” The intensity of Grace’s look is riveting.

Strand removes from his jacket a sealed envelope, places it
before her. “We would like you to continue.” He sits back with a smile. “Only the good stuff.”

Grace places two fingertips lightly on a corner of the envelope. She smiles.
“You are very generous. If you like, we can have some hot tea.” Grace rings a tiny musical chime and continues.

“
There are multiple levels of Akashic information. The higher ones do not store thought-forms, they are a distillation of design, of purpose, on the level of creation throughout all forms of matter. Lower Akashic forms store human memories and include concepts such as the religions, the philosophies, ancestral memory, genetics, and survival strategies. Much of this is accurate, although mixed with folkloric or cultural belief. Or politics.” Grace laughs.