Next History: The Girl Who Hacked Tomorrow (40 page)

“Where are the Records stored?”

“Why, in the rocks, of course. In the crystals of Earth’s crust, primarily quartz. The Records are also stored in the moon, planets, asteroids, in the sun and in every star. The physical universe. The means do not matter. When I use a term like
Mind of God
I mean that the Record contains all information that has to do with the creation of the universe and the life path of every being in it. It holds every instant, through all of space and all of time, all non-local and timeless realities. What came before the universe and what will be here after the universe is gone. It is best understood through the concept of a non-personified consciousness. Not through a Man-in-God’s-image theosophy.”

Sami finds her head spinning, dealing with the concept that the universe could be one day gone, but that history will continue. There would literally be no place. In the depth of her
consciousness, a switch is thrown.
Beings that can move outside of time, to an instant years away. The whales?

“
For a consciousness to read the Akashic Record,” Grace goes on, “it must first be able to receive this information deep within its physical being. The process is a tuning of self to the vibration of the crystals in the vicinity. Readers of the Akashic records include the prophets of world religions. There are many others.”

“How far back does this Record go,” St
rand wants to know. “And how far forward?”

Grace turns a warm smile his way. “Oh Mr. Strand, this is difficult
to explain. It is a time period that is immeasurable.”

“The universe is 14 billion years old. How long will it last
?”

“Oh no. I mean
immeasurable. We are not talking about billions of years. The universe goes through many phases, all are stored in the Record. Trillions upon trillions of years will not contain it. There is literally no number for it.”

In Strand’s mind
echoes the litany of nonsense syllables.
Giga, tera, peta, exa, zetta, yotta…
It replays in a cascading multiplicity of powers of ten. In that field of deep time, the complete lifespan of the current universe is a dot. Vertigo.

Sami clears her throat. Lips slightly parted, face intent
with concentration and wonder, eyes misted with excitement.

“Grace,” Sami says, “we follow information. We have what you might think of as a telescope that can focus on the future. We are detecting great change, distilling huge amounts of information, finding clues to advanced technologies, and unusual events.”

Grace nods, returning Sami’s gaze. “There is an upcoming change in the Akashic energies, a transition to a higher energy level. People in large numbers will soon find themselves more willing to support the survival of the planet, not merely to satisfy their immediate wants. At present, and for the last ten thousand to thirty thousand years, human beings have sought higher levels of self-awareness. Many feel a pull toward spiritual development. This is the plane of love, where feminine energy resides.

“The Record can be accessed by means of a simple prayer. When a
person recites this prayer, there’s a shift in consciousness that responds to the Record’s vibrations. The Record is available to anyone, anywhere, who comes with correct intention and focused concentration. This consciousness is accessible via spiritual means. The effective path is not via material agents. It is through the goddess feminine.”

Strand is thinking
what the psychic lays out agrees in broad form with the article from over a century into the future, that the Akashic Record can be accessed spiritually, through prayer or meditation. His computers are accessing it scientifically at this time. He stops himself. No, it was the whales. The whales accessed it, provided it in a form his computers could digest. But how did the whales retrieve it?

“Grace,” Sami says slowly, “would it be possible that other species besides human could…”

The psychic nods. “My dear, the information you are processing now was delivered by the whales, wasn’t it? To the Navy ships in the south Pacific.”

Sami and Strand share a look of shock.
We were
a
bsolute black. Yet someone outside of Next History knows.
Grace’s words confirm that for beings who can inhabit every possibility, access to the Record is no hindrance.

Grace
is silent, nothing more need be said. The windows are black with night. Sami steps around the table, draws Grace into a warm hug. On their faces a soft contentment of being exactly where each in that moment ought to be. Sami steps back, a hand on Grace’s shoulder.

“I’m coming
back, dear Grace. To work with you,” Sami whispers, turning away. Grace reaches for Strand’s handshake.

“Thank you, Grace. You have been a great help. May I stay in touch?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

In the car, following their headlights down the leaf-strewn residential street, Sami leans against the window, fist pressed to her mouth. She stares silently into the night for the entire drive back to Georgetown.
In the mirror, the dark SUV shadows close.

Mind chasing along
many lines of thought, the quiet suits Strand perfectly. Grace Cooke confirmed his intuition, pushed him to a mental calculation he’s battled since finding future events in decoded Whalesong. The Whalesong is simply too dangerous to hand over, whole, to any military. He must ensure that does not happen.

Lillian is gone. The day is a thoughtful one around Clay and Tharcia’s place.

Making his bed with fresh sheets Clay asks himself what he and Lillian would have come to, if Tharcia had not announced
his lady friend wasn’t real. On some level, Clay had expected it.
Because it was so damn good?
Clay is not that kind of fatalist, aware there are subtle ways of knowing. But he’s sure he’ll never see Lillian again. His only concern is that Tharcia get out of the mess she’s in.
Her pictures all over the news!

Tharcia spends much of this day alone in her room. She ha
s removed her sleeping bag and other items from his bedroom, and slept in her own bed for the first time since the freeze. Both unhappy to be alone, neither spoke of it.

The sky is darkening and she’s still in her Panda pajamas, in the kitchen frying an egg
. He comes from his shop to grab a beer and make a sandwich. They bump around exchanging monosyllables until Clay sees that she’s going to eat standing up.

“Lian told you about the Annetka killing. What did he say?”

“You know how most murders happen between people who know each other?”

“Yeah. Crimes of jealousy, rage, passion.”

“Lian and Annetka are both angels. Only he is a supreme one, he says, same as Lylit. Annetka was an angel who came down to Earth, let go her wings. She was still superhuman. I suppose it accounts for her voice and her dancing.”

“And her looks.”

“Did you think she was sexy?” She gives him an inquisitive look.

“
Did you like her singing? Not my type.”

“O
h ho. Exactly what is your type?”

Clay
gives her a half-grin. “Large marketing organizations pay big bucks for that information.”

“Oh, be that way.”

“But why did Lian kill her?”

“The Annetka angel with a
hundred of her friends captured and tortured Lylit. Many times, so I’m told. They made a sport out of killing her. Once he got here, Lian was able to take care of them. It keeps him busy when he’s not annoying me.”

“Doesn’t he come whenever he wants?”

“No. He was forbidden from being here.”

“Ah. Forbidden by…”
He expects that
you are such a dweeb
look of hers, but it doesn’t come. She’s intent on the last of her egg.

“
The Creator. Who else?”

“So, Lylit.
Who is she?” It doesn’t bother him so much this afternoon, although he is not much impressed by how she used Tharcia.

“Lylit is Lian’s female half. Shortly after
she was created, they were separated. Lylit was imprisoned on Earth.”

He touches
lightly her shoulder. “I am still waiting for an answer to my other question.”

“Mm?”

“How exactly are you going to save the world?”

“Oh
. My bet.” Tharcia’s face darkens. She sits on the couch, one leg folded under.

“Clay, I
threw down everything I had in exchange for one wild notion. What's gonna happen is he will put everybody to sleep, everyone. He’s going to announce it, before it starts. During that night Lylit’s demons will go around counting votes. Do people want good in the world, or evil? Some question like that. He said everyone together can determine the outcome. After that night, the world will continue on, in the way most people vote for. That's the bargain.”

“Lylit has demons?”

“Yeh. Think of them as angel valets. They only do what she says.”

“So what did you ask for yourself, to bring your mom back?”

“I did ask to bring Mom back, but it's complicated. She’s not anywhere. He says there is no hell. She’s barely who she was anymore. I didn't ask anything for myself, just for people to be able to control their egos, mostly that. Cooperate. Not kill each other. Some other stuff.”

“So that's if you win, right? If you win the bargain?”

“Yes.”

“What if you happen to lose, what did you put up?”

“I spend eternity in his special school.” Mouth turned down, she doesn’t look at him.

“Tharcia
, you soft-hearted little nut case! Look me in the eye, tell me, did this really happen?”

She gives him a gaze that is solid, truthful, meant only between
him and her. “Truth, Clay. All this came one thing after another, I never planned it. It blew out of all proportion. Just trying to get with my mom. Strange thing is, now I want to heal her. But it's out of control. I don’t even know if it’s real!”

“What's going to happen during the sleep?”

“It's been happening already. All the stuff on the news. The killings, the epidemics, the public sex. There will be more. The worst violence is inside ourselves. Lian says our minds are more powerful than natural disasters.”

“Natural disasters,” Clay whispers.

“We don't know what we’re capable of. Everyone in the world, every person from every religion in every country will participate. We will make our new reality. But the transition will be killer. It’s going to come howling out of every single person, they'll try to satisfy their deepest wants, everyone will sense that big change is here. They’ll have stuff to protect, they’ll want to settle scores, want to have sex with people. They will be eating and drinking and stealing everything they see, all the things people usually crave. Some of it will remain in dreams. Some will actually happen. Many people will become more spiritual. He said expect loss of life.”

“Loss of life.” Clay had not considered that outcome.

Tharcia looks at him sadly. “I'm sorry, I didn't know till we were almost done, Until it was too late.”

“As in, how much loss of life?”

“He said maybe half.”

Clay jumps to his feet. “Half? You said half? You mean half of the people on Earth are going to die?”

Tharcia can only nod. “You won't Clay. You won't. Whatever happens to me, you'll be okay. But I'll never see you again if it doesn’t work out.”

Tharcia
in her Panda pajamas pulls him down with her, trembling, eyes tight shut. The words come from her in a faint high squeak. “I have to go back. I’m sorry.”

From high above
silent trees, an owl’s mournful cry.

Chester Porterfield is one pissed-off dude. Four days now he has been waiting to hear that his court summons has been filed on Tharcia Harrison. The process servers are dragging their feet. It does not matter to him that one has been hospitalized with injuries from a vehicle crash, another has retreated in fear to her home where she’s barricaded with her two kids. He simply wants results. His results.

The hunch-shouldered dark form
has learned Porterfield’s body movements well enough to stay concealed as the man moves. This mortal is nearly uncontrollable, subject to vagrant moves. Must be swift yet careful. But the mortal is about to lead the way to the girl, the one who shielded Lylit, the she-hyena. That one must die for her treason.

Porterfield has
waited forty minutes in the funky little office on San Jose’s Hedding Street to get his hands on the service documents so he can drive out to Tharcia’s house and serve it himself. He fidgets so much sitting with the others that the demon can’t keep up. Occasionally a smoky nimbus projects beyond Porterfield’s body outline.

Finally
the service papers are in his hand. Porterfield walks the sidewalk briskly, noticing how people shy away. In his mind it’s the former school football star charging down on them. He is not aware of the second head sometimes visible on his shoulders, dark, transparent, a cloud befitting doom. He takes little notice of two people lying motionless in the curb beside a car. They hadn’t been there an hour earlier.