R.A. Mathis's Blog, page 3
February 26, 2016
Snow
Warm winds and sunny days are close at hand. I love spring. I also love winter. Here are a few favorite snowy scenes from this season here in Tennessee.
February 25, 2016
Great News!
The release date for Homeland: Falling down has been moved up to February 29th!
This date is especially meaningful for our family as it was on February 29th, 2004 that we received the phone call notifying us that my unit was deploying to Iraq. That was a VERY difficult day. I'm thankful to be celebrating the release of a new book this time around.
Happy Leap Year, everybody.
February 11, 2016
Sci-Fi Short Story: 4 A.M. at the Paradise Lost and Found
Just in time for Valentines' Day. This story is very different than most of my other work. I wrote it a few years ago after my grandfather died of Alzheimer's. Watching him fade away was like watching a hard drive being erased a little at a time. It made me ponder the possibility of digitally preserving thoughts or even consciousness. That led to more questions. This short story explores those questions. Think of it as half Transcendence and half The Notebook. PS: I realize the title isn't the greatest, but it was the best I could think of at the time. 4 A.M. at the Paradise Lost and Foundby R.A. Mathis
Simon sank into a chair by the crackling fireplace in his study. The flame’s warm glow drew long, twirling shadows across the room. This was his favorite place. His sanctuary. His prison.He contemplated the substantial library that filled the case along the nearest wall, a polyglot collection of tattered paperback novels.If you were stranded on a desert island and could bring only one book…A weathered paperback had a permanent place on his chair-side table. The title Paradise Lost adorned its cover in faded letters. He picked his reading glasses from a pocket and pondered their smooth glass lenses and fine silvery framework. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need the book or the hands that held it either. Everything around him was a collection of comforting illusions of days long gone.He checked the grandfather clock standing sentry by the door. Only a few hours remained, but he was ready.A beautiful face stared down at him from a portrait over the fireplace, its angelic gaze filling him with melancholy. The fireplace still shone brightly, but Simon could no longer feel its warmth. Solitude’s smothering chill blocked every sensation but grief and anguish. And bittersweet memories of her.He opened the paperback to a yellowed page and read words he already knew by heart.Grace was in all her steps,Heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.Simon closed his eyes, his thoughts returning to a warm spring day during his last year of post graduate school.“It’s going to work this time.” Simon slipped the scan-cap onto his head. Myriad wires ran from sensors all over its surface to a supercomputer a few feet away. He knew he was close. He crossed his arms and stared at the computer monitor on the desk in front of him. Success was almost within his grasp. It’s got to work.He’d been cloistered in the virtual reality lab for two solid days with no sleep; his only sustenance the nutrient deprived student fodder of the lab’s vending machines. He stretched his tired limbs and shook the cobwebs from his head. One more try.Simon pictured a triangle in his mind’s eye as he stared at the blank computer screen. He closed his weary eyes tightly and concentrated. The triangle became ten triangles, then a hundred, then thousands. They swirled around him before coming together to form a giant pyramid with him at the top. He was elated. Simon felt as if all his dreams were about to come true. At the apex of his reverie, he heard a voice say, “Simon!” Where did it come from? “Simon!” There it was again, cold and severe. “Simon.” He suddenly felt sick. The pyramid shifted. Pieces began falling away. Small ones at first, then huge then massive slabs cracked loose and tumbled into the void below. It was slipping away. The pyramid lurched as its disintegration accelerated. Simon lost his footing and slid down the crumbling mass. He clawed at the air as he tumbled into nothingness among a jumble of polygons. The voice called again, “Simon. Wake up.”Simon opened his eyes. He was face-down on the desk. It was a dream, the same one he always had. A fellow grad student was poking his shoulder. “Dude! Wake up! You’ve been out for an hour.”Simon wiped away his drool with his sleeve. “Sorry. Guess I dozed off.”“Go home and get some sleep.” The student said over his shoulder as he walked away, “And take a shower. You stink.”Simon gave himself a whiff and recoiled from his own stench. He removed the cap and closed his eyes again, once again willing the image in his mind to the computer screen in front of him. He opened his eyes slowly, expectantly.Nothing.He turn off the monitor with an irritated flick and gathered his things.He needed a drink—after a nap and some serious personal hygiene. Simon left the lab and its fluorescent gloom behind, his steps slow under the weight of failure. The sun assaulted his eyes as he stepped into the open air. He shielded his face like a vampire caught in morning’s first light. He lowered his guard as his eyes adjusted to the land of the living. Then he saw her. And nothing else mattered.She sat alone on a sunny spot of grass next to the university center reading an old paperback novel and eating a brown-bag lunch. Between bites of a homemade ham and cheese sandwich, she absently brushed a rebellious lock of nutmeg hair from her sea blue eyes. She was the most beautiful thing Simon had ever seen.He sat next to her and said the only thing he could think of. “Come here often?”She gave him an annoyed glance. “Has that ever worked?”“No.” He smiled then blushed as he again realized how badly he needed a shave and a shower. “How am I doing this time?” he asked, trying to fix his unkempt hair as inconspicuously as possible.“Not good.”“I know I look a mess, but I’ve been working in the lab. It’s a huge project. I’m going to change the world.”She rolled her eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”He cringed. “That came out all wrong.”She put her book down. “You don’t talk to girls much do you?”His blush deepened. “No…But… I just had to talk to you.”She smiled and held out the uneaten half of her sandwich. “Hungry?”“Starving.” He gladly took the ham and cheese. “Thanks. I’m Simon.”She brushed back her unruly hair again. “I’m Maggie.”He looked at the weathered softcover in her hand. “Where did you get that old thing?”“It’s an antique,” she said with a hint of annoyance.“You don’t like digital readers?”She held the book to Simon’s nose and flipped the pages. The oddly comforting aroma of old paper filled his nostrils. The scent reminded him of the old stacks in the library where the books waiting to be scanned into the mainframe were kept. He decided that if knowledge had a smell, this would be it.“You can’t digitize that,” she said.“What are you reading?”“Milton’s Paradise Lost.”“Heady stuff.”“You’ve read it?”“No.”“Then how do you know?”“I’ve heard…well…I mean…”“How are you going to do it?”“Do what?”“Change the world, of course. Please try to keep up.”She was lovely, intelligent, and sweet. One in a million, Simon thought.He gathered up his nerve and asked, “Are you busy tonight?”“Sorry. I have a date.”Simon’s face flushed again. He felt like a fool. Of course she had a date. A girl like her probably had guys lined up just to be near her, but something inside him wouldn’t give up so easily.“Is it serious?”“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”“Good. Cancel it and go out with me instead.”Maggie laughed. “You have some nerve. I’ll give you that.”“I’ll die if you don’t.”“I doubt it.”“But what if I did? Would you want that on your conscience?”Maggie gave him a perplexed look. “You’re a strange one, like a puzzle missing some of its pieces.” She returned to her book.Simon hung his head in defeat. His heart felt like a soaked sponge sagging in his chest. “Okay.” He got to his feet. “It was nice meeting you.”“Eight o’clock.”“What?”She shrugged. “I like puzzles.” She stood, plucked the pen from his shirt pocket, wrote an address on Simon’s hand and said, “This is my dorm. I’ll see you at eight.”Simon arrived at Maggie’s dormitory an hour early. He spent the next forty-five minutes pacing across the street in front of the old brick building working up the nerve to go in. When he finally mustered the courage he squared himself and marched across the quiet lane to find her sitting on the steps, smiling at him.“I got tired of watching you walk back and forth,” she said with a smile that stirred his soul.He reached to his back pocket and pulled out a tattered pulp science fiction novel. He gave it to her and said, “For you.”Maggie’s eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”“It’s an antique. Do you like it?”She held the book to her nose and inhaled deeply. “I love it!” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”Simon blushed. “You’re welcome.”“What do you want to do?” she asked.“Are you hungry?”“I just ate.”“How about a movie?”She held up the novel. “I’m more of a book person.”“Oh.” Simon scrambled to think of something else, but his brain stalled. Nothing would come. He tried to look cool in spite of the sweat beading on his flushed forehead.“How about if we just go for a walk?” Maggie suggested.“Sounds good.”She put her arm around his. “Lead the way.”Shadows inched across the manicured landscape as they walked aimlessly around campus, talking about everything and nothing. They strolled past gardens of solar panels whose faces rotated automatically to catch last rays of twilight. Wind harvesters creaked overhead on the warm breeze that heralded summer’s impending arrival. The same breeze cooled Simon’s brow and swept his anxiety along on its journey to parts unknown.Around dusk they found a small all-night café and went in for a snack.“What scares you?” she asked over coffee and scones.“I dunno. Failure, I guess.”Maggie wrinkled her nose in thought. “No. I don’t think so. A guy like you can handle failure because you never give up. You’re driven.” She looked into Simon’s eyes. “I bet you’re most afraid of being alone.”Simon squirmed in his chair. She’d hit the nail on the head. He cleared his throat. “What scares you?”“Clowns.”He laughed. “I’m serious.”“So am I! Have you ever tried to sleep in a room with a clown doll on the shelf?” She shivered. “It’s terrifying.”“Okay, what’s your favorite flower?”“Red poppies. I just love how bright and happy they are. So full of life. When I’m sad, I close my eyes and I pretend I’m in a field of them that goes on forever.”They talked till dawn, sharing each other’s hopes dreams. I didn’t take Simon long to realize Maggie wasn’t one in a million. She was one of a kind, the only person to ever truly understand him.Days turned into weeks as they spent every possible moment together, walking, talking, and falling for each other over scones and coffee. She would always find him waiting in front of her dorm with red poppies or another old book for her. She had no idea where he got either of them.Simon sat alone in the lab late one night facing his nemesis. The blank computer screen stared back at him, daring him to try again. He had reviewed every line of code. Every connection had been checked and double checked. This semester, his last semester, was almost over. It was now or never. He made one last adjustment to the scan-cap, slipped it onto his head and closed his eyes.Maggie woke with a start an hour later. A loud popping noise had pulled her back into her dark dorm room from bright dreams of sunshine and poppies. She sat up and looked for her roommate. The girl was still in bed, dead to the world. Then she heard it again. Something was tapping her window. She crept out of bed and peeked through the curtain to see Simon standing on the sidewalk three stories below. She opened the window and said in a loud semi-whisper, “It’s three-thirty in the morning!”Simon replied in an imitation of her husky tone. “I know! Can you come down? I have something important to tell you!”“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’“No! Let’s go for a walk!”“A walk?” She stepped away from the window then poked her head back out and said, “Okay, I’ll be right down. By the way, you don’t have to throw rocks. I have a phone.”She met Simon on the front steps. He had a bigger smile on his face than usual.“What’s with the grin?” Maggie asked.“I did it.”“Did what?”“The experiment finally worked, of course. It just took a few adjustments. The computer can scan and interpret thoughts. I did it!” He grinned. “Please try to keep up.”Maggie took his hand. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”“There’s one other thing I want to tell you.”“Yes?” Her eyes sparkled in the street light. “You know I’m not good with words,” he said. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”“Very funny.” He swallowed, his old anxiety returned. “I just wanted to say…I mean…I’ve never said this to anybody else. Well, besides family, but that doesn’t...”“I love you too, Simon.”He picked her up in his arms. “Marry me!”Maggie laughed. “Wow! You get right to business!”“Marry me, Maggie. I can’t live without you.”Her smile faded as she looked deep into his eyes. “Yes.”The campus clock tower struck four as they kissed.Simon whispered, “I could never live without you.”After graduation, Simon took a job with a biotech firm. It was a good job, but it wasn’t his dream. After long days at the lab, he spent long nights in their garage turning his vision into reality.*****Late one summer night, Maggie was shaken awake.“Come down stairs! Hurry!” Simon said excitedly, “It’s done!”She checked the clock by her bed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It was four A.M., but Maggie wasn’t upset. She knew this was what she’d signed on for when she married an eccentric like Simon. She gave a drowsy smile and tried to hide her amusement as he led her by the hand to the garage.Once there, Simon helped her put on a bulky headset and said, “This is just the prototype. The final product will be much more compact.”“What’s it do?”“You see that?” He pointed to a robotic arm on his workbench. “Imagine it moving to the left.”She did. It did. She looked wide-eye at Simon. He was ecstatic. “Keep going. It’ll move anyway you want it to. Try the fingers!”With only her thoughts, she was able to manipulate the arm through any maneuver she desired as smoothly and nimbly as if it were her own. “This is incredible!” She hugged Simon’s neck. “You did it, baby!”“I couldn’t have done it without you.”“You’re going to get a big promotion for this.”“No. We’re going to start our own company. It’s time to change the world.”“I always knew you would.” She smiled.“I can do anything as long as I have you.”“There’s only one thing missing.”“What’s that?”“A house full of kids to share it with.”He took her in his arms. “What do you say we start right now?”Over the next ten years, Simon’s technology revolutionized fields from medicine and commerce to manufacturing and communications. Billions around the world used his thought-activated devices. Their business, Cognitech, grew beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. But their happiness was incomplete. Their greatest dream had not come true. *****The autumn sun dipped below the horizon as Simon drove home after a tough but rewarding day at the helm of the corporation. With a thought, he activated a prosthetic earpiece and called Maggie. No answer. Another thought brought up a holographic map projected inches in front of his left eye. A red dot shone at his address. She was home. Why doesn’t she answer?He remembered she had a doctor appointment earlier that day. More fertility test results. More disappointment. His brow furled. He disengaged the car’s autopilot and mashed the throttle.Simon found her sitting alone in the dining room. “Hi, sweetheart!” He tried to sound cheerful in spite of the look on her face. “What did the doctor say?”She shook her head. “I thought I was finally pregnant.”Simon held her hand and smiled. “It’s okay. We won’t give up. Medicine can do anything these days.” He paused. “Did the doctor say why you haven’t…?”She nodded. “Cancer.”The color drained from Simon’s face as he fell into the chair next to her. “Where?”Maggie’s eyes welled with tears. “Everywhere.”“What…How long…”She sobbed. “Four months. Maybe six.”“No! There’s got to be something we can do. We’ll go to the ends of the earth if we have to. We can beat this!” She sank into his arms, heaving as she wept.He held her and tenderly kissed her head. “It’s going to be okay.”Weeks later they sat in a Vienna oncologist’s office. Maggie was pale and gaunt. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She asked Simon, “Do you think he can help?”“He’s the best in the world.”“That’s not what I asked.”Simon stared at the floor. “We have to hope.”The door opened. The doctor entered. He shook his head. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do.”More test results. More disappointment. No cure. No hope. And precious little time.Simon said, “This isn’t over. There are other doctors.”The doctor excused himself. “I am very sorry. Take as long as you need.” He left, closing the door behind him.“No,” Maggie said sternly.“What?”“No.” She shook her head. “No more doctors.”“We’re not giving up.” Simon sighed. “We’ll talk about it when you’re being rational.”“I’m the only one being rational.”“How can you say that?”“You’ve spent the last ten years building Cognitech, working day and night. You missed birthdays, holidays, anniversaries. I slept alone more nights than I can count” She laughed softly. “But I never complained. I loved you enough to not stand in the way of your dreams.”“I know. I’m sorry.”“It’s okay. That’s just who you are. I knew it when I married you.”“Then let me help you. I have to do something! Please.”“You can’t fix this. Nobody can.” She took his hand “Love me enough to let me make this choice. No doctors. No drugs. No treatments. Just us. Can you do that for me?”“Yes,” he whispered.“Good.” Maggie reached out and tenderly touched his cheek. “Paris is beautiful this time of year.”The next afternoon, Simon pushed her wheelchair down brisk Parisian streets. He smiled as she excitedly pointed out the buildings and scenery to him. A gust of autumn gave Maggie a shiver. She pull her blanket closer. Simon stopped, tucked her in and said, “It’s getting cold. We should head back.”She answered, “No. I’m fine. Let’s go on.” Simon gave a doubting look then kissed her cheek and pushed on. He tried to capture every moment, hiding every sight and sound deep in the safest part of his memory where only his heart held the key. He soaked in her bright eyes and giddy smile, burning them indelibly into his mind. This was the most alive she’d been in a long time. He reached down to stroke her hair and realized the same was true of him.A small café caught Maggie’s eye. It looked warm and inviting in the late afternoon chill. Simon asked, “Hungry?”She nodded. “Coffee sounds nice.”They found a small table by the widow and ordered an early dinner. Maggie barely touched hers. They watched from their cozy nook as pedestrians rushed to cover when a sudden downpour drove them splashing from the street. Simon took her hand. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”“Sounds great to me.”They talked until streetlamps burned brightly against the night. It was the first time in ages. No doctors. No treatments. No Cognitech. Just them.*****Winter’s first snow fell outside as Simon sat alone in his study two months later. The fireplace was dark and cold. A half-empty bottle of whisky warmed him instead. He’d never felt so helpless. So useless. He took another swig. The grandfather clock struck four. He watched with bleary eyes as the hands crept across its face. The chimes softly marked the passing of another hour. Time was his enemy, the clock its willing accomplice – mercilessly burning away every minute of every day. Stealing her from him one second at a time. No matter what he did, he could never hope to win.He gripped the liquor bottle tightly and stood to face the timepiece. Simon raised a trembling hand and hurled the container at the thief. Chimes clanged angrily as the flagon shattered against the clock. Pungent spirits drenched the old wooden watchman, but the pendulum still swung inexorably. The glass window covering the face was spattered and cracked, but the hands marched on. I can’t save her. He fell to his knees in defeat as bitter tears began to flow. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to cry. I can’t stop time.Simon suddenly raised his head. Or can I?If his technology could read brainwaves, why not copy them? He put on a pot of coffee and got to work. If I’m going to stop time, there isn’t a moment to lose.When all was ready, her time was almost gone. Their bedroom looked more like a hospital ward than a master suite. A vase of red poppies was its only cheer.Simon sat at her bedside and held her withered hand as the winter wind howled outside. “It’s me, sweetheart.” He thought he was too late, but then half-closed eyes drifted to his face. “Where’ve you been?” she whispered.“Working on a way to save you.”She glanced at the strange looking equipment he’d placed by the bed.He said, “It’s ready. I know you’re tired, but I need you to hang on for just a few more days. Do you think you can?”She gave a barely perceptible nod. “As long as you’re with me.” “I’ll be right here.” He kissed her forehead and placed the neuro-topographer at the head of her bed.Begin mapping.Simon spent the next three days at her side reminiscing about their life together. He held her hand and gently stroked her hair as he talked. She listened peacefully – squeezing his hand every so often to let him know she was still with him. All the while, the topographer silently went about its work. Simon kept one eye on the small data screen that reported its progress. It was agonizingly slow. After twenty hours: Fourteen percent complete. Two days: Forty-eight percent complete. Three days: Eighty-six percent complete.Simon awoke at four in the morning on the fourth day to the sound of electronic beeping. At first, he thought it was her life support, but quickly realized there was no emergency. Her respirator was humming and hissing normally. The beep was coming from the topographer. He checked the data screen. One hundred percent complete. It was then he noticed her looking at him.She whispered, “Can I go now?”Simon’s eyes filled with tears. He choked out, “Yes.”She mustered her strength and gently caressed his cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She closed her eyes as Simon took her hand in his. Begin program.Transfer initiated.It didn’t take long – just a few minutes. Transfer complete. Her vitals flat-lined as Simon softly kissed her forehead. He ran a hand over a little black box attached to the topographer. She was in there now. Her body was dead, but she still lived. Her consciousness, her being, was digitized and preserved within its circuitry. He’d saved her. Time couldn’t claim her anymore.Simon integrated her new existence into the Cognitech mainframe, sold their house, and made a Spartan home for himself in the lab so he could always be with her. His only luxury was an exact replica of his old study adjacent to his own private lab in a quite section of his company’s headquarters.Simon lost interest in the company and gave up his duties as CEO. As the years crawled by, he became obsessed with finding a way to communicate with her. He had high hopes for the first few years, but they faded after more failures than he cared to count. Her programing was too primitive. Preservation was its sole purpose. He hadn’t had time to incorporate communication. An upgrade was out of the question. His computer models indicated that the slightest change to any algorithm could ripple through her entire being. She’d be corrupted. Her ‘mind’ torn to tatters.He often starred at the powerful computer and pictured her in it. Alone. Trapped in an electronic tomb. He could hold her in his hands, but she remained just out of reach. Was she conscious or in some kind of digital coma? Was she really in there or was he just fooling himself? All knew for certain was that he had to be with her. To see her beautiful smile, feel her gentle touch, and hear her sweet voice. He never gave up. Year after year. Decade after decade.*****Simon sat alone in his dimly lit study tucked away in a corner of Cognitech. The entire building was empty. Tonight, Milton’s masterwork shared the chair-side table with a small headset and a vase of wild red poppies. He ran a weathered hand through his snow-white hair as he stared longingly at the painting of her. “Happy fiftieth anniversary, sweetheart.”The clock struck four as he picked up the sleek headset – remembering the clunky eyesore he’d presented to her decades before. This is just the prototype. The final product will be much more compact. It seemed like yesterday. He said to her portrait, “I’ll bet you’re wondering what this one does.” He donned the device. “Let’s find out together.”Begin mapping.It now took moments instead of days.Mapping complete.This was it. No going back. He hesitated as doubt took hold in his mind.Simon picked up the book, hoping Milton could give him comfort. He pick up the old book and flipped the pages in front of his face, inhaling deeply as he thought of that spring day long ago. He put on his reading glasses and turned to a passage he knew by heart:The mind is its own place, and in itselfCan make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.My mind, he thought. Is that what I’m about to put into that box? My soul? Or just a lifeless copy – the original lost forever.He pondered the question, then decided to proceed. Whatever happened would be better than going on any longer without her.Begin program.Our state cannot be severed, we are one.One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.Transfer initiated.The room faded. The ticking of the clock grew more and more distant until it, too was gone. Nothingness overtook him.Then he felt something. A breeze – soft and warm on his face. Simon opened his eyes to find himself standing in a field of the reddest poppies he’d ever seen. Their rolling undulations in the gentle wind looked like wildfire.Transfer complete.“Come here often?” a familiar voice said from behind him. He wanted to turn, but was afraid. Afraid it wasn’t real.A hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Maggie smiling at him. She wasn’t withered and sick anymore. She was the young, healthy, beautiful girl he’d met so many years ago. He caught sight of his hand as it reached for her. It was young and strong again.She said, “Welcome to Paradise.”Simon grabbed his wife and kissed her as tears rolled down his face.Maggie whispered, “I’ve waited so long.”“I know. We’re together now. Forever.”“Forever.” She nodded with a smile. “I have a surprise for you. Cover your eyes.”“No. I want to look at you.”“Please? I’ve been planning this a very long time.”“Okay.” Simon did as she asked.It only took a second. Maggie said, “You can look now.”He opened his eyes and stood speechless.Maggie beamed. “Recognize it?”He stood in a small college coffee house. “Of course I do. How did you?”“This is Paradise. We can do anything here.”They found an empty table and talked for hours as rain pattered against the window.Simon reached across the table for her hand. He wanted to take in every part of her. He was studying the nape of her neck when it happened. So fast it was almost imperceptible. She flickered. For the slightest moment her face fluttered like a candle too close to an open window.“What’s wrong?” Maggie could always read him too well.He forced a smile and convinced himself it was just his imagination. “Nothing. I’m fine. Where to next? Tahiti?”“Let’s go home.” Maggie gave a sly smile.They stepped from the café to their front door in a blink.Simon paused before entering their home. He’d missed this place. This life.Late that night, Maggie lay in his arms amid the tangled, sweaty sheets of their bed. She sighed. “I really missed that.”Simon laughed. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”“Wanna go again?” she said in her most mischievous voice.He ran a hand down her back and grabbed her naked bottom. “Time to find out if this really is Paradise.”She sat up suddenly. “I have a better idea!”“I doubt it.”Maggie wrapped herself in a quilt and dashed from the bedroom. She returned with a photo album, plopped into bed next to Simon, and excitedly opened the picture book.Simon said dryly, “I like your first idea better.”“Come on. It’ll be fun.”“Okay, let’s have a look.” Simon pointed to a picture of them in sombreros and laughed. “Ha! Mexico! I can’t believe you talked me into hiking that bug infested jungle and climbing those pyramids. My legs ached for a week!”She looked confused.“What’s wrong?”“I don’t remember that.”“Sure ya do. It was our honeymoon.”She shook her head. “I can’t remember any of it.”“Of course you can. We’re part of the mainframe now. We can do differential equations in our sleep. We can recite the collected works of Shakespeare and Tolstoy off the tops of our heads. We remember every second of every day.”Maggie just stared at him. “I don’t remember.”“We’ve had a big day, that’s all. Let’s get some sleep.” Simon turned out the light. He knew she’d see through his façade if he left it on. He pulled her to him and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. He watched her for hours afterward; feeling her warm breath against his chest.He awoke the next morning alone. He called, “Maggie!” There was no reply.He grabbed some pants and ran into the living room. Empty. He dashed to the kitchen on the verge of panic and found her staring into the open refrigerator. “Thank God! I thought I’d lost you again,” Simon said with relief.Maggie looked upset. “I was going to surprise you.”“Sorry.” Simon smiled. “I’ll go back to bed. This never happened.”“No. I was going to make your favorite breakfast, but I can’t remember what it is.” Tears filled her eyes. She began to tremble. “What’s happening to me?”“I don’t know, but I’ll fix it.” He held her tightly. “It’s going to be okay.” His stomach knotted with the memory of the last time he told her that.He went to his study and ran a diagnostic. He ran it again, then seven more times. Each with the same result.She entered before he started another. “Sorry, but I couldn’t wait. Did you find anything?”He looked away and nodded – his jaw clinched.“What is it?”He looked into her frightened, trusting eyes. “Your program’s been corrupted. It’s causing holes in your memory. And they’re getting bigger.”“But how? I’ve been fine for years. Why now?”“When I put myself in here with you, the newer coding caused compatibility errors. I thought I’d found a way around it.”“How bad is it?”“It’s everywhere.”She sat next to him. “How long?”He choked out, “Four months. Maybe six.” He put his face in his hands. “It’s all my fault.”She put her arms around him. “It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just life.” She cupped his face in her hand and gently lifted till their eyes met. “Let’s make the most of the time we’ve got.”A few weeks later, Maggie found herself in a strange place. She asked Simon, “Where are we?”“Home.”“I don’t recognize it.” “We’re in the living room. You had another episode.”“How long was I out this time?”“A few hours.”“It’s happening faster than we thought, isn’t it?”Simon nodded. “It’s just accelerating so much faster than I ever thought it could.”“I can feel it. Just like last time. Pieces of myself falling away.”Simon just stared at her.She smiled softly and took his hand. “I need you to do something for me.”He didn’t answer. He knew what was coming.But it didn’t come. Nothing did. She was frozen—trapped in an endless loop of broken algorithms. She stood there, flickering every few moments like a bad fluorescent bulb. Simon held her hand. There was nothing else he could do.After three days, Maggie finally awoke. She looked around the room in disorientation and asked Simon. “Where are we?”“Home.”She shook her head “I can’t do this. I can’t fade away again.”“I know.”“Let me go,” she said, “while there’s still some of me left.”“I can’t.”“You have to. For me. Please.”Simon sat there a long moment – struggling to form the word and then to release it. He finally said, “Okay.”“Thank you.” Maggie kissed him softly. “It’s going to be okay.” She took his hand. “I’m ready.”“Now?”“Yes. I want to be myself when it happens.” She asked again. “Please?”He nodded, unable to speak.“Thank you.” She kissed him again.He pulled her to him and embraced her.End program.“This isn’t the end,” she whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you.” Maggie flickered and vanished. She was gone, slipping just beyond his reach. Again.Simon fell into his chair. He neither moved nor ate nor slept for three months. He just sat – paralyzed by the pain of her absence.Milton’s words echoed in his mind as he gazed at her portrait above the fireplace:Grace was in all her steps…Guilt gnawed at him. He pondered the curse of his self-imposed immortal isolation.O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams
That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.It may have been a fitting punishment, but it was more than he could bear.The grandfather clock chimed four A.M. He watched the pendulum swing – back and forth like the Reaper’s scythe. “You win,” he said.What comes next?She said this wasn’t the end. She said she’d wait for him. Maybe she was. Perhaps there really was something more. He hoped so.End program.
Simon sank into a chair by the crackling fireplace in his study. The flame’s warm glow drew long, twirling shadows across the room. This was his favorite place. His sanctuary. His prison.He contemplated the substantial library that filled the case along the nearest wall, a polyglot collection of tattered paperback novels.If you were stranded on a desert island and could bring only one book…A weathered paperback had a permanent place on his chair-side table. The title Paradise Lost adorned its cover in faded letters. He picked his reading glasses from a pocket and pondered their smooth glass lenses and fine silvery framework. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need the book or the hands that held it either. Everything around him was a collection of comforting illusions of days long gone.He checked the grandfather clock standing sentry by the door. Only a few hours remained, but he was ready.A beautiful face stared down at him from a portrait over the fireplace, its angelic gaze filling him with melancholy. The fireplace still shone brightly, but Simon could no longer feel its warmth. Solitude’s smothering chill blocked every sensation but grief and anguish. And bittersweet memories of her.He opened the paperback to a yellowed page and read words he already knew by heart.Grace was in all her steps,Heaven in her eye, in every gesture dignity and love.Simon closed his eyes, his thoughts returning to a warm spring day during his last year of post graduate school.“It’s going to work this time.” Simon slipped the scan-cap onto his head. Myriad wires ran from sensors all over its surface to a supercomputer a few feet away. He knew he was close. He crossed his arms and stared at the computer monitor on the desk in front of him. Success was almost within his grasp. It’s got to work.He’d been cloistered in the virtual reality lab for two solid days with no sleep; his only sustenance the nutrient deprived student fodder of the lab’s vending machines. He stretched his tired limbs and shook the cobwebs from his head. One more try.Simon pictured a triangle in his mind’s eye as he stared at the blank computer screen. He closed his weary eyes tightly and concentrated. The triangle became ten triangles, then a hundred, then thousands. They swirled around him before coming together to form a giant pyramid with him at the top. He was elated. Simon felt as if all his dreams were about to come true. At the apex of his reverie, he heard a voice say, “Simon!” Where did it come from? “Simon!” There it was again, cold and severe. “Simon.” He suddenly felt sick. The pyramid shifted. Pieces began falling away. Small ones at first, then huge then massive slabs cracked loose and tumbled into the void below. It was slipping away. The pyramid lurched as its disintegration accelerated. Simon lost his footing and slid down the crumbling mass. He clawed at the air as he tumbled into nothingness among a jumble of polygons. The voice called again, “Simon. Wake up.”Simon opened his eyes. He was face-down on the desk. It was a dream, the same one he always had. A fellow grad student was poking his shoulder. “Dude! Wake up! You’ve been out for an hour.”Simon wiped away his drool with his sleeve. “Sorry. Guess I dozed off.”“Go home and get some sleep.” The student said over his shoulder as he walked away, “And take a shower. You stink.”Simon gave himself a whiff and recoiled from his own stench. He removed the cap and closed his eyes again, once again willing the image in his mind to the computer screen in front of him. He opened his eyes slowly, expectantly.Nothing.He turn off the monitor with an irritated flick and gathered his things.He needed a drink—after a nap and some serious personal hygiene. Simon left the lab and its fluorescent gloom behind, his steps slow under the weight of failure. The sun assaulted his eyes as he stepped into the open air. He shielded his face like a vampire caught in morning’s first light. He lowered his guard as his eyes adjusted to the land of the living. Then he saw her. And nothing else mattered.She sat alone on a sunny spot of grass next to the university center reading an old paperback novel and eating a brown-bag lunch. Between bites of a homemade ham and cheese sandwich, she absently brushed a rebellious lock of nutmeg hair from her sea blue eyes. She was the most beautiful thing Simon had ever seen.He sat next to her and said the only thing he could think of. “Come here often?”She gave him an annoyed glance. “Has that ever worked?”“No.” He smiled then blushed as he again realized how badly he needed a shave and a shower. “How am I doing this time?” he asked, trying to fix his unkempt hair as inconspicuously as possible.“Not good.”“I know I look a mess, but I’ve been working in the lab. It’s a huge project. I’m going to change the world.”She rolled her eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”He cringed. “That came out all wrong.”She put her book down. “You don’t talk to girls much do you?”His blush deepened. “No…But… I just had to talk to you.”She smiled and held out the uneaten half of her sandwich. “Hungry?”“Starving.” He gladly took the ham and cheese. “Thanks. I’m Simon.”She brushed back her unruly hair again. “I’m Maggie.”He looked at the weathered softcover in her hand. “Where did you get that old thing?”“It’s an antique,” she said with a hint of annoyance.“You don’t like digital readers?”She held the book to Simon’s nose and flipped the pages. The oddly comforting aroma of old paper filled his nostrils. The scent reminded him of the old stacks in the library where the books waiting to be scanned into the mainframe were kept. He decided that if knowledge had a smell, this would be it.“You can’t digitize that,” she said.“What are you reading?”“Milton’s Paradise Lost.”“Heady stuff.”“You’ve read it?”“No.”“Then how do you know?”“I’ve heard…well…I mean…”“How are you going to do it?”“Do what?”“Change the world, of course. Please try to keep up.”She was lovely, intelligent, and sweet. One in a million, Simon thought.He gathered up his nerve and asked, “Are you busy tonight?”“Sorry. I have a date.”Simon’s face flushed again. He felt like a fool. Of course she had a date. A girl like her probably had guys lined up just to be near her, but something inside him wouldn’t give up so easily.“Is it serious?”“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”“Good. Cancel it and go out with me instead.”Maggie laughed. “You have some nerve. I’ll give you that.”“I’ll die if you don’t.”“I doubt it.”“But what if I did? Would you want that on your conscience?”Maggie gave him a perplexed look. “You’re a strange one, like a puzzle missing some of its pieces.” She returned to her book.Simon hung his head in defeat. His heart felt like a soaked sponge sagging in his chest. “Okay.” He got to his feet. “It was nice meeting you.”“Eight o’clock.”“What?”She shrugged. “I like puzzles.” She stood, plucked the pen from his shirt pocket, wrote an address on Simon’s hand and said, “This is my dorm. I’ll see you at eight.”Simon arrived at Maggie’s dormitory an hour early. He spent the next forty-five minutes pacing across the street in front of the old brick building working up the nerve to go in. When he finally mustered the courage he squared himself and marched across the quiet lane to find her sitting on the steps, smiling at him.“I got tired of watching you walk back and forth,” she said with a smile that stirred his soul.He reached to his back pocket and pulled out a tattered pulp science fiction novel. He gave it to her and said, “For you.”Maggie’s eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”“It’s an antique. Do you like it?”She held the book to her nose and inhaled deeply. “I love it!” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”Simon blushed. “You’re welcome.”“What do you want to do?” she asked.“Are you hungry?”“I just ate.”“How about a movie?”She held up the novel. “I’m more of a book person.”“Oh.” Simon scrambled to think of something else, but his brain stalled. Nothing would come. He tried to look cool in spite of the sweat beading on his flushed forehead.“How about if we just go for a walk?” Maggie suggested.“Sounds good.”She put her arm around his. “Lead the way.”Shadows inched across the manicured landscape as they walked aimlessly around campus, talking about everything and nothing. They strolled past gardens of solar panels whose faces rotated automatically to catch last rays of twilight. Wind harvesters creaked overhead on the warm breeze that heralded summer’s impending arrival. The same breeze cooled Simon’s brow and swept his anxiety along on its journey to parts unknown.Around dusk they found a small all-night café and went in for a snack.“What scares you?” she asked over coffee and scones.“I dunno. Failure, I guess.”Maggie wrinkled her nose in thought. “No. I don’t think so. A guy like you can handle failure because you never give up. You’re driven.” She looked into Simon’s eyes. “I bet you’re most afraid of being alone.”Simon squirmed in his chair. She’d hit the nail on the head. He cleared his throat. “What scares you?”“Clowns.”He laughed. “I’m serious.”“So am I! Have you ever tried to sleep in a room with a clown doll on the shelf?” She shivered. “It’s terrifying.”“Okay, what’s your favorite flower?”“Red poppies. I just love how bright and happy they are. So full of life. When I’m sad, I close my eyes and I pretend I’m in a field of them that goes on forever.”They talked till dawn, sharing each other’s hopes dreams. I didn’t take Simon long to realize Maggie wasn’t one in a million. She was one of a kind, the only person to ever truly understand him.Days turned into weeks as they spent every possible moment together, walking, talking, and falling for each other over scones and coffee. She would always find him waiting in front of her dorm with red poppies or another old book for her. She had no idea where he got either of them.Simon sat alone in the lab late one night facing his nemesis. The blank computer screen stared back at him, daring him to try again. He had reviewed every line of code. Every connection had been checked and double checked. This semester, his last semester, was almost over. It was now or never. He made one last adjustment to the scan-cap, slipped it onto his head and closed his eyes.Maggie woke with a start an hour later. A loud popping noise had pulled her back into her dark dorm room from bright dreams of sunshine and poppies. She sat up and looked for her roommate. The girl was still in bed, dead to the world. Then she heard it again. Something was tapping her window. She crept out of bed and peeked through the curtain to see Simon standing on the sidewalk three stories below. She opened the window and said in a loud semi-whisper, “It’s three-thirty in the morning!”Simon replied in an imitation of her husky tone. “I know! Can you come down? I have something important to tell you!”“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’“No! Let’s go for a walk!”“A walk?” She stepped away from the window then poked her head back out and said, “Okay, I’ll be right down. By the way, you don’t have to throw rocks. I have a phone.”She met Simon on the front steps. He had a bigger smile on his face than usual.“What’s with the grin?” Maggie asked.“I did it.”“Did what?”“The experiment finally worked, of course. It just took a few adjustments. The computer can scan and interpret thoughts. I did it!” He grinned. “Please try to keep up.”Maggie took his hand. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”“There’s one other thing I want to tell you.”“Yes?” Her eyes sparkled in the street light. “You know I’m not good with words,” he said. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”“Very funny.” He swallowed, his old anxiety returned. “I just wanted to say…I mean…I’ve never said this to anybody else. Well, besides family, but that doesn’t...”“I love you too, Simon.”He picked her up in his arms. “Marry me!”Maggie laughed. “Wow! You get right to business!”“Marry me, Maggie. I can’t live without you.”Her smile faded as she looked deep into his eyes. “Yes.”The campus clock tower struck four as they kissed.Simon whispered, “I could never live without you.”After graduation, Simon took a job with a biotech firm. It was a good job, but it wasn’t his dream. After long days at the lab, he spent long nights in their garage turning his vision into reality.*****Late one summer night, Maggie was shaken awake.“Come down stairs! Hurry!” Simon said excitedly, “It’s done!”She checked the clock by her bed as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It was four A.M., but Maggie wasn’t upset. She knew this was what she’d signed on for when she married an eccentric like Simon. She gave a drowsy smile and tried to hide her amusement as he led her by the hand to the garage.Once there, Simon helped her put on a bulky headset and said, “This is just the prototype. The final product will be much more compact.”“What’s it do?”“You see that?” He pointed to a robotic arm on his workbench. “Imagine it moving to the left.”She did. It did. She looked wide-eye at Simon. He was ecstatic. “Keep going. It’ll move anyway you want it to. Try the fingers!”With only her thoughts, she was able to manipulate the arm through any maneuver she desired as smoothly and nimbly as if it were her own. “This is incredible!” She hugged Simon’s neck. “You did it, baby!”“I couldn’t have done it without you.”“You’re going to get a big promotion for this.”“No. We’re going to start our own company. It’s time to change the world.”“I always knew you would.” She smiled.“I can do anything as long as I have you.”“There’s only one thing missing.”“What’s that?”“A house full of kids to share it with.”He took her in his arms. “What do you say we start right now?”Over the next ten years, Simon’s technology revolutionized fields from medicine and commerce to manufacturing and communications. Billions around the world used his thought-activated devices. Their business, Cognitech, grew beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. But their happiness was incomplete. Their greatest dream had not come true. *****The autumn sun dipped below the horizon as Simon drove home after a tough but rewarding day at the helm of the corporation. With a thought, he activated a prosthetic earpiece and called Maggie. No answer. Another thought brought up a holographic map projected inches in front of his left eye. A red dot shone at his address. She was home. Why doesn’t she answer?He remembered she had a doctor appointment earlier that day. More fertility test results. More disappointment. His brow furled. He disengaged the car’s autopilot and mashed the throttle.Simon found her sitting alone in the dining room. “Hi, sweetheart!” He tried to sound cheerful in spite of the look on her face. “What did the doctor say?”She shook her head. “I thought I was finally pregnant.”Simon held her hand and smiled. “It’s okay. We won’t give up. Medicine can do anything these days.” He paused. “Did the doctor say why you haven’t…?”She nodded. “Cancer.”The color drained from Simon’s face as he fell into the chair next to her. “Where?”Maggie’s eyes welled with tears. “Everywhere.”“What…How long…”She sobbed. “Four months. Maybe six.”“No! There’s got to be something we can do. We’ll go to the ends of the earth if we have to. We can beat this!” She sank into his arms, heaving as she wept.He held her and tenderly kissed her head. “It’s going to be okay.”Weeks later they sat in a Vienna oncologist’s office. Maggie was pale and gaunt. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She asked Simon, “Do you think he can help?”“He’s the best in the world.”“That’s not what I asked.”Simon stared at the floor. “We have to hope.”The door opened. The doctor entered. He shook his head. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do.”More test results. More disappointment. No cure. No hope. And precious little time.Simon said, “This isn’t over. There are other doctors.”The doctor excused himself. “I am very sorry. Take as long as you need.” He left, closing the door behind him.“No,” Maggie said sternly.“What?”“No.” She shook her head. “No more doctors.”“We’re not giving up.” Simon sighed. “We’ll talk about it when you’re being rational.”“I’m the only one being rational.”“How can you say that?”“You’ve spent the last ten years building Cognitech, working day and night. You missed birthdays, holidays, anniversaries. I slept alone more nights than I can count” She laughed softly. “But I never complained. I loved you enough to not stand in the way of your dreams.”“I know. I’m sorry.”“It’s okay. That’s just who you are. I knew it when I married you.”“Then let me help you. I have to do something! Please.”“You can’t fix this. Nobody can.” She took his hand “Love me enough to let me make this choice. No doctors. No drugs. No treatments. Just us. Can you do that for me?”“Yes,” he whispered.“Good.” Maggie reached out and tenderly touched his cheek. “Paris is beautiful this time of year.”The next afternoon, Simon pushed her wheelchair down brisk Parisian streets. He smiled as she excitedly pointed out the buildings and scenery to him. A gust of autumn gave Maggie a shiver. She pull her blanket closer. Simon stopped, tucked her in and said, “It’s getting cold. We should head back.”She answered, “No. I’m fine. Let’s go on.” Simon gave a doubting look then kissed her cheek and pushed on. He tried to capture every moment, hiding every sight and sound deep in the safest part of his memory where only his heart held the key. He soaked in her bright eyes and giddy smile, burning them indelibly into his mind. This was the most alive she’d been in a long time. He reached down to stroke her hair and realized the same was true of him.A small café caught Maggie’s eye. It looked warm and inviting in the late afternoon chill. Simon asked, “Hungry?”She nodded. “Coffee sounds nice.”They found a small table by the widow and ordered an early dinner. Maggie barely touched hers. They watched from their cozy nook as pedestrians rushed to cover when a sudden downpour drove them splashing from the street. Simon took her hand. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”“Sounds great to me.”They talked until streetlamps burned brightly against the night. It was the first time in ages. No doctors. No treatments. No Cognitech. Just them.*****Winter’s first snow fell outside as Simon sat alone in his study two months later. The fireplace was dark and cold. A half-empty bottle of whisky warmed him instead. He’d never felt so helpless. So useless. He took another swig. The grandfather clock struck four. He watched with bleary eyes as the hands crept across its face. The chimes softly marked the passing of another hour. Time was his enemy, the clock its willing accomplice – mercilessly burning away every minute of every day. Stealing her from him one second at a time. No matter what he did, he could never hope to win.He gripped the liquor bottle tightly and stood to face the timepiece. Simon raised a trembling hand and hurled the container at the thief. Chimes clanged angrily as the flagon shattered against the clock. Pungent spirits drenched the old wooden watchman, but the pendulum still swung inexorably. The glass window covering the face was spattered and cracked, but the hands marched on. I can’t save her. He fell to his knees in defeat as bitter tears began to flow. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to cry. I can’t stop time.Simon suddenly raised his head. Or can I?If his technology could read brainwaves, why not copy them? He put on a pot of coffee and got to work. If I’m going to stop time, there isn’t a moment to lose.When all was ready, her time was almost gone. Their bedroom looked more like a hospital ward than a master suite. A vase of red poppies was its only cheer.Simon sat at her bedside and held her withered hand as the winter wind howled outside. “It’s me, sweetheart.” He thought he was too late, but then half-closed eyes drifted to his face. “Where’ve you been?” she whispered.“Working on a way to save you.”She glanced at the strange looking equipment he’d placed by the bed.He said, “It’s ready. I know you’re tired, but I need you to hang on for just a few more days. Do you think you can?”She gave a barely perceptible nod. “As long as you’re with me.” “I’ll be right here.” He kissed her forehead and placed the neuro-topographer at the head of her bed.Begin mapping.Simon spent the next three days at her side reminiscing about their life together. He held her hand and gently stroked her hair as he talked. She listened peacefully – squeezing his hand every so often to let him know she was still with him. All the while, the topographer silently went about its work. Simon kept one eye on the small data screen that reported its progress. It was agonizingly slow. After twenty hours: Fourteen percent complete. Two days: Forty-eight percent complete. Three days: Eighty-six percent complete.Simon awoke at four in the morning on the fourth day to the sound of electronic beeping. At first, he thought it was her life support, but quickly realized there was no emergency. Her respirator was humming and hissing normally. The beep was coming from the topographer. He checked the data screen. One hundred percent complete. It was then he noticed her looking at him.She whispered, “Can I go now?”Simon’s eyes filled with tears. He choked out, “Yes.”She mustered her strength and gently caressed his cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She closed her eyes as Simon took her hand in his. Begin program.Transfer initiated.It didn’t take long – just a few minutes. Transfer complete. Her vitals flat-lined as Simon softly kissed her forehead. He ran a hand over a little black box attached to the topographer. She was in there now. Her body was dead, but she still lived. Her consciousness, her being, was digitized and preserved within its circuitry. He’d saved her. Time couldn’t claim her anymore.Simon integrated her new existence into the Cognitech mainframe, sold their house, and made a Spartan home for himself in the lab so he could always be with her. His only luxury was an exact replica of his old study adjacent to his own private lab in a quite section of his company’s headquarters.Simon lost interest in the company and gave up his duties as CEO. As the years crawled by, he became obsessed with finding a way to communicate with her. He had high hopes for the first few years, but they faded after more failures than he cared to count. Her programing was too primitive. Preservation was its sole purpose. He hadn’t had time to incorporate communication. An upgrade was out of the question. His computer models indicated that the slightest change to any algorithm could ripple through her entire being. She’d be corrupted. Her ‘mind’ torn to tatters.He often starred at the powerful computer and pictured her in it. Alone. Trapped in an electronic tomb. He could hold her in his hands, but she remained just out of reach. Was she conscious or in some kind of digital coma? Was she really in there or was he just fooling himself? All knew for certain was that he had to be with her. To see her beautiful smile, feel her gentle touch, and hear her sweet voice. He never gave up. Year after year. Decade after decade.*****Simon sat alone in his dimly lit study tucked away in a corner of Cognitech. The entire building was empty. Tonight, Milton’s masterwork shared the chair-side table with a small headset and a vase of wild red poppies. He ran a weathered hand through his snow-white hair as he stared longingly at the painting of her. “Happy fiftieth anniversary, sweetheart.”The clock struck four as he picked up the sleek headset – remembering the clunky eyesore he’d presented to her decades before. This is just the prototype. The final product will be much more compact. It seemed like yesterday. He said to her portrait, “I’ll bet you’re wondering what this one does.” He donned the device. “Let’s find out together.”Begin mapping.It now took moments instead of days.Mapping complete.This was it. No going back. He hesitated as doubt took hold in his mind.Simon picked up the book, hoping Milton could give him comfort. He pick up the old book and flipped the pages in front of his face, inhaling deeply as he thought of that spring day long ago. He put on his reading glasses and turned to a passage he knew by heart:The mind is its own place, and in itselfCan make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.My mind, he thought. Is that what I’m about to put into that box? My soul? Or just a lifeless copy – the original lost forever.He pondered the question, then decided to proceed. Whatever happened would be better than going on any longer without her.Begin program.Our state cannot be severed, we are one.One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.Transfer initiated.The room faded. The ticking of the clock grew more and more distant until it, too was gone. Nothingness overtook him.Then he felt something. A breeze – soft and warm on his face. Simon opened his eyes to find himself standing in a field of the reddest poppies he’d ever seen. Their rolling undulations in the gentle wind looked like wildfire.Transfer complete.“Come here often?” a familiar voice said from behind him. He wanted to turn, but was afraid. Afraid it wasn’t real.A hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Maggie smiling at him. She wasn’t withered and sick anymore. She was the young, healthy, beautiful girl he’d met so many years ago. He caught sight of his hand as it reached for her. It was young and strong again.She said, “Welcome to Paradise.”Simon grabbed his wife and kissed her as tears rolled down his face.Maggie whispered, “I’ve waited so long.”“I know. We’re together now. Forever.”“Forever.” She nodded with a smile. “I have a surprise for you. Cover your eyes.”“No. I want to look at you.”“Please? I’ve been planning this a very long time.”“Okay.” Simon did as she asked.It only took a second. Maggie said, “You can look now.”He opened his eyes and stood speechless.Maggie beamed. “Recognize it?”He stood in a small college coffee house. “Of course I do. How did you?”“This is Paradise. We can do anything here.”They found an empty table and talked for hours as rain pattered against the window.Simon reached across the table for her hand. He wanted to take in every part of her. He was studying the nape of her neck when it happened. So fast it was almost imperceptible. She flickered. For the slightest moment her face fluttered like a candle too close to an open window.“What’s wrong?” Maggie could always read him too well.He forced a smile and convinced himself it was just his imagination. “Nothing. I’m fine. Where to next? Tahiti?”“Let’s go home.” Maggie gave a sly smile.They stepped from the café to their front door in a blink.Simon paused before entering their home. He’d missed this place. This life.Late that night, Maggie lay in his arms amid the tangled, sweaty sheets of their bed. She sighed. “I really missed that.”Simon laughed. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”“Wanna go again?” she said in her most mischievous voice.He ran a hand down her back and grabbed her naked bottom. “Time to find out if this really is Paradise.”She sat up suddenly. “I have a better idea!”“I doubt it.”Maggie wrapped herself in a quilt and dashed from the bedroom. She returned with a photo album, plopped into bed next to Simon, and excitedly opened the picture book.Simon said dryly, “I like your first idea better.”“Come on. It’ll be fun.”“Okay, let’s have a look.” Simon pointed to a picture of them in sombreros and laughed. “Ha! Mexico! I can’t believe you talked me into hiking that bug infested jungle and climbing those pyramids. My legs ached for a week!”She looked confused.“What’s wrong?”“I don’t remember that.”“Sure ya do. It was our honeymoon.”She shook her head. “I can’t remember any of it.”“Of course you can. We’re part of the mainframe now. We can do differential equations in our sleep. We can recite the collected works of Shakespeare and Tolstoy off the tops of our heads. We remember every second of every day.”Maggie just stared at him. “I don’t remember.”“We’ve had a big day, that’s all. Let’s get some sleep.” Simon turned out the light. He knew she’d see through his façade if he left it on. He pulled her to him and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. He watched her for hours afterward; feeling her warm breath against his chest.He awoke the next morning alone. He called, “Maggie!” There was no reply.He grabbed some pants and ran into the living room. Empty. He dashed to the kitchen on the verge of panic and found her staring into the open refrigerator. “Thank God! I thought I’d lost you again,” Simon said with relief.Maggie looked upset. “I was going to surprise you.”“Sorry.” Simon smiled. “I’ll go back to bed. This never happened.”“No. I was going to make your favorite breakfast, but I can’t remember what it is.” Tears filled her eyes. She began to tremble. “What’s happening to me?”“I don’t know, but I’ll fix it.” He held her tightly. “It’s going to be okay.” His stomach knotted with the memory of the last time he told her that.He went to his study and ran a diagnostic. He ran it again, then seven more times. Each with the same result.She entered before he started another. “Sorry, but I couldn’t wait. Did you find anything?”He looked away and nodded – his jaw clinched.“What is it?”He looked into her frightened, trusting eyes. “Your program’s been corrupted. It’s causing holes in your memory. And they’re getting bigger.”“But how? I’ve been fine for years. Why now?”“When I put myself in here with you, the newer coding caused compatibility errors. I thought I’d found a way around it.”“How bad is it?”“It’s everywhere.”She sat next to him. “How long?”He choked out, “Four months. Maybe six.” He put his face in his hands. “It’s all my fault.”She put her arms around him. “It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just life.” She cupped his face in her hand and gently lifted till their eyes met. “Let’s make the most of the time we’ve got.”A few weeks later, Maggie found herself in a strange place. She asked Simon, “Where are we?”“Home.”“I don’t recognize it.” “We’re in the living room. You had another episode.”“How long was I out this time?”“A few hours.”“It’s happening faster than we thought, isn’t it?”Simon nodded. “It’s just accelerating so much faster than I ever thought it could.”“I can feel it. Just like last time. Pieces of myself falling away.”Simon just stared at her.She smiled softly and took his hand. “I need you to do something for me.”He didn’t answer. He knew what was coming.But it didn’t come. Nothing did. She was frozen—trapped in an endless loop of broken algorithms. She stood there, flickering every few moments like a bad fluorescent bulb. Simon held her hand. There was nothing else he could do.After three days, Maggie finally awoke. She looked around the room in disorientation and asked Simon. “Where are we?”“Home.”She shook her head “I can’t do this. I can’t fade away again.”“I know.”“Let me go,” she said, “while there’s still some of me left.”“I can’t.”“You have to. For me. Please.”Simon sat there a long moment – struggling to form the word and then to release it. He finally said, “Okay.”“Thank you.” Maggie kissed him softly. “It’s going to be okay.” She took his hand. “I’m ready.”“Now?”“Yes. I want to be myself when it happens.” She asked again. “Please?”He nodded, unable to speak.“Thank you.” She kissed him again.He pulled her to him and embraced her.End program.“This isn’t the end,” she whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you.” Maggie flickered and vanished. She was gone, slipping just beyond his reach. Again.Simon fell into his chair. He neither moved nor ate nor slept for three months. He just sat – paralyzed by the pain of her absence.Milton’s words echoed in his mind as he gazed at her portrait above the fireplace:Grace was in all her steps…Guilt gnawed at him. He pondered the curse of his self-imposed immortal isolation.O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams
That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.It may have been a fitting punishment, but it was more than he could bear.The grandfather clock chimed four A.M. He watched the pendulum swing – back and forth like the Reaper’s scythe. “You win,” he said.What comes next?She said this wasn’t the end. She said she’d wait for him. Maybe she was. Perhaps there really was something more. He hoped so.End program.
February 10, 2016
A Preview of Homeland: Falling Down
First Blood
Monday, October 26th
Nashville, TennesseeEight Days before the Presidential Election
The young man stood on the far left of the crowd gathered in front of the State Capitol Building, as he was instructed to do. He had been there for hours. Waiting. Preparing himself. It was almost time.
The unseasonably frigid autumn air made him shiver in spite of the dirty military surplus coat he wore. Unkempt hair poked from his woolen cap and ran down his cheeks to form a scraggly beard. A boyish brow framed dark, merciless eyes.His shaggy appearance contrasted that of the crowd of typical bourgeoisie types, well dressed, middle-class, middle-aged, mostly white with a few minorities sprinkled around. Some had their kids with them, bundled up snuggly against the cold. Thousands of them filled the frigid Capitol grounds. They were here to see one person, the person he came to kill.Cheers and campaign chants filled the icy air as the excitement grew. Finally, an attractive woman in a thick coat and scarf stepped up to the outdoor podium in front of the gathering. She droned on and on about the Founding Fathers, tossing in a quote from one of them with every other breath. She was Congresswoman Martha Jefferson, freshman member of the House of Representatives on the newly formed Constitutional Party ticket.“We are being lulled to sleep,” she said, her breath an ethereal vapor in the wintry air. “The media ignores injustice and covers up scandals within our corrupt government. Instead, they serve us stories about celebrities and sports teams disguised as real news and we eat it up and ask for more.” The crowd was silent, hanging on her every word. “Our nation is on the verge of bankruptcy, and we sleep. The educational system turns our children against the heroes and virtues that made America great, and we sleep. Government policies and pop culture destroy our families. The police are militarized. Our communications are monitored. Our every move is watched as our rights are stripped from us one by one. And we sleep. Our very civilization is on the verge of collapse. And yet we sleep!” Her eyes locked onto her audience. “But we cannot sleep anymore. We must wake up! Wake up to the intentions of those who seek to destroy our republic. Wake up and halt our nation’s drift to tyranny. Wake up before our children became slaves to the State!”The crowd cheered in agreement.The young man remained still.Jefferson’s delivery was polished and charismatic. Her people were primed for the call to action.“Boycott the media. Stand up to the educational system. Don’t vote for establishment candidates. Educate your friends and neighbors before it’s too late.” She paused. “But the biggest thing I ask of you today is your help. I know that we are leading in every poll, but Election Day is still more than a week away. A lot can happen between now and then. Now is not a time to rest. It is a time for action. It’s going to take every one of us to get the job done, but we can do it together. And with your help, I am going to be the next President of the United States!”The crowd erupted into raucous applause.Jefferson raised a hand to still the multitude. “In closing, I will defer once again to our founders. E Pluribus Unum. From many, one. They knew that our greatest strength is and always will be our unity. It is only when we come together as one that we are truly the United States. Thank you. God bless you all and God bless America.”More applause.Jefferson turned to her right and exited the stage, shaking hands with exuberant supporters.The young man elbowed his way through the devotees, moving into Jefferson’s path until almost within arm’s reach. His hand slipped into his coat.“Martha!” he yelled.Jefferson looked to him, still smiling. She reached to shake his hand.“GUN!” Someone yelled.Crack! Crack! Crack!Campaign cheers turned to primal screams as people fought to escape the gunman.Blood spattered the congresswoman’s face. An aid next to her fell to the ground, gore pouring from his chest and neck.A body guard shoved Jefferson to the ground with violent urgency.Hands from the crowd clawed at the young man’s arm as he tried to aim his revolver for another shot.Crack! Crack!Another body fell—a woman in a ‘Jefferson for President’ sweatshirt this time.The assassin fell down, tackled from behind by a muscular state trooper.More body guards rushed Jefferson into a nearby car, shut the door and pound the roof. Tires squealed as the vehicle sped to safety.The shooter wrestled free of the trooper as more police arrived. His quarry was gone. There was no escape. He had one bullet left.He put the pistol to his head and said, “The revolution has begun! There is nothing you can do to stop it!”He pulled the trigger. His lifeless body crumpled to the frozen ground, steam rising from the bloody hole in his temple.“Search him!” a senior policeman ordered.Two officers rushed up and unzipped the killer's jacket. “No bombs!” one of the searchers called out.
The other officer rifled through the assassin’s pockets. All were empty except for one. In it he found a few dollars, a Vanderbilt University student ID, and a little green book.
The officer examined the book. It was about the size of a pocket Testament and worn from seemingly obsessive reading. Handwritten notes and highlighted passages littered its thin dog-eared pages. A rubber band marked a page with the underlined quote,‘There is only one way to shorten the death rattles of the old world and hasten the bloody birth pangs of the new—revolutionary terror.’The officer closed the booklet and examined the cover. Faded letters across the stained, dingy, emerald cover spelled out the title,‘The World to Come.’
Pre-order Homeland: Falling Down HERE!
February 4, 2016
HOMELAND: Falling Down is Now Available for Pre-Order!
Preorder HOMELAND: Falling Down here!
We thought America would last forever. We were wrong.
Riots are daily occurrences in American cities. The dollar plummets when foreign governments refuse to buy American bonds. Coordinated terrorist attacks paralyze the country at every level. Then it gets worse. When a new regime rises to bring order from chaos, it soon becomes clear that peace and security will come at an unbearable price.
Homeland: Falling Down is the first installment of a new series which chronicles the trials of Americans trying to survive the total collapse of everything they know and love.
Eduardo Garcia just landed his dream job. He is finally promoted to network news anchor after years of paying his dues as a war correspondent. His first day on the job will mark the beginning of the end.
Hank Sexton is a small town sheriff struggling to protect his family and community from starvation and the chaos lurking beyond the county line.
Hank’s son, Cole, is an Army sergeant recently returned from a combat tour in Syria. He and his fellow soldiers will face hard choices when their fellow citizens are declared terrorists.
July 10, 2015
First They Came for the Confederates...
In a recent article for the Orlando Sentinel, journalist David Whitley cautioned his readers against the current furor of sterilizing our culture of anything offensive (funny this doesn't apply things offensive to Christians, Conservatives, Libertarians, Patriots, the Military, or reasonable people in general). He makes a legitimate case that about anything and anyone can and will be seen as offensive by someone. After all, many of the Founding Fathers owned slaves, JFK, MLK were adulterers (as is Bill Clinton), Ulysses S. Grant owned slaves and later oversaw the extermination of countless Native Americans, G.W. Bush and B.H. Obama did drugs (and yes, they both inhaled), Babe Ruth was a philanderer, and Ronald Reagan was an actor. Even Abe Lincoln, Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela had serious issues.
My point is this: Nobody is perfect. No one is blameless, thus everyone is a target. That includes you and me.
In the midst of this self-righteous ruckus, as activists oppose a failed rebellion that ended 150 years ago (we could go for days on the what and why of this) and a decry a vile institution that was also stamped out before their great grandparents were born, none of them can be bothered to take up a cause that can actually do some good.
Instead, we:
1. ignore the slavery still going on many parts of the world today even though its fruits often turn up in our closets and on our dinner plates, calling it the price of doing business.
2. trade with counties like China who continue to commit unspeakable atrocities against citizens deemed 'undesirables' and enemies of the state while leaving unwanted baby girls to die because of a strict one-child policy, calling it diplomacy.
3. negotiate timetables which enable the terrorist state of Iran to build its own nuclear weapons, calling it peacekeeping.
4. refuse to recognize the threat of radical Islam and turn a blind eye to the genocide of Christians in the Middle East and elsewhere, calling it freedom of religion.
5. cheer the murder of millions of unborn children in their mothers' wombs every year, calling it freedom of choice.
6. encourage the flood of violent criminals pouring across our southern border, calling it diversity.
I could go on.
Nobody is stopping to consider how future generations will judge our own. I wonder if this age will be judged as harshly over our tolerance of abortion as the last is over its tolerance of slavery…Maybe worse. At least a slave was considered three fifths of a person. We won't even grant that partial status to our own children.
Instead, we, as a culture, attack those who cannot harm us and eviscerate those who dare disagree with us.
I find it ironic that the people who are so adamant to remove the Confederate flag because of the evil of slavery are the same ones trying to force the rest of use to bow in forced submission to the rainbow flag.
If this offends you, I an truly sorry....No. That's not true. I actually couldn't care less.
September 17, 2014
Broken Trust
Have you ever been betrayed by a friend? Most of us have. How did it affect the relationship. How did the betrayal affect your opinion of that person? Did you ever trust them again?
Have you ever had a leader you didn’t trust? Again, most of us have. It may have been at work, in a social club, or a bowling league. Think about what that was like. How effective was that leader? How was the group’s morale? How efficient was the team?
A wise friend of mine once said, “Trust is like porcelain. It can be mended, but the crack will always remain.”
For the last six years, we have consistently betrayed and disrespected friends while broadcasting weakness to enemies. Our enemies now act with aggression unseen since 1945, emboldened by our empty words. Our allies withhold support, fearful of being left holding the bag.
We insulted Great Britain by returning their gift of a bust of Winston Churchill and reciprocating the British gift of a desk made from timbers of the HMS Victory with an Ipod preloaded with the President’s speeches…Classy. We then forced Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu to enter the Whitehouse through the back door on his first visit with our current commander in chief, who left in the middle of important talks to have dinner with his family while the leader of our strongest ally in the Middle East ‘worked things out’ with staffers. Our government also insists on calling ISIS ISIL, as slap in the face to every Israeli. Then, in an unbelievable act of betrayal and insensitivity, we announced the cancelation of the planned missile shield intended to defend Poland on September 17th, 2009, the 70th anniversary of the Soviet invasion of that very country. Lastly, we cannot forget the American promise of protection to the Ukraine in exchange for dismantling their nuclear arsenal.
Conversely, we have been very cozy with Hugo Chavez, promised ‘more flexibility’ to Putin regarding further degradations in European missile defense, and are now reaching out to Iran for help with ISIS (the non-Islamic Islamic state).
So why can’t the President build a meaningful coalition to face ISIS or Russia?
Nobody trusts us.
I say “us” because the people committing these acts are elected by us. They represent us. And, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, they areus.
The same holds true domestically. Campaign promises of prosperity for all have given way to the reality of massive increases in regulation, entitlements, and unemployment. Let’s not forget the skyrocketing national debt and the devaluation of the dollar.
Businesses, like our global allies, must have faith in the future before they invest in it.
They don’t.
Excessive regulation by agencies from the IRS to the EPA continue to tighten the noose around both large and small businesses. When companies comply with the regulations, they change again. This uncertainty is poison to an economy. It discourages businesses from investment and growth.
Business is about numbers and number don’t lie. The media can spin the truth, but they can’t change it. Companies are sitting on top of huge reserves of cash, afraid to risk it on the unpredictable whims of autocrats.
So why can’t the President revive this sluggish economy?
Nobody trusts the government.
Nor do they trust a fickle public more concerned what happened in a casino elevator than the events at the American consulate in Benghazi, at least not when it comes to choosing leaders to set us back on course.
So there it is.
American impotence, foreign and domestic, can be pinned on a lack of trust. Our friends don’t trusts us to honor our commitments. Our enemies know we can’t be trusted to stop them. And our financial sector can’t trust its own government to play be the rules.
In the end it is us, the American people, who bear the burden of this predicament as well as the blame.
We elected these unscrupulous incompetents as a nation.
We ignored the results of their bungling as a culture.
We can, however, repair the damage they have done, but only if we act as a free and vigilant people.
We can take the first step in rebuilding America’s reputation in 2016.
By simply voting, speaking out, and demanding integrity from those we elect, we can restore America to her rightful place as the global beacon of freedom…love by her people, trusted by her friends, and feared by her enemies.
September 12, 2014
Will Bin Laden Have the Last Laugh?
Yesterday, on the thirteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I found myself once again reflecting upon that day and the differences in the world before and after.
Thankfully, we haven’t experienced another attack on that scale since that day. Our intelligence and military services have done an outstanding job in combating Islamic threats. Many have sacrificed much to keep us safe and I am proud to have played a small part in that.
But that isn’t the whole story…
Remember when metal detectors were the only security needed at the airport? I do. I also remember when the people who feared their communications being monitored by the government were kooks and the police didn’t drive MRAPs.
I even remember a time thirty years ago, during the Cold War, when the ‘commies’ were the bad guys and we weren’t afraid to call them that. I remember a President with the courage to refer to the Soviet Union as the “Evil Empire” in the shadow of the Berlin Wall. I can still hear his command, “Mr. Gorbachev, Tear. Down. This. Wall.” His words struck like hammer blows.
We knew who the bad guys were and weren’t afraid to admit it. It was a cold war, but war nonetheless. We knew what it took to beat them and we did it with neither excuse nor concession. Those were the days before political correctness.
Those days are gone.
Today, America’s second longest war turns 13. In spite of continued attacks, aggression, threats, and foiled terror plots, the media and Whitehouse policy are in chronic denial about the threat we face from the ‘religion of peace.’
Terrorist acts are now called ‘workplace violence’ or ‘man-caused disasters.’ 80 year-old grannies are stopped at TSA checkpoints just as often as Middle Eastern males between the ages of 16 and 45.
This narrative of the religion of peace is propagated in the media as well. When was the last TV show or movie you saw in which the Muslim was a bad guy? When the movie version of Tom Clancy’s The Sum of All Fears was made, the Muslim terrorists were replaced by neo-Nazis. News outlets do all they can to deny Islamic radicals too, warning instead of the threat of right-wing extremists. Last night, the President led his ISIS remarks by declaring the group is not Islamic.
Really?
(Dr. Bill Warner has a presentation which shows how ISIS fits perfectly into Islamic philosophy and are no different than the prophet himself. See it here.)
For years, we have bent over backwards to deny the savagery committed in the name of Allah. We have bowed to the mandates of political correctness and we have paid the price. It must be said that this President not the only one to do so, but he does seem to be the most adamant about it.
Here are just a very few examples of the damage done while we buried our heads in the sand:
2009
· The administration abandoned the T-word for the more benign term “man-caused disasters.”
· 13 unarmed soldiers were killed and over 30 wounded by a Muslim soldier shouting, “Allah uh Akbar!” on Fort Hood, Texas. This was called “workplace violence” by the administration. The victims were denied the purple, which meant that the survivors and families of the fallen would not receive the benefits they deserved. (Berkowitz/World News, 2013)
· Citizens of Iran rise up against their government in the wake of elections they believe to be corrupt. America offers them no support. Many are arrested and killed.
2010
· Arab Spring begins in December in Tunisia and soon spread to Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries. The administration choses to back the Muslim Brotherhood in spite of their radical, anti-western, anti-Semitic, philosophies.
2011
· We pulled out of a ‘stable’ Iraq, leaving a void of power without having any idea who would fill it.
· Syrian uprising against President al-Assad. America backs the rebels, many of whom are linked to Al-Qaida and other terrorist organizations.
· Libya revolts. America backs the Muslim Brotherhood with supplies and air strikes. The rebels take over the country, murder Khadafy, and install an ant-American Islamic government.
· Egypt falls. Thousands of Christians are murdered and hundreds of churches are destroyed. America does nothing.
· Iranian citizens rise again, attempting to shed the yolk of radical Islam and are put down once again with an iron fist. Once again, America does nothing.
2012
· Iraq’s vice president is charged with murder and flees the county. Iraq begins its spiral into civil war. America does nothing.
· The same year – The American ambassador to Libya is murdered along with three other Americans in a well-planned and coordinated assault. The attack is painted as a spontaneous response to a YouTube video. The maker of that video is imprisoned. The attackers remain free.
2013
· Syrian government is accused of using chemical weapons against rebel forces. The administration urges American to aid the rebels, including U.S. troops on the ground. The initial claims are refuted by many in the international community who say evidence points to the rebels being the initiators of the chemical attack.
· ISIS grows out of the Syrian resistance and sets its sights westward toward Iraq. Intelligence services inform the administration of this development. Nothing happens.
· The Boston Marathon is hit with two homemade explosive devises killing 3 and injuring 263 others. The two suspects are Muslim immigrants. This aspect is downplayed by the media and administration.
2014
· Well, you get the point. Just turn on the TV.
The administration may deny the enemy, but they cannot deny the threat.
As such, they must cast an ever wider net to catch ‘bad guys’ instead of focusing on the one group that has conducted every attack since Oklahoma City 19 years ago. Our reluctance to identify the bad guys has muddied the water, causing every American to become a terror suspect.(At least I hope that's the reason, anything else is too terrible to go into here.)
Recent revelations of governmental agencies spying on, targeting, harassing, or otherwise molesting innocent Americans in the name of security have a lot of people wondering if it’s gone too far.
When two dudes with explosive pressure cookers can shut down one of the city of Boston and cause its residents to effectively be placed under martial law, we got problems.
When the IRS and other agencies are weaponized and used to target citizens and groups based purely on political beliefs, we got problems.
When Americans must censor their own speech out of fear that someone is listening, we got BIG problems.
When veterans,Christians, libertarians, Constitutionalists, soccer moms, and Tea Partiers are considered as big a threat as jihadists, we got HUGE problems.
Are we moving from a philosophy of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ to one of ‘if you havenothing to hide, you have nothing to fear?’
If we treated radical Islam today as we treated communism all those years ago, we could effectively manage this threat both globally and domestically without turning every American into a suspect.
Between 1917 and 1991, we defeated imperialism, fascism, and communism in rapid succession. Those adversaries had the military and economic might of nation states with millions of troops and the latest military hardware. We faced annihilation at their hands, but we still respected freedom at home and abroad (except for the Japanese internment camps which were a disgrace). We didn’t militarize our police. We didn’t restrict travel. We didn’t eavesdrop on every citizen and we didn’t shred the Constitution. We faced the enemy head-on. We called it what it was.
And we were victorious.
Today, a few scruffy savages are able to terrorize us into surrendering our rights for the sake of a little imaginary security.
Al-Qaeda's goal 13 years ago was to weaken America, to make us prisoners of our own fear. It didn't work then, but, if we continue down our current path, the result will be that same. We will succeed where they failed in bringing our own country to its knees, so afraid of these boogeymen that we gladly give away what's left of our rights, becoming prisoners in our own homeland. And in doing so, we will invite tyranny the likes of which this country has never seen.Then Bin Laden's victory will be complete.
Thankfully, we haven’t experienced another attack on that scale since that day. Our intelligence and military services have done an outstanding job in combating Islamic threats. Many have sacrificed much to keep us safe and I am proud to have played a small part in that.
But that isn’t the whole story…
Remember when metal detectors were the only security needed at the airport? I do. I also remember when the people who feared their communications being monitored by the government were kooks and the police didn’t drive MRAPs.
I even remember a time thirty years ago, during the Cold War, when the ‘commies’ were the bad guys and we weren’t afraid to call them that. I remember a President with the courage to refer to the Soviet Union as the “Evil Empire” in the shadow of the Berlin Wall. I can still hear his command, “Mr. Gorbachev, Tear. Down. This. Wall.” His words struck like hammer blows.
We knew who the bad guys were and weren’t afraid to admit it. It was a cold war, but war nonetheless. We knew what it took to beat them and we did it with neither excuse nor concession. Those were the days before political correctness.
Those days are gone.
Today, America’s second longest war turns 13. In spite of continued attacks, aggression, threats, and foiled terror plots, the media and Whitehouse policy are in chronic denial about the threat we face from the ‘religion of peace.’
Terrorist acts are now called ‘workplace violence’ or ‘man-caused disasters.’ 80 year-old grannies are stopped at TSA checkpoints just as often as Middle Eastern males between the ages of 16 and 45.
This narrative of the religion of peace is propagated in the media as well. When was the last TV show or movie you saw in which the Muslim was a bad guy? When the movie version of Tom Clancy’s The Sum of All Fears was made, the Muslim terrorists were replaced by neo-Nazis. News outlets do all they can to deny Islamic radicals too, warning instead of the threat of right-wing extremists. Last night, the President led his ISIS remarks by declaring the group is not Islamic.
Really?
(Dr. Bill Warner has a presentation which shows how ISIS fits perfectly into Islamic philosophy and are no different than the prophet himself. See it here.)
For years, we have bent over backwards to deny the savagery committed in the name of Allah. We have bowed to the mandates of political correctness and we have paid the price. It must be said that this President not the only one to do so, but he does seem to be the most adamant about it.
Here are just a very few examples of the damage done while we buried our heads in the sand:
2009
· The administration abandoned the T-word for the more benign term “man-caused disasters.”
· 13 unarmed soldiers were killed and over 30 wounded by a Muslim soldier shouting, “Allah uh Akbar!” on Fort Hood, Texas. This was called “workplace violence” by the administration. The victims were denied the purple, which meant that the survivors and families of the fallen would not receive the benefits they deserved. (Berkowitz/World News, 2013)
· Citizens of Iran rise up against their government in the wake of elections they believe to be corrupt. America offers them no support. Many are arrested and killed.
2010
· Arab Spring begins in December in Tunisia and soon spread to Egypt and other Middle Eastern countries. The administration choses to back the Muslim Brotherhood in spite of their radical, anti-western, anti-Semitic, philosophies.
2011
· We pulled out of a ‘stable’ Iraq, leaving a void of power without having any idea who would fill it.
· Syrian uprising against President al-Assad. America backs the rebels, many of whom are linked to Al-Qaida and other terrorist organizations.
· Libya revolts. America backs the Muslim Brotherhood with supplies and air strikes. The rebels take over the country, murder Khadafy, and install an ant-American Islamic government.
· Egypt falls. Thousands of Christians are murdered and hundreds of churches are destroyed. America does nothing.
· Iranian citizens rise again, attempting to shed the yolk of radical Islam and are put down once again with an iron fist. Once again, America does nothing.
2012
· Iraq’s vice president is charged with murder and flees the county. Iraq begins its spiral into civil war. America does nothing.
· The same year – The American ambassador to Libya is murdered along with three other Americans in a well-planned and coordinated assault. The attack is painted as a spontaneous response to a YouTube video. The maker of that video is imprisoned. The attackers remain free.
2013
· Syrian government is accused of using chemical weapons against rebel forces. The administration urges American to aid the rebels, including U.S. troops on the ground. The initial claims are refuted by many in the international community who say evidence points to the rebels being the initiators of the chemical attack.
· ISIS grows out of the Syrian resistance and sets its sights westward toward Iraq. Intelligence services inform the administration of this development. Nothing happens.
· The Boston Marathon is hit with two homemade explosive devises killing 3 and injuring 263 others. The two suspects are Muslim immigrants. This aspect is downplayed by the media and administration.
2014
· Well, you get the point. Just turn on the TV.
The administration may deny the enemy, but they cannot deny the threat.
As such, they must cast an ever wider net to catch ‘bad guys’ instead of focusing on the one group that has conducted every attack since Oklahoma City 19 years ago. Our reluctance to identify the bad guys has muddied the water, causing every American to become a terror suspect.(At least I hope that's the reason, anything else is too terrible to go into here.)
Recent revelations of governmental agencies spying on, targeting, harassing, or otherwise molesting innocent Americans in the name of security have a lot of people wondering if it’s gone too far.
When two dudes with explosive pressure cookers can shut down one of the city of Boston and cause its residents to effectively be placed under martial law, we got problems.
When the IRS and other agencies are weaponized and used to target citizens and groups based purely on political beliefs, we got problems.
When Americans must censor their own speech out of fear that someone is listening, we got BIG problems.
When veterans,Christians, libertarians, Constitutionalists, soccer moms, and Tea Partiers are considered as big a threat as jihadists, we got HUGE problems.
Are we moving from a philosophy of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ to one of ‘if you havenothing to hide, you have nothing to fear?’
If we treated radical Islam today as we treated communism all those years ago, we could effectively manage this threat both globally and domestically without turning every American into a suspect.
Between 1917 and 1991, we defeated imperialism, fascism, and communism in rapid succession. Those adversaries had the military and economic might of nation states with millions of troops and the latest military hardware. We faced annihilation at their hands, but we still respected freedom at home and abroad (except for the Japanese internment camps which were a disgrace). We didn’t militarize our police. We didn’t restrict travel. We didn’t eavesdrop on every citizen and we didn’t shred the Constitution. We faced the enemy head-on. We called it what it was.
And we were victorious.
Today, a few scruffy savages are able to terrorize us into surrendering our rights for the sake of a little imaginary security.
Al-Qaeda's goal 13 years ago was to weaken America, to make us prisoners of our own fear. It didn't work then, but, if we continue down our current path, the result will be that same. We will succeed where they failed in bringing our own country to its knees, so afraid of these boogeymen that we gladly give away what's left of our rights, becoming prisoners in our own homeland. And in doing so, we will invite tyranny the likes of which this country has never seen.Then Bin Laden's victory will be complete.
September 5, 2014
Why We Write
This blog has always been a head scratcher for me. I wrote a book because I had something to say. I started a blog because that’s what authors are supposed to do. The problem was that the stuff I wanted to blog about wasn’t the kind of stuff writers are supposed to talk about, so I tried to blog like writer. I posted book reviews and other ‘writer stuff’ that seemed to fit the mold, but it was about as appetizing as plain oatmeal and as inspiring as the ingredient label.
It wasn’t me.
I still couldn’t resist writing about the mess going on in Iraq. Heck, in September of 2012 (two year ago!), I ask the question, “Is Iraq headed for civil war?” There were a few more posts like that as well. They felt right, but that isn’t what writers are supposed to talk about. So I held my peace and soon lost interest as this page gathered dust month after month. I had plenty to say about politics, foreign policy, society, etc, but no place to say it. After all, writers can’t be political. They have to be neutral as not to alienate readers…don’t they?
Then I asked, “What would the great authors blog about?” Would Orwell post pictures of cuddly kittens and host guest blogs by Faulkner about the differences between metaphors and similes?
I doubt it.
I can imaging Mark Twain’s thoughts on the subject. Maybe something like, “A neutral writer is a neutered writer.”
That brings me to last Friday morning.
I stood in the courthouse, my eldest son by my side, in front of friends, family, and the citizens of our county to renew my oath of office. As I recited those words, another oath taken in May of 1997 came to mind.
“I, Robert Mathis, having been appointed an officer in the Army of the United States, as indicated above in the grade of second lieutenant do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservations or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter; So help me God." (DA Form 71, 1 August 1959, for officers.)
It was the oath I swore when commissioned as an officer in the U.S. Army.
That morning stirred something inside me that has been simmering for a long time, something that’s been tugging from a place I couldn’t see.
For years, I have been blessed to speak on behalf of our men and women in uniform on Veterans’ Day and Memorial Day in schools, churches, and other venues. On these occasions, I have done my best to extol the virtues of honor, duty, and patriotism. When these opportunities arose, I spoke with passion and purpose because I believed in what I said.
In thinking about this, I came to realize what’s been nagging me all this time.
In a word: Duty.
To my knowledge, the oath I swore over seventeen years ago has no expiration date. It still binds me. It always will.
I have an obligation to promote America and the ideals that made her great, to defend them from all enemies, foreign and domestic…And two times a year just ain’t gonna cut it.
I now understand that I am not a writer who is patriotic. I am a patriot who writes.
That’s why I’m relaunching this blog under the name Steel on Target—to conduct a vigorous defense of liberty, justice, honor, and the other virtues that have kept America strong and free for 240 years.
This is not a place for rants, hatred, or demagoguery. It is, instead, a place to discuss the ideas and issues that face our country and society in an honest and concise way that is sorely needed.
I invite you to join me in this endeavor.
Our nation faces threats politically, militarily, and culturally from sources both foreign and domestic. We will apply logic, reason, and historical precedent to find and promote solutions to these issues.
So let’s identify the problems, arm ourselves with Truth, and put steel on target.
August 29, 2013
What's the Rush to Attack Syria?
As U.N. inspectors continue to investigate exactly what happened in Syria, the U.N. leadership finds itself begging the U.S. not to act until the investigation is complete.
http://news.msn.com/world/un-inspectors-still-checking-stricken-syria-areas
http://news.msn.com/world/ban-ki-moon-pleads-for-time-on-syria-investigation
In the meanwhile, President Obama has already told PBS Newshour, "We have concluded that the Syrian government in fact carried these out."
http://money.msn.com/business-news/article.aspx?feed=OBR&date=20130828&id=16826165&ocid=msnnws
How can anybody 'conclude' anything before the investigation is complete? And if he can, why even conduct it? If what the President says is correct, the entire investigation is unnecessary. It reminds me an old cowboy movies where the posse catches a guy and tell him, "We're gonna give ya a fair trial and then we're gonna hang ya."
But what if there is evidence that it was the rebels conducted the attack? Some say here is.
http://news.antiwar.com/2013/08/28/syria-three-other-chemical-attacks-by-rebels-in-same-area/
How do we know who is responsible? Why should we act without even consulting our own congress? What about the inevitable collateral damage that will kill even more innocent Syrians? And above all, why are we in such a dang hurry? And why is Russia Today the only news outlet (besides Fox News) asking these questions?
The whole thing just doesn't smell right.
http://news.msn.com/world/un-inspectors-still-checking-stricken-syria-areas
http://news.msn.com/world/ban-ki-moon-pleads-for-time-on-syria-investigation
In the meanwhile, President Obama has already told PBS Newshour, "We have concluded that the Syrian government in fact carried these out."
http://money.msn.com/business-news/article.aspx?feed=OBR&date=20130828&id=16826165&ocid=msnnws
How can anybody 'conclude' anything before the investigation is complete? And if he can, why even conduct it? If what the President says is correct, the entire investigation is unnecessary. It reminds me an old cowboy movies where the posse catches a guy and tell him, "We're gonna give ya a fair trial and then we're gonna hang ya."
But what if there is evidence that it was the rebels conducted the attack? Some say here is.
http://news.antiwar.com/2013/08/28/syria-three-other-chemical-attacks-by-rebels-in-same-area/
How do we know who is responsible? Why should we act without even consulting our own congress? What about the inevitable collateral damage that will kill even more innocent Syrians? And above all, why are we in such a dang hurry? And why is Russia Today the only news outlet (besides Fox News) asking these questions?
The whole thing just doesn't smell right.
