Tim Kinder
Somewhere in the gap between time and eternity...
I found the critiquing of my Prologue to be most beneficial. In fact, it may find life, in some condensed form, as something other than a Prologue entirely. I've concluded that it is not really needed and have tabled the idea for now.
With that in mind, I'm posting (hopefully for your enjoyment, my first installment of Chapter 1.
This is, as the subtitle intones, the very beginning of this sci-fi saga that I am endeavoring to write. This is meant be the reader's introduction into how the protagonist, Max Blackson, got involved in this saga.
It's written in 3rd Person Close, Present, Omni. (I think that covers the bases for description of the PoV.)
If you have any questions at all, please feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy it.
___________________________________________________________________________
It’s a little known fact, but early summer mornings in southwestern Ohio can be quite beautiful. Unfortunately, one’s eyes must be open physically, mentally, and emotionally if one expects to both see and appreciate this little heralded beauty.
“Up next on Channel 11 Early AM News…things seem to be taking a turn for the worse for a local man as the United States Attorney General’s office says it believes the filing of criminal fraud charges appears imminent. More about that, and other stories that affect you, after this brief commercial break.”
Why Max even bothered to turn the television on this morning is a mystery. Perhaps something deep inside of him was hoping that a freak turn of events might have changed things for the better over night. Clearly that had not happened.
As the anchor man’s words echo inside Max’s tormented mind, his grip tightens around the television remote control causing the plastic housing on the small device to contort. His brow begins to furrow and his eyes narrow as his breathing becomes more and more ragged and shallow. His heart is pounding so violently within his chest that he can literally feel the blood surging through the vein that now bulges from his forehead. Clenching his teeth together tightly, he works hard to summon up enough self-restraint to keep from grabbing up the heavy, ceramic coffee mug that sit just in front of him and chucking it through the fragile LCD television that hangs on his living room wall.
Max is lost in a world that has tipped completely upside down in only a few short months. This is not how things were supposed to be. This is not what is supposed to be happening. This…this…this…this is maddening.
Just as the Channel 11 news bumper begins to play indicating the imminent return of the morning newscast Max switches the television off and with an agitated flick of his wrist sends his poor remote control flying through air, across the room, smashing it into the wall just inches to the side of the delicate television screen.
“That’s enough of that garbage.” He mutters under his breath then begins striking the arm of his couch with his fist, once between each syllable, as he cries out, “Why…won’t…they…be…lieve…me? Ahh…ahh…ahh…ahh!”
Finding an outlet for his frustration finally allays the anger within him. He takes a few, calming, deep breathes and straightens himself before rising to go pick up the remote control and batteries that lie sprawled out all over his floor.
As he turns to work his way around his coffee table, his eye catches a glimpse of a flashing instant message notification on his laptop that sits on his desk across the room. He walks over to the desk to take a closer look and sees that the message is from some unnamed, anonymous sender, but just before he deletes it, he notices that this message didn’t come in on his public IM account. It came in through his work IM account which happens to be connected to one of the most secure networks in the world. When you do work for the federal government and the Department of Defense, you don’t have cheap or flimsy network security. Whoever sent this anonymous message has clearly gone through an immense amount of effort to get Max’s attention.
Anger now forgotten and curiosity momentarily piqued, he ponders his options, the possibilities, and the ramifications of responding to this unknown person. He squints an eye and skews his jaw slightly as his mind frenetically works through several scenarios. Everything within him, intellectually, tells him he should ignore this message and report the intrusion to Spectrum Engineering’s IT Security department immediately. However, his emotional side also knows that, at least of late, upper management at Spectrum has started distancing themselves from him. The support they once promised him has seemed to wane of late.
Before his conflicted mind can reach a definitive decision another message arrives, “Mr. Blackson, I know you’re there. I know you’re reading this message. Please respond…”
Max glances over his shoulder toward his living room picture window, then toward the room’s side windows, and lastly toward the French doors and windows of his kitchen. All are covered by draperies and no other windows in his house have a view of his current location. How can this mystery person possibly know he’s standing right there reading their message?
He double checks his webcam. Yep. It’s capped so no one can use it to see him. His cell phone is lying face up on the coffee table beside his coffee mug so all its camera can see from its current location is the ceiling, he deduces. Puzzled, but even more so irritated, by this intrusion upon his privacy, he turns to get his cell phone. He’s calling Spectrum’s IT Security offices.
Just as he reaches his hand toward his cell phone, the screen flashes brightly, once, then twice. This is followed almost instantly by an audible pop then loud crackle that causes him to quickly recoil his arm away from the device. Moments later, the unmistakable smell of burnt electronics permeates the air.
Turning back toward his laptop he sees yet another message, “Mr. Blackson, I beg you, before you force me to take further action, please respond.”
Max can feel his blood pressure rising once again. He’s had about enough of this game. That was a brand new, $600 Smartphone this fiend just fried.
“Who are you and what do you want?!” he at last pounds out upon his keyboard.
“Who I am does not matter.”
“It most certainly does matter if you expect me to take your threats seriously.”
“I have not threatened you personally, sir. I merely did what I did to ensure that I have your undivided attention.”
“At this point in my life, having my attention may not necessarily be the best thing for you.”
“Now who’s threatening whom, sir?”
Max pauses for a moment. Whether the baiting was intentional or not, he had walked right into that accusation. A bit miffed at himself for falling for such a setup, he sits down in the chair at his desk and takes an additional moment to rub his forehead. It’s not even 6am yet and he can already feel a migraine building.
“Come now, Mr. Blackson. Don’t be sore. That was rather too easy, don’t you think?”
Max lets his arms drop to his sides and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. He can hardly believe the audacity of this person. How dare this pompous coward now turn to mockery? Reaching for his keyboard, Max decides to respond in a more measured manner, “I ask again, what do you want with me?”
“Well, if you wish to dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to the purpose of my contact with you, that’s fine by me.”
“Yes, I wish for you to please GET TO THE POINT.”
“Certainly, but no need to shout. This morning an article was published on the website of a Cincinnati newspaper. This article will be buried deep in their archives and difficult to find within a few hours as it’s not really their typical kind of sensationalized reporting and will not likely stay near the top of their most read list for the day. It’s the kind of article that some might think only nuts or crack pots would be likely to read. That said, all I can tell you, for now, is that the article does contains some factual information that you will find quite useful later today. Quite useful indeed.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but how do you know anything about me?”
“It’s true, I don’t know much about you…yet. But I will soon enough.”
“You’re inching closer and closer toward the line of becoming threatening. Or at least menacing.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Blackson, but suffice to say, I’ve come into some intel about you. It says that, later today, you’ll be coming face to face with someone who plays no small role in what the article is about.”
“Ok. Fine. I’ll play along. What article?”
These is a brief pause in the exchange before Max receives his next installment in the IM chain, “I just sent a link for the article to your Spectrum e-mail account and, Mr. Blackson, regardless of how ludicrous the article may seem to you, I promise you, it will be to your benefit to read it. All of it. Do you understand?”
Max inhales deeply and exhales with a snort before answering, “Understood.”
“Good. Rest assured, I’ll be in touch with you later… Oh, and that’s a promise, not a threat.”
* <Connection Terminated…>
With that in mind, I'm posting (hopefully for your enjoyment, my first installment of Chapter 1.
This is, as the subtitle intones, the very beginning of this sci-fi saga that I am endeavoring to write. This is meant be the reader's introduction into how the protagonist, Max Blackson, got involved in this saga.
It's written in 3rd Person Close, Present, Omni. (I think that covers the bases for description of the PoV.)
If you have any questions at all, please feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy it.
___________________________________________________________________________
Max Prime
In The Beginning...
Chapter 1
In The Beginning...
Chapter 1
It’s a little known fact, but early summer mornings in southwestern Ohio can be quite beautiful. Unfortunately, one’s eyes must be open physically, mentally, and emotionally if one expects to both see and appreciate this little heralded beauty.
“Up next on Channel 11 Early AM News…things seem to be taking a turn for the worse for a local man as the United States Attorney General’s office says it believes the filing of criminal fraud charges appears imminent. More about that, and other stories that affect you, after this brief commercial break.”
Why Max even bothered to turn the television on this morning is a mystery. Perhaps something deep inside of him was hoping that a freak turn of events might have changed things for the better over night. Clearly that had not happened.
As the anchor man’s words echo inside Max’s tormented mind, his grip tightens around the television remote control causing the plastic housing on the small device to contort. His brow begins to furrow and his eyes narrow as his breathing becomes more and more ragged and shallow. His heart is pounding so violently within his chest that he can literally feel the blood surging through the vein that now bulges from his forehead. Clenching his teeth together tightly, he works hard to summon up enough self-restraint to keep from grabbing up the heavy, ceramic coffee mug that sit just in front of him and chucking it through the fragile LCD television that hangs on his living room wall.
Max is lost in a world that has tipped completely upside down in only a few short months. This is not how things were supposed to be. This is not what is supposed to be happening. This…this…this…this is maddening.
Just as the Channel 11 news bumper begins to play indicating the imminent return of the morning newscast Max switches the television off and with an agitated flick of his wrist sends his poor remote control flying through air, across the room, smashing it into the wall just inches to the side of the delicate television screen.
“That’s enough of that garbage.” He mutters under his breath then begins striking the arm of his couch with his fist, once between each syllable, as he cries out, “Why…won’t…they…be…lieve…me? Ahh…ahh…ahh…ahh!”
Finding an outlet for his frustration finally allays the anger within him. He takes a few, calming, deep breathes and straightens himself before rising to go pick up the remote control and batteries that lie sprawled out all over his floor.
As he turns to work his way around his coffee table, his eye catches a glimpse of a flashing instant message notification on his laptop that sits on his desk across the room. He walks over to the desk to take a closer look and sees that the message is from some unnamed, anonymous sender, but just before he deletes it, he notices that this message didn’t come in on his public IM account. It came in through his work IM account which happens to be connected to one of the most secure networks in the world. When you do work for the federal government and the Department of Defense, you don’t have cheap or flimsy network security. Whoever sent this anonymous message has clearly gone through an immense amount of effort to get Max’s attention.
Anger now forgotten and curiosity momentarily piqued, he ponders his options, the possibilities, and the ramifications of responding to this unknown person. He squints an eye and skews his jaw slightly as his mind frenetically works through several scenarios. Everything within him, intellectually, tells him he should ignore this message and report the intrusion to Spectrum Engineering’s IT Security department immediately. However, his emotional side also knows that, at least of late, upper management at Spectrum has started distancing themselves from him. The support they once promised him has seemed to wane of late.
Before his conflicted mind can reach a definitive decision another message arrives, “Mr. Blackson, I know you’re there. I know you’re reading this message. Please respond…”
Max glances over his shoulder toward his living room picture window, then toward the room’s side windows, and lastly toward the French doors and windows of his kitchen. All are covered by draperies and no other windows in his house have a view of his current location. How can this mystery person possibly know he’s standing right there reading their message?
He double checks his webcam. Yep. It’s capped so no one can use it to see him. His cell phone is lying face up on the coffee table beside his coffee mug so all its camera can see from its current location is the ceiling, he deduces. Puzzled, but even more so irritated, by this intrusion upon his privacy, he turns to get his cell phone. He’s calling Spectrum’s IT Security offices.
Just as he reaches his hand toward his cell phone, the screen flashes brightly, once, then twice. This is followed almost instantly by an audible pop then loud crackle that causes him to quickly recoil his arm away from the device. Moments later, the unmistakable smell of burnt electronics permeates the air.
Turning back toward his laptop he sees yet another message, “Mr. Blackson, I beg you, before you force me to take further action, please respond.”
Max can feel his blood pressure rising once again. He’s had about enough of this game. That was a brand new, $600 Smartphone this fiend just fried.
“Who are you and what do you want?!” he at last pounds out upon his keyboard.
“Who I am does not matter.”
“It most certainly does matter if you expect me to take your threats seriously.”
“I have not threatened you personally, sir. I merely did what I did to ensure that I have your undivided attention.”
“At this point in my life, having my attention may not necessarily be the best thing for you.”
“Now who’s threatening whom, sir?”
Max pauses for a moment. Whether the baiting was intentional or not, he had walked right into that accusation. A bit miffed at himself for falling for such a setup, he sits down in the chair at his desk and takes an additional moment to rub his forehead. It’s not even 6am yet and he can already feel a migraine building.
“Come now, Mr. Blackson. Don’t be sore. That was rather too easy, don’t you think?”
Max lets his arms drop to his sides and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. He can hardly believe the audacity of this person. How dare this pompous coward now turn to mockery? Reaching for his keyboard, Max decides to respond in a more measured manner, “I ask again, what do you want with me?”
“Well, if you wish to dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to the purpose of my contact with you, that’s fine by me.”
“Yes, I wish for you to please GET TO THE POINT.”
“Certainly, but no need to shout. This morning an article was published on the website of a Cincinnati newspaper. This article will be buried deep in their archives and difficult to find within a few hours as it’s not really their typical kind of sensationalized reporting and will not likely stay near the top of their most read list for the day. It’s the kind of article that some might think only nuts or crack pots would be likely to read. That said, all I can tell you, for now, is that the article does contains some factual information that you will find quite useful later today. Quite useful indeed.”
“Forgive my ignorance, but how do you know anything about me?”
“It’s true, I don’t know much about you…yet. But I will soon enough.”
“You’re inching closer and closer toward the line of becoming threatening. Or at least menacing.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Blackson, but suffice to say, I’ve come into some intel about you. It says that, later today, you’ll be coming face to face with someone who plays no small role in what the article is about.”
“Ok. Fine. I’ll play along. What article?”
These is a brief pause in the exchange before Max receives his next installment in the IM chain, “I just sent a link for the article to your Spectrum e-mail account and, Mr. Blackson, regardless of how ludicrous the article may seem to you, I promise you, it will be to your benefit to read it. All of it. Do you understand?”
Max inhales deeply and exhales with a snort before answering, “Understood.”
“Good. Rest assured, I’ll be in touch with you later… Oh, and that’s a promise, not a threat.”
* <Connection Terminated…>
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