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Page 24.
Claire set her drink aside, rose, and walked to the front of the audience. About thirty guests, including significant others, watched as she stood poised—a tall, pale, freckled figure. "I have the honor of making some brief introductions, to congratulate Johannes Rector"(smattering of applause)"and Compass News"(clapping, a few whistles)"and of course Mr. Jack Gray" (polite applause, since few actually knew Jack). She continued: "We call this little video Jack's Event. We think it captures some of the ambience of the world in which he moves. Consider it, also, a kind of commercial for our friends at Compass News, who richly deserve accolades for their long and excellent service against terrorists, rogue governments, and other nuisances. Let the video roll." She clapped as she walked back to her seat. Ripples of applause pattered all about her. The lights went dim, nearly dark, and part of the room came to life. The video was three-dimensional, a holographic marvel of this dangerous but exhilarating new age. You felt as if you were in the video, not just watching it.
The room filled with swelling music as mysterious shapes composed entirely of light and color rippled through the air. The music was at once sinuous, mysterious, big, brassy, emotional, and always enchanting.
As the music wrapped itself thunderously, languorously around them, a series of images roiled in the air before the guests. Amid the images, a few lines of text appeared as well—they seemed to ripple, as if underwater, then straightened out for a flat glimpse, and rippled away.
An indistinct woman dancer's cutout form writhed in a sensuous dance to the brasses and violins of the pounding music.
The theme of the presentation was: A tribute to Jack Gray, at the vortex of nature's four classic elements—earth, wind, fire, and water…not to mention the four compass points—North, East, West, and South in Compass News.
At the center, or vortex, was a stylized Roman artilleryman in a plumed helmet and swirling cloak, operating a large ballista launcher while flames consumed the horizon. When the artilleryman turned toward the audience, Jack's face appeared overlaid on his. The audience clapped.
Now the four elements appeared, one in each corner of the holospace.
Claire, or Fire, represented Sigma 2020—the consortium of federal and corporate agencies who hired Compass News to send Jack on Events, as missions were called. The music pounded on. For nearly a minute, the holospace crackled and seethed with fire as solarized visions of Jack and Claire and other players floated in hell, starfire, and points inbetween. The segment ended with Jack Gray and his gun, stalking across holospace. Claire followed in a fiery dress.
Then, a shapely dancer in a gilded bikini crossed the visual field in a leisurely, rhythmic wipe. That wipe would be repeated, in variant forms, for each segment, representing the four natural elements. The audience, almost entirely composed of Sigma 2020 and Compass News officials, clapped enthusiastically at each transition.
Rector, or Wind, Aeolus, represented Compass News Corporation, the freelance anti-terror and espionage agency working with Sigma 2020, PETO, and other 'West'-like organizations. As the four winds blew, each in its turn, the meaning of Compass News unfolded—a compass rose, by turns rippling on the four points of the compass—North, East, West, South. Toward the end of the segment, Rector and Jack met in the center, or vortex, shook hands or exchanged stylized spirits or something. Rector turned one way and strode into the wind, holding a glowing compass. Jack, wearing a dress suit and holding a gun, turned the other way, and in a sort of martial arts kata, danced out of the holospace.
The dancer crossed the entire space in a second leisurely wipe.
The audience clapped again, trying to keep it subdued so as not to overwhelm the artistry.
Neptune, for Water, was the code name of Camelback's greatest rival, the world's second most powerful corporation: Global Anaconda, representing the 'East' of modern espionage space. The great constrictor rose from shimmering, undulating water, and wrapped itself around the entire globe. As it did so, the winds of Rector grew still, blew away, and the fires of Claire fizzled away in the dying wind. Bearded Poseidon, his muscular figure wrapped in nets of sea kelp, sat on a throne at the vortex with his trident. Jack approached, waving his gun, but the trident swung broadly and knocked him down. In a scene of wishful thinking, Jack slid to the edge of the holospace on his back, fired his gun, and Neptune twirled away on his throne.
All this kept happening, in rhythm with the brassy, bold, exciting music.
The chorus dancer sensuously danced across holospace in her third wipe.
The audience reacted with a mix of clapping for Sigma 2020—and booing Gamma 2020, their Anaconda intel opposites in titanic struggles around the world.
The audience fell utterly silent on the last element.
This was the bucket for all evil as yet not known or mentioned. A mysterious bad guy, whose symbol was Earth, was the enigmatic and unknown agent at the center of the world's most diabolical compass point. The world's forces of chaos and destruction were dark matter and dark energy blended into a dark purpose. He was the unknown evil yet to come in the next Event.
The audience sat stunned, with open mouths, as the dancer did her final wipe.
The last bit of text read: Thanks, Claire, Johannes, and Jack. Keep up the great work.
Jack sat suddenly transfixed. He had a premonition about this Earth element. He did not dabble in the supernatural, nor did he hang his hat on sorcery, but once in a great while, he'd get a shiver up and down his spine, along with a vague unease, and something true and dreadful would grow out of this. His last days with Catherine Dorsey had been like this.
The lights came fully on, the magic spell was broken, and there was silence for a full twenty seconds before people rose, murmuring among each other, and headed either for the cocktail bar, or the exits with their partners and coats.
Minica shook him. "Jack! What's the matter?"
He gazed at her numbly.
"Jack, are you feeling okay?"
"Just tired," he said as if speaking underwater. She hugged him and he warmed up.
Jack took Minica by the hand. They made their way through a gauntlet of well-wishers who must shake hands (and Jack could only offer, lamely, his left hand, uninjured, while his right was swathed in a fat white bandage). Holding their drinks—Chivas, neat, in plain glasses—they took the elevator upstairs for a night of sensual delight.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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