Pretty Baby

Nobody knew when the invasion began. One day, they were all just... here.

Maybe 'invasion' is a strong word. Appropriation? Overrunning? Occupation? Let me start from the beginning. My name Is Theo Harper, I live in Washington DC and work as a bicycle courier for HQ Deliveries, the number two delivery service in the DC metro.

'HQ-- We Try Harder'

Washington is a crowded city and normal, car-based delivery services are subject to the whims of traffic. Not so with bicycles-- we can go anywhere; between car lanes, on the sidewalk, down narrow alleyways-- whatever it takes. HQ also has an incentive plan for speedy deliveries, and that's why I mounted an electric motor and lightweight battery to Ugly Baby. You see, the hills are a killer for incentive cash. You need a game-changer and that was mine. My cool riding goggles equipped with lifesaving rear-view mirrors were another. But I sidetrack.

So I have my routes, right? The company has accounts, taking packages between two remote businesses over and again. This one route, where I bring two-foot-long cardboard cylinders about three miles right past Capitol Mall, I noticed something strange the other day. There was a guy, tall and thin, with a mop of blonde hair, just standing, staring away from the Capitol building as people walked past him going about their day. I saw him there on my way to the drop point, and he was still there fifteen minutes later, on my way back.

Now that in itself isn't strange. Hayseed types visit from farm country all the time and are astounded by the monuments in our nation's capital. You see them standing around and gawking pretty much every day. But this guy was different-- he wasn't gawking at all. He had no camera around his neck, no tour info clutched in his hand, no backpack... and no stupid Hawaiian shirt. He was a monochrome sort of guy, wearing white linen slacks and a long-sleeve, wrinkle-free white cotton shirt. He looked like one third of a Benneton ad. No, it was obvious that he was no tourist.

But later that day, I saw him again. Twice! Each time, he was standing at the entrance to another famous Washington building. Motionless. Alone. And looking away from it. It was strange because these buildings were far from each other, with no time to get from one to another without some traffic-defying device like my motorized bicycle.

And the next day I saw him again. Three times. In one delivery! Now I knew there must be more than one of him... no human could move that quickly. But twins? Triplets? Just standing on public steps, staring out at the city, tall thin mop-haired men wearing the same white outfits? It was weird, and it was piquing my curiosity. I promised myself that when I wasn't in a killer rush, I'd stop and ask a few questions.

I got my chance at the end of work today. I was on Ugly Baby, heading home. Other delivery companies have their own bicycles, mopeds and mini-cycles, but my rig was my own. I took it with me everywhere. On my way home I usually cut through a park, one with a pretty cool stairway I ride down. My fat balloon tires just bounce on those steps; I needed indestructible hardware if I was going to make any real money in this job.

Well, he was on those steps. I didn't notice until I was almost on top of him; I swerved to avoid collision and the knobby tires I depend on slid sideways, dumping me unceremoniously at his feet. He looked down at me, offered a hand and pulled me up. He was surprisingly strong for a skinny guy, but then I figured, most farmers were pretty strong.

"Thanks." I brushed myself off. I wasn't injured at all; I have catlike reflexes and actually landed on all fours. "Say, haven't I seen you around here for a couple of days?"

He returned to gazing outwards and then spoke, enunciating each word like reading from a list. "Most... likely."

"We get a lot of visitors here in the nation's capitol. Where are you from?"

Still staring. "Not... from... around... here."

"Well, that's pretty obvious. You look around with such intensity, it seems as though you've never seen Washington before."

"I... have... not."

"Well, how long is your vacation? I could recommend some interesting, out of the way places if you like that kind of thing."

"It... is... open-ended." His eyes met mine. I then noticed how odd they were, deep and soulful, like staring into infinity. There was no color in the iris... well, okay, black. All black. They also seemed to be unusually large, almost filling up the white sclera the way a dog's eyes do. I was compelled to ask more questions-- I didn't want to leave his company just yet.

"I also saw your twin brothers earlier, standing-- always standing-- in a few other parts of the city."

"Yes." That was it. Just yes. No other explanation.

"Do you always vacation together, yet separately?"

"I suppose." 

Wow. He was stoic! "My name's Theo. What's yours?" I held out a hand.

"Rath." He looked at my hand, and then clasped it. No shaking, just holding. It began to get a little uncomfortable and I drew my hand back ever so slightly. He got the cue and released. Then for the first time, he initiated conversation. "How... do I meet the president, Theo?"

That seemed an odd question for another American to ask but I went with it. "You don't. The president is very well protected. Only other politicians and important people get to meet him. If they are, they get put on his schedule."

"I see." He returned to the hundred-yard stare. He said nothing for a while and I realized he was finished talking to me.

I collected Ugly Baby and hoisted myself up on it. There was a new bend in the fork, but nothing I couldn't fix. "Well, I'd better get home. Thanks for the assist. Nice to meet you, Rath."

"Likewise."

As I began to leave he spoke again. "Did you make that?"

I stopped. "Make what?"

He pointed at the motor housed within the triangular pipe frame on my bike. "That."

"Um, yes. It helps with big hills. I'm a courier and use it all day long."

"I see." That was all; he was done. I drove away, waving. He ignored me.

The next day, I was heading out for work like I always do. I hopped down the five flights of stairs to where Ugly Baby was chained on the first floor-- no point in bringing it all the way up every night, since I used a secure Kryptonite lock attached to the locked building's sturdy metal stair railing.

The bike was gone.

Frantically I looked around. Stolen? Why? It was basically a cobbled-together piece of crap, made from the parts of half a dozen bikes I had cannibalized from the dump. I never even bothered to paint it one uniform color, so the fork was metallic blue while the body was a hideous lemon yellow. It was scratched and dented and the seat was torn, and of course it had the weird, ugly motor and black battery clamming up the works. It was, as I liked to say, 'an Ugly Baby'. But it was my Ugly Baby.

I bounded back up to my apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. My asshole roommate Dwayne must be fucking with me. He knows where the spare bike key is and he is exactly the kind of guy who would end up getting me fired from a job while trying to be-- in his words-- 'Mista Funny Man'. I met him after I'd answered an ad on Craig's List for apartments to share-- I hated him immediately but the price was excellent for the center of town so I signed on, figuring this would just be my place to crash at night. 

He was in the kitchen, drinking my orange juice. Again. I yelled, "What did you do with it?"

"I threw it out. It was ugly. Everything you own is ugly. You're ugly."

"Fuck you. I need that bike for work, scumbag! Give it back!"

He giggled, an unusual high-pitched trill that sounded weird coming from a tall fat man with multiple chins. "Your bike? I wouldn't touch that stinking piece of garbage! I thought you were talking about that stained and torn rag you call a jacket! You left it on the floor again so I tossed it out the window. It's in a mud puddle in the back yard."

"You're an asshole, you know that? I hope you die of AIDS."

I ran back down the stairs as he called after me, "It's not a death sentence any more... douche!"

I burst through the front door, looking left and right down the street for the perpetrator... and stopped. At the foot of my stoop, standing unassisted, was Ugly Baby! Sort of.  The seat was the same, but there were no rips. The fork was still  from a Schwinn and mounted on a Hoffy body, only now it was free of scratches and that ugly rusted scrape from a confrontation with a wayward fire hydrant last month. Last night's new bend was gone as well. The paint color now matched, and was a deep blue-green that defied focus. But the biggest change was my electric assist conversion-- it was gone! The gearing attaching it to my pedal hub-- gone as well.

And standing next to the bike, clean and white, was Rath.

He turned to look at me, face impassive. "Your device."

"What did you do to it, Rath? And how did you move it? That lock is impossible!" I was upset that he had messed with my bike, but simultaneously pleased at how un-ugly she had become. "And where is my assist mechanism? I need it!"

"You do not." Rath motioned for me to climb aboard and I did, reluctantly. He handed me my lock, now open. "Drive it as normal."

I was pissed, sort of, but was late for work and really didn't have the heart to yell at him. He was weird but benign, and it looked like he had tried to do me a favor. Even if the favor was going to make it hard to work without the mechanical assist. Even if my suddenly attractive bike would now be a target of theft. Experimentally I pushed on the pedal, pointing Ugly Baby-- I suppose I'd have to rename her Pretty Baby now-- uphill. But rather than encountering the expected resistance of a steep hill, she just took off like I had been pointing downhill! One revolution of the pedals and she zoomed unassisted to the end of the block! Even my gadgetry hadn't provided that kind of help!

I turned back to thank him for whatever it was he had done to her-- those farm types really know their way around machinery!-- but he was gone, visible nowhere on the block. Odd! I got off and inspected her more carefully, but could see no mechanisms which would aid me the way it just had done. It must be something in the hub, I reasoned, with batteries in the frame tubing. Shaking my head I climbed back up and continued to HQ, marveling at how every push of the pedal felt effortless, how balanced she felt even on rough road and even how much faster she seemed to go. In fact, even starting late I arrived at work early, and the entire day's ride was effortless! Normally I'd be panting after a crosstown jaunt; hot, red-faced and wet with sweat... but though today was warm, I whisked about with ease, cool and comfortable! What had Rath done? 

When I returned from my first delivery the boss rang the bell reserved for record breaking and asked, "What did you do, hitch a ride on a helicopter? You beat your best time by seven minutes!" Then he looked at the bike, confused. "A makeover? How did that help your time? Where's that ugly lawnmower motor? Where's the city bus battery?" 

He was joking... I of course had used much smaller parts, but his point was valid-- it was basically a new bike. Well, I couldn't answer because I didn't know, so I told the truth. "A friend worked on it last night. He's a miracle worker with machinery."

"Well, you should kiss him right on his shiny ass. You're gonna double your income if all your deliveries are this quick." He handed me another package and finished, "I'm timing this one to the second. Go!"

I hopped on and put oomph into my first pedal. My rear tire spun like a funny car at go, shooting blue smoke into HQ and laying rubber on the painted concrete floor. "Sorry, boss!" I shouted, zooming off with a blur. I was loving Rath's changes!

Returning from the delivery I spotted him again. He was standing in the street, on the yellow line, at the top of a hill, looking at the horizon. He was weird, there was no doubt. I pulled alongside and said, "Hey, Rath! This bike is amazing! What did you do to it?"

His gaze never faltering he replied, "Upgrades."

"Well, hell yeah! But I mean what upgrades? I can't see any mechanisms, anywhere!" He was infuriatingly vague.

He changed the subject. "Theo, how can I see the vice-president?" He was a one-trick pony, this guy!

"That won't be any easier than meeting the president, Rath. They're just too important and too busy. If you have your heart set on meeting any official, you'd probably have to start much further down the chain of command. A councilman, maybe, or a judge." I wondered why he wanted to meet them and asked as much.

"I have to change them." Not "I have to change their minds" or even "I have change to present." Rath wanted to change them. 

I took the bait. "Why do you want to change them?"

"To fix this."

"This? Which this?"

"All of this." He was still viewing the horizon, and the way he said it, it seemed he was considering changing everything.

"But why?"

"It's all wrong."

"What's all wrong?"

"Chaos must not reign."

'Chaos must not reign'. Rath was cryptic as all get-out and I was beginning to wonder if he was a farmer at all. I looked at my watch and realized if I wanted that bonus I'd better get back to HQ. I said, "No it must not," and turned to go. He lay a hand on my handlebars, effectively clamping Pretty Baby in position. He turned to me and gazed into my eyes with his fawnlike depth; I became buttery.

"Stop the motorcade." Then he released her and I was free to go.

The rest of the day was one ringing bell at HQ after another. My name advanced on the incentive list, boss said, faster than anyone's ever had, skipping three positions in a single day. I was at number two now, a dangerous position because it threatened Frank at number one. Freak, as he was never called to his face, had commanded that top position for months. Anyone who got close to usurping the coveted first line usually ended up damaged... or their bike was. Fingers were pointed but there was never any evidence linking the incidents to him... and accusations didn't stop him from claiming the $500 prize each month. And now here I was, just two record-breaking deliveries away from becoming top dog.

Leaving work I got an eyeful of daggers from Freak, not a comfortable place for a little guy like me to be. He was heavily muscled for a biker and liked to use them for impressive and off-putting feats of strength, like tearing phone directories or squashing cans between his palms. Not thin aluminum soda cans-- beefy food tins.

So on my way home, when I noticed through my rear-view goggles his bike following mine at a suspicion-avoiding distance, I knew what fate would befall me, were I to allow it. One eye on the road and another on him, I made my way casually home. This was my turf... I knew every shortcut, jump and dead end around the city. DC was a sketchbook of routes in my mind, and I knew how I was going to shake the Freak... if I could get there before he made his move. I laid on the pedals and again thanked Rath in my mind-- Pretty Baby shot forward like an arrow from a bow. I noticed Freak was not falling behind as predicted... he must have a secret weapon in his bicycle, much as mine did.

Speaking of weapons, a projectile sailed past my ear at that moment, skittering away on the pavement in front of me. It was a smooth, rounded river rock, perfect for pitching and the right shape to dislodge a wheel and upset a smooth bike ride. So that's how he took out the other riders! What a piece of work. I had to shake my head at the smallness of his world; all that was in it seemed to be... him.

I wouldn't be so lucky a second time. Freak's aim was impeccable-- the next rock he threw would almost surely bean me good. I took a sharp left into a narrow ell-shaped alley, hoping the large wooden packing crate at the end hadn't been thrown away yet. It was unlikely since DC's large item disposal only came around on the first and fifteenth of each month, but if it had been taken by someone else I'd be trapped. I turned to face the dead end and thanked my guardian-- the crate hadn't moved! If I timed this right I'd be gone before Freak would see me, and if he didn't figure out the weird ledge I'd be home free. 

I should explain about the ledge. The adjoining building forming the alley's right wall had been modified at some point; another level had been added to it. But not perfectly, I was thrilled to discover one day; the builders had left a two-inch ledge dividing the old roofline from the new wall thrusting up from it. Add to that the odd angle from its original modern design and you were left with a thin ramp of sorts that rose from ground level to about six feet... the perfect height for dropping onto the oft-appearing wooden box and over the dead-end fence. Then a quick bounce off the dumpster on the other side, a skid and a turn and I'd be out of sight, leaving the muscled bully scratching his head.

Getting extra power from Pretty Baby I hit that stone ledge like a bottle rocket and rose smoothly. I imagined with a grin what it must look like to a window observer-- me riding up the side of a smooth cinder-block wall, apparently defying gravity! I flipped onto the box as planned and sailed over the razor-wire-capped chain link fence, keen edges missing my tires by an inch, and descended onto the big blue dumpster...

...Which wasn't in position! It had been moved by some maniac and now sat skewed from its normal spot! I tried to compensate but my front tire missed the dumpster entirely, sending me and the bike careening past the sidewalk and row of parked cars, out of control yet still miraculously balanced, and into the wide intersection! I was dead!

I slammed on my brakes, trying to straighten myself out and maybe turn in the direction of traffic, where I'd stand good odds of avoiding a life-ending collision... but in this case I had to curse my new friend Rath, who had also apparently modified my brakes. I stopped with such finality I became airborne, heading over my handlebars and onto the tarmac. Again, my reflexes saved my sorry ass as I touched down in a Spidermanly three point landing, one hand flailing to garner leverage, toes balanced on the white line.

Pretty Baby was not so lucky. She remained exactly where I had braked her, and was somehow balanced, standing... until she found her home, Bavarian style, under the grill of a beefy black car. It shrieked to a halt beside me, bouncing and lurching as it folded and chewed up my bicycle, turning it into recycling. Steam shot from the radiator, narrowly missing my face. Not so for the suited man in dark glasses who tackled and pinned me to the ground, size fourteen sole crushed against my cheek.

"Threat contained. Repeat, threat contained. POTUS O.O.D." The man spoke into his lapel, shielded eyes scanning me for potential. Other men ran up and surrounded me, raising me and patting me down. Before I could speak a pair of plastic handcuffs had contained me, bound hand and foot.

I looked around. Back at the alley, Freak was smiling and chewing on a piece of jerky. He laughed and waved and rode off, mission accomplished. But the realization of my situation was dawning on me. The car I stopped was no ordinary black car... it was a long limousine, one of five. By the complement of black-suited burly guys surrounding both me and the vehicles I realized I had just interrupted a very important procession.

But in the middle of all this blackness was a sight I'll never forget. Standing by the third vehicle, as fair of hair and white of cloth as always, stood Rath! Oddly, nobody was tackling him, and he quite casually stepped into the vehicle and disappeared. Bizarre and unlikely to be sure, but the part that freaked me out was that he had never even opened the door. It was as if some Hollywood magic was at work, editing at the correct moment to make him seem ghostly. But it was real.

I again opened my mouth to speak but was dragged rudely to the sidewalk and dumped there. Two of the men reached beneath the car and grabbed my beloved Baby, another motioning the driver to back up. With a sick grinding the two were forcibly separated, my poor bike now resembling an Outback Steakhouse bloomin' onion. One of the Secret Service agents tossed my tortured Baby next to me with a shrug as the other snipped open my restraints. "You're free to go. You might want to invest in bicycle lessons. Oh, and a bicycle." He chuckled and returned to the lead limo, and the motorcade drove off without another word.

I stood up and watched them leave with my mouth gaping. How did I not get thrown into jail? How did Rath get an audience with the president? And how the hell did he walk through the president's car? Things were adding up in my head, except that two and two was beginning to equal three point one four one five nine. I lugged my bike for about fifty feet before realizing there was nothing I could do-- she was never coming back to me-- tearfully, I laid her to rest in a street bin. Time for a trip to the thrift shop. Maybe I could find an old ten speed or a Stingray to use for work tomorrow. So much for my incentive pay. I will somehow return the favor, Freak, you prickiest of pricks.

An hour later I dropped into my apartment, exhausted. I wasn't home for ten seconds when Dwayne the pain lubbered in with a raucous 'Haw!'

I did not want to deal with his nonsense and complained, "Not now. I've had a bad day."

"I would agree. Threatening the presidential motorcade and having your chief means of income and transportation destroyed all at once is a bad day, all right."

Again my mouth dropped... but only for a moment. This was the presidential motorcade we were talking about. Of course there would be news coverage of a bike crash. There was probably chopper footage. I facepalmed myself. I would be chewed up at work for this, maybe fired. Certainly I'd be the butt of many jokes for years to come. My solution? Sleep. I locked my bedroom door and shut out the misery for eight disturbing hours.

In the morning I made a list. Call boss and see if I still had my job. If so, go get a bike. If not, go get a job. Oh, and OJ.

I made the call. Apparently I could still work if I wanted to-- since my spill yesterday was determined to be a complete accident, I was considered by the viewing public to be nothing but a harmless buffoon who worked for HQ company, the one that was mentioned on every channel all day yesterday. Business was pouring in and boss was so pleased he even gave me a bonus out of it. He told me I'd have to sign the T-shirts he was selling, created from an image of me flying off Pretty Baby, captured on the television with the caption 'The K Street Klutz'. I was glad I didn't need to find a job but was so not pleased about the rest.

I poured the last of the orange juice quietly, letting it drip down the inside of my glass. Dwayne was asleep and I wanted him to stay that way until after I left. Bracing! Refreshed, and also a little intrigued by how orange juice always turns toothpaste remnants into little bits of rubber cement, I dashed down the stairs, sliding down the last handrail at ground level, and ran to the door.

And stopped.

And turned around.

And hollered.

Latched to that railing, with the same Kryptonite lock as always, was Pretty Baby, looking the same as she did yesterday morning! How? I kissed her and gave her a big hug, which must have looked odd because she's a bicycle. Then I fished my bike key out of my pocket-- and realized I had thrown it away when the lock was mangled with the bike... great! I turned to go back upstairs and get my diamond grinder, which would make short work of a lock that even Superman couldn't get into-- correction, that only Superman couldn't get into-- when I ran nose-first into Rath, standing inches behind me. It was like smacking into a brick wall, so little did he yield.

"Your device."

"Rath! Thank you thank you thank you!" I had never loved anyone quite so much as I loved him at this moment, and threw my arms around the tall, wispy man. He accepted my hug impassively, without reaction... and I released him, feeling a little bit foolish.

He said, "Thank you."

"Thank me? Thank you! Wait. What are you thanking me for?"

"For stopping the motorcade."

For stopping the...? It returned to me in a flash, and I connected all the dots I had been too distracted to remember yesterday. He had asked me to do that, but at the time I had no idea what he was referring to. But I hadn't planned on stopping anything! I was trying to get away from Freak and the motorcade thing just happened...

Or did it? I was in a rare moment of clarity and realized there was much more afoot with this man than I had suspected, even from the beginning! "Rath! You met the president!"

"Yes... I did."

And how he did it was the real story! I'm not a superstitious guy, or even very religious... but Rath was new, and different, and able... and almost certainly not from around here... not from DC, and not from the boonies... and probably not from Earth, either. "Well? What did you say? What did he do? Why didn't the Secret Service guys tackle you? And how did you pass through a solid metal limousine door? What are you?" I was frothing with curiosity-- I had to know more!

He placed both hands on my face in a caress, and for one uncomfortable moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he stared into my eyes and I went passive, my limbs heavy like iron, and warm syrupy tranquility ran through my veins. How did he do that? His eyes widened and I was abruptly flooded with emotions... his emotions. Deep sadness. Painful frustration. And even, down deep, the tiniest inkling of anger. In that moment, I knew what he was trying to accomplish and I knew that he would succeed. Only, I didn't know how.

"The president does not speak the truth." I could feel his disappointment coursing into my body and I suddenly felt like crying. He continued, "I said it all must change. I told him this path was defective." He released my face and I leaned against the wall for support, my legs as weak as a newborn foal's.

I summoned my strength to speak. "You... did? How did... he react?"

"He said he would see what he could do."

"That's good, right?"

"But he was only thinking about killing me."

That disappointed me. I had voted for the current Chief of State based on his promise of rational debate and positive change, and up until now had been bitterly disappointed by his actions or rather, his lack of them. Now my hope was gone. "What happens next?"

"Now it is up to me."

The words were ominous and I was glad he had broken our emotional connection... the attachment had been so strong, I feared his ire would have killed me. "But how, Rath? How?"

He didn't answer me, but changed tack. "What... would you... repair?"

I stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"If you could. What would you... fix?" He spoke that last word experimentally, separately pronouncing every letter, giving me time to absorb it. I balked... I had thought about this very question for years! I had been in an ivy league school, well on my way to becoming a theoretical physicist when the recession hit, destroying my father's real estate business. The money dried up and I had to drop out, taking this courier position to help them with bills. It was a hiccup I figured, but the years were slipping by with no sign of relief. I knew what I would change about this world!

"Oh, where do I start?"

"At the beginning." That was funny but he wasn't laughing, so I held my laugh in.

I said, "I think our biggest problem is fear. We need to stop the fear."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Everything! We're afraid of dying. We're afraid of getting hurt. We're afraid of anything happening to the people we love. We're afraid of starving, and freezing, and drowning, and getting shot. People who are different scare us. We fear the loss of our money, our cars, our homes. We shy away from bad weather and tempestuous oceans. We don't want our emotions bruised. We fear wild animals. We're scared of bullies and rapists and thieves and murderers. And our fright is so complete, we even fear things we don't know about yet!"

"I see. How can fear be stopped?"

He was asking some big questions! But, questions which deserved answers, and so I tried. "Uh, it can't. Not all of it. It's a fact of nature that people all die-- we can't stop that from happening. But all the rest can be diminished or even eliminated, I think, by changing how we're organized."

"What would you change it into?"

"Into a benevolent direct democracy."

"What is that?"

"A benevolence based, individually represented alliance of every mind."

"Elaborate."

"We change focus away from money. We don't concentrate on personal earnings or business growth. Our attention would be on the individual-- seeing that they are educated to their potential and placed into a field which complements their abilities, making certain that their needs are guaranteed and that plenty of potential for creativity exists-- and on the planet, restoring it to its pristine state, guaranteeing a clean home for future generations. We aim for continuity of design and conservation of energy. It would be a political system without politicians, where each human represents instead themselves, their families and friends and neighbors, their towns and cities and countries, in a true symbiosis with the rest of humanity."

"Why isn't that done now?"

Wow. Really good question. Rath was beginning to remind me of the little boy that responds to every explanation with 'why?', attempting to learn the way of the world in one sitting. I chuckled at his naivete. "Because, for whatever reason, the population is usually fairly evenly divided on any concept, no matter how sensible an idea is presented. For some reason roughly 50% see imagined scenarios in which the good idea would become bad, even harmful, so vote it down. I personally believe that many of the detractors actually believe a benevolence plan would work, but can't imagine a world which would allow such a selfless, generous plan to come about. Fear of the unknown causes them to vote against their own self interest."

"Thank you, Theo. I know what to do now." He stepped past me, heading for the door.

"Rath?" I had one question, logical or not.

"Yes, Theo?"

"What's your deal, Rath? Are you an angel or something?"

"Angel. Hmm. A flying representative of the deity from your mythology?"
So Rath viewed religion as folklore! I guessed his answer immediately but responded, "I suppose."

"No." He walked out without another word and I congratulated my acumen like a schoolboy. Got it! 

That talk left me somewhat uneasy. So did looking down and seeing the Kryptonite lock mounted in its storage clasp on the bike and feeling the key now back in my pocket. I thought about my conversation with Rath as I rode to HQ. What was he? Alien? Extradimensional? And what ideas had I given him? How would he implement them? Would he encounter resistance? If he did I doubted it would last, after the easy way he rendered me passive on several occasions now. And surely not with his extraordinary ability to walk unobstructed through walls!

Turning right at the corner I saw Rath again. He was talking to a woman on the street. I waved but he didn't react. Two blocks later he was speaking to an older couple sitting at an outdoor cafe. Taking the next left he showed up with some kids in a schoolyard, holding the skipping rope. This continued all the way to work... I must have seen him fifty times. Or were they his identical brothers? I hadn't received a definitive answer. He was everywhere!

Pulling into HQ I could see we were swamped. Boss's desk was covered in order sheets and riders I'd never seen were flocking the place. Boss didn't even have time to talk-- holding two phones, he just pointed to a large pile of packages, delivery tickets attached. Wow, pandemonium! I read through the tickets and pulled out three deliveries in the same neighborhood, loading them into Pretty Baby, and took off immediately. I didn't want Freak to see me on my bike, especially after witnessing its total destruction yesterday. There were questions I didn't want to answer... couldn't answer.

Everywhere I went, all day long, it was the same weird thing. Rath appeared on every block, talking to individuals or groups, never acknowledging me. I could never see two of him in my field of vision at the same time, but I'd see one of him constantly. What the hell was he doing? I imagined he was probably interviewing others the way he had me, but even with his double (or doubles) I couldn't imagine he would get a very large sampling of viewpoints unless he did it for years... and I didn't think he would wait that long to execute his plan, whatever that plan was.

Oh, great. Freak was a block ahead of me, in that deceptively fast, ridiculously designed bike of his. It looked heavy, with all its extra metal tubing and wings. Perhaps it was his strength which allowed him to zoom around, breaking all of HQ's records... but I doubted it. Especially since I just figured out how he did it! He was on a pretty serious hill now, and rather than stand to produce more inertia, he just reached under his seat... and two puffs of smoke and flame shot out of those extra tubes, roaring him up that hill in moments! His bike was jet-powered!

I turned the corner to avoid being seen... and ran into Rath! He was waiting for me and stopped Pretty Baby with a hand, using the other to contain me on the seat and keep me from flying off. That was getting old.

He said, "Go home."

"Why?"

He widened his eyes and repeated himself, and of course I went right home. Fat Dwayne was all over the couch, junk food bag on his snoring belly, chips all over the furniture and the floor. Disgusting. The TV was on and I went to change the channel but stopped. The news was on and a picture of Rath was onscreen! I turned up the volume.

"... very unusual. Once again, numerous phone calls have been logged in recent hours; complaints involving this man, appearing in many parts of the city, approaching strangers and asking disturbing questions."

The scene changed to an interview with a pair of teenage girls. "He like, asked if we liked our school and teachers..."

The other piped in, "... Yeah, and he asked me if any of them were mean or bad..."

The first cut in, "... No he didn't! He asked you if the subjects were boring or pointless!"

"Well, yeah, but he also asked about bullies..."

Another interview cut in with an older man in a buzz cut. "He asked what I'd change and I said we needed to kill the terrorists, kill the commies and kill the jews..."

Again the scene changed to a middle aged housewife. "We just need to believe in the good lord Jesus to wipe this vermin out!"

From some college kids, "I said we should legalize drugs, man!"

An African American woman added, "I kicked him right in his nuts! Those rednecks need to learn a lesson about talking to strangers!"

The news then cut away to a current, emergency press conference with the President. "I urge everyone to remain calm and not to speak to any of these men, who have shown up all across America in the last 72 hours. They appear unarmed but are here without proper identification or paperwork. We may have an insurgency of sorts. The National Guard has been called into service, to round these men up and detain them..."

My head pounded. All across America? What was Rath? He seemed so harmless! Strong yes, but non-violent. I hoped nothing would happen to him, but also, that nothing would happen to us. Looking back at the screen I lurched because as the President spoke, Rath appeared out of nothing, right beside him!

A dozen Secret Service rushed him, while others spirited the President away. The large men, rather than bringing him to his knees, bounced off Rath as if he were a tree trunk. Seeing that, others drew their service revolvers and pointed them at Rath. I was sickened by the sight, at the idea of him getting hurt, but angry with Rath for putting himself in the middle of such a high-security meeting. Then shots were fired. A lot of them.

The press conference erupted in screams, people dashing away and ducking for cover. The camera operator was jostled and it now displayed the ceiling, then swung wildly around the room before steadying, and pointing back at the podium. I couldn't look, but then heard Rath's voice.

"Please be calm." He was standing behind the bank of microphones where the President had been a moment earlier. He was uninjured but there were quite a few bullet holes in the backdrop behind him. The Secret Service contingent which had been slated for his destruction were now standing alongside him, calmly, their weapons holstered. The room quieted down abruptly.

He began to speak at length, which was a surprise since to me he had always been so monosyllabic. "I am Rath. Your world is in chaos. Countries fight for control, directing soldiers to kill and destroy. Many people are starving, or homeless. Most are unhappy. The planet's living layer is damaged and is at risk. You create products you don't need or with built-in flaws to guarantee a short life of use followed by a long time in garbage heaps which are approaching mountain status. You spend your lives chasing after profit, and then use it for extreme luxury and hoard the rest, hurting others that might need it simply to survive. You create dirty technology that damages your planet, which you keep using even after newer, better, cleaner technology exists... and again, you do it because of profit.

"I have come to help, but in order to help I had to learn, and so in the last day I have asked almost every one of you what it is that is wrong here, and how it could be made right. Many of your answers surprised me, being completely contradictory to each other. Many of your solutions were incredibly violent, wishing to eliminate an entire country, or an entire group of people. Still others seemed uninterested in your society's path at all."

I whistled. All of us? Himself? So Rath really was everywhere at once! All those times I saw him... everyone in the world must have had a similar experience! It blew my mind how he was able to carry on so many conversations, and process them, all at once. I figured he must have an enormous potential in his brain and wondered if we did as well, since we were similar in design. But then I thought he might have manipulated his look to fit in, and he might not look anything like Rath at all, really. I didn't know what to think.

He continued. "The most helpful responses came from the most innocent and naive of you. I have learned that the further up your business and political hierarchy one goes, the less truth comes from your mouths, until the ones at the top speak almost no truth at all... even to themselves. I have learned that the further up the hierarchy you go, the less you care about your fellow man and the more self-absorbed you become. I have seen how your leaders of countries and leaders of business empires view themselves as kings and as omnipotent beings, and view their dangerous and lethal solutions as somehow wise and beyond reproach.

"Even now, your American President has made a poor decision by ordering a strike upon this building using thermonuclear technology. He must see how this would turn the nation's Capitol into a scene of horrific carnage yet believes, truly believes, that this the right thing to do. Not for the people, not for the nation or the planet... but to insure his re-election. This is insanity."

I shit my pants right then. Nuclear strike? Here? What is wrong with the people in power? I answered my own question as I had answered Rath's this morning... fear. They were scared of Rath, scared of the change he represented, and would perform any unethical maneuver to stop it. Well, I hope Rath had a solution because fast bike or not, I wasn't escaping the blast radius of a nuke on DC.

Dumb Dwayne was still asleep on the couch, snoring his life away. At least he wouldn't know how he died.

With his surprising announcement the news cameras were now searching the sky, and sure enough, one picked up a sortie of five B-52 bomber jets on an intersect course with the press conference! In split screen we watched them approach as the conference again erupted in panic. I yelled out, in the loudest and longest scream I could muster, "Nooooo!"
My yell woke Dwayne as he shouted, "What the fuck, asshole?!" but all I could do was point at the screen, trembling. He listened for a moment and then yelled again, "What the fuck?"

My voice came back. "They're trying to kill Rath, but instead are gonna kill all of us."

"That asshole? I told him to fuck off and die, with his stupid questions. Now I'm gonna die? Not without my revenge!" He ran out of the room. Good riddance.

Rath then performed his second feat of inhuman ability onscreen. He now became a hundred Raths and stood before each member of the audience! He held their heads much as he had mine and they calmed down immediately. Then all of the Raths disappeared, including the one onstage.

The bombers released their payloads and arced away. It was done! We were dead!

Now the screen was split on two separate views of the falling bombs. If I remembered correctly, they would detonate before hitting the ground, for maximum destructive force. I went to the window and searched for them myself. I wasn't hiding from the blast-- I was not going to be one of the ones left alive, only to die horribly of radiation sickness. I wanted to be atomized immediately.

I spotted the tiny specks in the sky just as Dwayne the Insane came back into the room. I almost didn't recognize him-- he was now wearing so many guns and had so much ammunition wrapped around him he looked like Rambo after a convention.

"If I'm dying I'm killing all the motherfuckers I hate... starting with you, bitch!" and he leveled a shotgun at me and fired!

I didn't think about it. I just reacted, bounding sideways behind the huge concrete column next to the window. Again my reflexes saved my life as the window glass shattered and I could hear dozens of pellets clinking into the column.

"Get over here, you pussy!" He ran to where he thought I was, but he didn't realize that, being as graceful as a water buffalo, I heard which direction he chose and went the other way, around the three foot square post. He turned and fired into empty air... and that's when I smashed into him from the other side.

He was big and fat, and I was small and lean. Even with three steps head start I really just expected him to lose his balance and fall, and then I would knock him out with a General Electric iron I had grabbed. But he teetered and clawed, trying to remain upright.. and then he spun on one foot, and levered himself right out the window!

I scrunched my eyes in horror, waiting for the sound of him to smash into some parked cars five stories below... but it never came. Instead, everything went white.

EPILOGUE

I woke up at 630 as always for my 8am class. I liked to be prepared and have food in my belly before  classes. Professor Rath imparted a lot of information and expected us to learn; I was fully prepared but it had been my experience that the slightest distraction and I would miss some valuable fact which would screw up my understanding of these new subjects, which were incredibly new, difficult and subtle. I was glad to be back at school-- package delivery really was never my thing, even though it was fun while it lasted-- because of how much it all had changed, in just a very short time. 

I thought back to the final day of the old world, or should I say, the first day of the new world. The blinding flash of light that I thought had spelled white-hot nuclear doom for me fortunately wasn't; it was Rath, performing 'a reset'. At that moment we were all nowhere; out of phase, floating and carefree, invisible and sightless, all knowledge irrelevant, all worry displaced. Slight swaying was felt as each conscious mind of man floated through a swirling spray of clarity that washed away the pettiness and fear pervading human life, like the accumulated crud on a road-weary coach. We became lucid, aware, serene.

Then a peculiar movement rushed past us all, a swirling blur of things familiar and strange; the sky and clouds, buildings and streets, faces and places whizzed past in sharp coherence like a rewinding video. My own path retraced, a rapid-fire review of my last moments and then I was back, we all were back, to the place we all were just a few minutes ago. The president was on the television, back when he was speaking to the world about a frightening new menace. Now he stopped. We all did.

Rath appeared beside him now, smiling, and the president smiled back, a broad grin of acceptance. Rath also stood beside each of us, caressing us, enveloping us in a blanket of still calm. The president cleared his throat, and with a confident puff and in a distinct ringing tone he declared, "It is clear to me, as it is to all of you, that we have been organizing humanity completely wrong for as long as we've been sentient. It is time for a major change, and with this next action I hope to correct our course." He took the time to look at each member of the audience then, nodding encouragement. "Beginning today, our world is changed. Your health and well-being will be guaranteed, so that you may each begin your path to enlightenment, as will I. Our focus shall be universal and our resolve will remain solid. With that last proclamation, I dismantle our ineffectual political process, and then resign as your president. I know we will at last succeed. Rath, if you will?" He yielded the floor and left the podium to a crowd of emotional well-wishers and devotees.

Rath took a breath and began. "You were a young race and were left to find your own way, as all races must. In many regards you succeeded beyond all expectations, but in others you fell way behind. The human race is too valuable to allow it be damaged or destroyed by inexperience, which is the cause for my arrival. I came here to unlock a piece of you which has lain dormant since civilization first fell, a vital part that will help you on your journey of discovery.
"This I have now done. I have given each of you a key to your lost past, one which you will need for the difficult road ahead. Use this restored gift to reach your destiny as creators and leaders and designers. This universe is vast yet empty; in the future of man I hope to see a rich vibrancy emerge in your infinity, a textured contour reflecting your best traits, as countless other universes are doing and have done."
He gave the audience time to absorb the enormity of his words and then finished with:

"The way to without is through discovery within. Learn this... do this... be this."


From that moment we were a changed race.

Gone were the lies, the fear, the selfishness. Enormous social change had simply fallen into place as greed evaporated and was replaced with accomodating transparency. He had given us an awesome ability... perhaps two awesome abilities, with that single bright light. All at once, as each of us felt his incredible emotional depth and were swallowed up in it, we became able to feel as others did. We became empathic.

Along with the amazing array of human changes made possibly by empathy, Rath gave us serenity as well. Or perhaps it came as a natural flow from living with empathy, I don't yet know. But however it sprang forth, it changed us as a race. Some of which were difficult yet necessary purges, scrubbing white the stains of our collective consciousness.

Many people that had spent their lives suffering crushing sorrow were unable to forgive themselves for their lives of duality, which split their selfless love of family with a coldblooded business acumen that traded lives as a function of dollars. They knew they were responsible for a great amount of human suffering and death, and many of the worst could not be brought back such was their torment, and they slipped into the black night by their own hand. This was tragic but could not be helped.

However for the great majority, they felt the warming hand of clemency laid upon them; with forgiveness came invigoration and a bright new goal, and the joy of this undeveloped future swelled their hard and shrunken souls, creating from them the most benevolent ones of all. It would be among these ranks from which the finest ideas would spring. The great human healing had begun.

We are on an important path now; at last, we are searching for something which is so much greater than any one of ourselves, goals which have the potential to change us in a very real way. We have been instructed to find our inner all, my maximum me, and this I will do if it takes me the rest of my natural life. It is all I want to do. It is all I can do.

It is all any of us can do.

Copyright 2011 Bruce Ian Friedman