Although I hate not knowing things, I knew that I would have
to wait until the end of class to explain the mysterious phone call to
Galadriel. As confused as I was, I would not do anything about the situation
until then. After all, it's a well-known fact that no one disappoints
"The Doctor". Everyone at CSSSM takes basic History, and Dr.
Jones is the best teacher in the department. She only takes two types
of students: the very brightest, and the "problem children"
that no other teachers want. The Doctor has never met a student she couldn't
tame. Despite that, she can also be one of the nicest, most enjoyable
teachers at CSSSM. It's just a bad idea to test her.
Dr. Jones scanned the class quickly with her piercing hazel eyes. I could
practically see her check off each student in her mind. "Please send
your homework to my desk computer," she began in her usual businesslike
tone of voice, "if you have not already done so." She paused
as a few stragglers e-mailed their opinions on the 2000 presidential election
to her grading computer. On the display screen, the first item slowly
faded from view.
"Now, it's time for your quiz on the Retaliatory War," said
The Doctor as she returned to her desk to grade our homework. "I
hope everyone studied."
As ten quiz questions appeared on the display, Dr. Jones's grading computer
sent my memory chip (it came with the eyes) the deactivation code to make
sure I didn't cheat. Simultaneously, the test-taking program on my laptop
automatically opened up. I took little notice of the execution of these
basic "operating procedure" and read off the questions to myself:
| 1. |
Why is the Retaliatory War not referred to as "World War III"? |
| 2. |
When did the Retaliatory War officially begin? Give the exact date. |
| 3. |
What action began the Retaliatory War? |
| 4. |
Give the reactions of five nations: the two specifically targeted countries and one exampleof each of the three basic reactions. |
| 5. |
Which nation was the first to be attacked? On what date did this
occur? |
| 6. |
How many years had it been since this country was officially involved in an
external conflict? |
| 7. |
Which nations formed the British Alliance? Give their names DURING the Retaliatory War. |
| 8. |
What was the single most successful terrorist operation? |
| 9. |
What was the most successful declassified Allied counter-terrorism operation? |
| 10. |
What Allied military operation ended the war? On what date was it completed? |
The answers were easy enough for me; I finished the quiz in record time,
according to my internal clock. I could almost recite the encyclopedia
entry on the subject by heart, even without the perfect recall granted
to me by my presently deactivated memory chip: "The Retaliatory
War officially began with the issuing of the Jihad Ultimatum
on September 4, 2021, one week before the 20th anniversary of the terrorist
strikes…" I could probably recite the whole entry. And
a week later, the terrorists attacked every country that refused to declare
war on the Autonomous States, starting with Switzerland, a nation that
had been officially neutral in all conflicts for 506 years.
I double-checked the rest of my answers before submitting my quiz. Then,
confident in my work, I sat quietly as the rest of the class finished.
Even as the final quiz was sent to The Doctor's grading computer, my results
appeared on the screen in front of me. Only ninety-six percent! What
did I do wrong? I didn't get much time to ponder the question, because
my homework grade appeared on the laptop's screen seconds later. On this,
I got a perfect score. Much better, I thought, noting that my
average still put me in the upper ten-percent of the class.
As I was working this information out in my head (and not using
my reactivated computer chip), Dr. Jones brought the next item on today's
lesson plan up on the screen: "Reunification Notes". Unlike
some students, I didn't need to manually enter the information into my
laptop; my cybernetic eyes recorded everything, stored it in my memory
chip, and automatically e-mailed a copy to my computer. Some students
scanned it into their laptops, and others (those not wealthy enough to
be able to afford long-distance scanners) had to type it in by hand.
While I waited for the others to finish, I read the notes. They were
fairly basic, containing mostly information I was already familiar with.
They related the story of the Reunification of the British Empire (it's
called that even though it didn't include all of Britain's former colonies)
in detail, including the date negotiations were completed (March 19th,
2028, exactly one year after the end of the Retaliatory War), the nations
involved (the Autonomous States, Australia, England, Ireland, South
India and all the other British Alliance nations), and the backlash
(Quebec's independence, the collapse of the United Nations, and so on).
After a few more minutes, Dr. Jones addressed the class. "There
will be a quiz on this information sometime in the next couple days.
I expect all of you to do some studying, especially those of you that
would like to do better than you did today." She looked right at
me as she said that, making me wonder again where I'd made a mistake.
"Now, let's get to our final item for today."
With over twenty minutes left in the class period, we made it through
about half of the biography projects. For the most part, I just let
my mind wander as my classmates presented their projects on Saddam Hussein,
Osama bin Laden, George W. Bush, and other well-known figures of the
early twenty-first century. I had a lot to think about: the phone call,
my less-than-perfect grade, and even the nearly forgotten encounter
with the mysterious man in the window. When the bell rang to end the
class, I was no nearer to any of the answers. However, there was one
loose end I would be able to tie up: Galadriel.
"Hey, Galadriel!" I called, "Wait a second!"
"What is it?" she asked me in that tone of voice she reserves
for only two people: Pierre and me.
"After lunch, I was walking out of the mall. You know those payphones
by Main Street? One of them rang when I walked past it."
"So what? Probably a prank call." Now she sounded bored. I
stepped in front of her before she could run off. (Galadriel doesn't
believe in wasting a second of her three minutes of "social time"
between classes.)
"That's what I thought, but" -I sidestepped to block Galadriel's
attempt to slip past me- "we assume nothing, so I picked it up
anyway."
"So what!" Galadriel, beginning to get truly exasperated,
practically screamed at me. "Even you aren't such a dingbat that
you think I want to sit and listen to your dumb little story. Get to
the point or get out of the way!"
Detecting a flicker of interest (she hadn't slapped me yet), I delivered
the detail that even I was having trouble believing: "You were
on the other end, Galadriel. You said you needed my help. You were-"
Galadriel was laughing. "Ha! You're going to have to come up with
a better one than that. Like I would ever ask you for help!"
She strode around the corner and left me standing alone in the hallway.
If she'd thought about it, she would have realized that I wouldn't say
something like that if it were not true. Still, I could determine one
thing: Galadriel was telling me the truth when she said she hadn't made
that phone call.
The rest of the day went on almost uneventfully. I somehow managed to
make it through another boring lecture in German class. After sitting
through an agonizing fifty minutes of notes, I wearily made my way out
into a hallway, trying to maneuver between a hundred or so students.
I walked through the sliding doors and the end of the hallway and quickly
walked past most of the other students who were going in the same direction.
I walked right, along the outskirts of the park and kept moving towards
the student walkway. After entering it, within two eye-blinks the walkway
transported me across the street. I started walking again; I was 16
blocks south of my house, so I still had a ways to go. A few cars passed
me on the way but soon I reached my house.
Every now and then I actually look at the house, and realize
over and over how staggeringly huge it really is. After walking up to
the front door I grabbed the handle and turned it a few notches and entered
the code to unlock it: Three, Seventy, Six, Ninety-Two, Five, Eighteen,
Eight, Twenty-Seven, Nine, Sixty-One, Forty, Two. I waited a second. My
eyes focused stupidly on the handle. Why didn't it open? Being
in such a moronic mood today, I yanked at the handle, half-expecting it
to open. I was disappointed when it didn't. This day just wasn't
going the way I wanted it to. Next I shouted a crude obscenity at the
door; obviously that didn't work. Frustrated I put in the lock code
four more times. No luck. I shouted another crude obscenity and kicked
the door. Surprisingly, the handle turned and a few brief clicks followed.
It opened.
Almost in fear I peered around inside. No one would be home anyway,
but my trouble with the door made me more alert. I walked into the expansive
foyer and placed my backpack on the table next to the cordless phone.
All the doorways in the house have motion-sensitive scanners, which
activate overhead lights in that room; oddly it worked for the chandelier
in the foyer, which didn't run on electricity. I walked into the
first floor kitchen (there is one on the first and third floors). Instead
of cheaper refrigerators we had a refrigerator with quad-sliding panels,
which was about the size of three or four generic refrigerators. I slid
open the second panel, which we had designated as the beverage panel.
After a blast of cool, sterilized air hit my face, I pulled out a can
of Lancaster White Birch Beer. Non-alcoholic (of course), it was the
greatest thing (in my opinion) since sliced bread. Opening the can,
I took a sip and exited the kitchen making my way down into the 1st
underground floor.
Most kids are happy to have a hockey stick or football to play with; our
family has an entire ice hockey rink, which sits prestigiously
on the 1st underground floor. (Actually, it wasn't really a full rink,
it just seemed that way because it used a technology similar to the one
in the Infinity Fountain.) Every once in a while I could gather enough
friends to play an entire game, but usually it was just me and my brothers
taking shooting drills on whoever was unlucky enough to end up as the
goalie, which, unfortunately, was usually me. The years of practice had
actually made me a formidable goaltender.
I took another sip from my drink and eyed up one of the stick racks. It
was stocked full with CCM Vectors, all red or black. These were two-hundred
dollar sticks, and they played like it. I haven't gotten to try one yet
since my brothers usually come down here at night and force me to mind
the net. I pulled one off the rack, grabbed two pucks, and then went out
onto the ice with my shoes on. I threw one puck towards the goal to my
left and put the other straight in front of me. I slid toward the blue
line, brought my arm up and swung hard at the puck. I hit it, but not
correctly; the puck flew erratically wide and hit the boards. I skated
towards the puck that I had deposited a few feet from the crease. I slid
up to it and swung hard. Even though it flew into the net, I had dug into
the ice and the hard shocked rattled my right arm and shoulder. I winced
and made my way off the ice. I just can't do anything right today.
After sliding the CCM Vector back into its correct spot on the stick rack
I climbed back upstairs. After finishing my drink I dropped it into the
garbage disposal. I walked into the living room, and the overhead lights
turned on. After opening the TV remote in the sofa armrest, the TV turned
on abruptly; after cycling through a few channels I stopped on ESPN. Since
Alaska is a relatively cold state, hockey is always the priority in sports
coverage. At the moment they were displaying highlights from previous
Stanley Cup Championships, currently on was the 2003-2004 series.
"Its game 7 between the Philadelphia Flyers and Boston Bruins.
We have a little under thirty seconds here folks in our third overtime
tonight. The puck is about to be dropped; this could be the deciding face-off.
Jeremy Roenick wins the face-off and passes the puck to John LeClair,
he screams through Boston's wingers. LeClair is sideswiped but manages
to get the pass to Mark Recchi (pronounced wreck-e). He enters
the attack zone. Boston can't quite get to him, Felix Potvin backs
into the net watching Mark Recchi's every move. Recchi pulls his
stick out to the right, Potvin jumps to his knees, Recchi sweeps left,
ten seconds left in triple overtime, Potvin flops sideways blocking any
3-hole shots. Recchi stares down the goalie and shoots it high, Potvin
swings his legs up and blocks the puck but cannot stop the rebound, Recchi
gains possession, and with a practically open net, shoots…he scores!
Mark Recchi has scored!" With the buzzing of the goal, the phone
rang eerily. I jumped to my feet and ran to the foyer.
"He-hell-o?" I said nervously.
"………………………." No answer.
"Who is this? Who IS THIS?" I said angrily.
I heard a 'click' and then the distinct buzzing I heard before.
The phone rang again. I picked it up.
"Outside…… Outside…….. Help………..
Me……….. Outside….. Go." The voice belonged
to Galadriel but the calmness of it was surreal.
I dropped the phone and bolted outside. It was all normal, a few kids
were playing a block down, but other than that it was extremely calm.
Suddenly I became weightless, everything around me turned black. I could
see one thing to my left, a grayish figure. Something picked me up from
the ground and threw me several feet away from the figure. In mid-air
I could see the figure standing in my front yard but soon my body slammed
against the ground and I blacked out.
|