Free 1.4 by Mike A. Lancaster Page B
Authors: Mike A. Lancaster
the Straker Tapes.
“The Doomsday Clock”
I saw the people in the crowd, all of them, and they had become. . . were becoming . . . something else .
Something . . . impossible.
Rodney Peterson
interlogue
File: 224/09/12fin
Source: LinkData\LinkDiary\Live\Peter_Vincent\Personal
We never actually stood a chance.
Our lives were mapped out for us even before we were born and there was no hope that we would ever break free of our destinies.
I even thought that I could swap courses and learn about literature.
One of the stories my mother used to read to me was about Chicken Licken. She used to do all the voices for all the animals that Chicken Licken enlisted in his mission to see the king. He had to see the king, you see, because he thought that the acorn that hit him on the head was a piece of the sky. I guess I’m a bit like Chicken Licken, you know.
I am the boy running around trying to tell the world that the sky is falling.
And you know what? It’s not an acorn this time.
The sky really is falling in.
-18-
File: 113/47/04/cbt/Continued
Source: LinkData\LinkDiary\Peter_Vincent\Personal
The bottom of my world didn’t quite drop out, but it suddenly got a lot shakier beneath my feet.
A photograph that proved my father was on a committee that had studied the Straker tapes?
That was like finding a photograph of Charles Darwin, hidden away in a secret laboratory, creating a monkey out of clay, or something.
All I could think of was that the photo must have been faked.
I mean, my father, DAVID VINCENT, undertaking a scientific study of Strakerism? He would never be a part of such a thing.
Would he? Not the David Vincent I knew. He hated Strakerites. He despised the fact that their beliefs were given any weight in this world of ours.
So to suggest that my father had ever taken their ideas seriously . . .
I tried to turn my questions into something we could use and the picture that Mr Del Rey had hidden beneath his desk seemed a good place to start.
‘The people in this picture – what else do you know about them?’ I said.
Alpha shook her head. ‘Nothing. My mother remembered a couple of the names, the others I got because they were meta-tagged into the photo. Then I searched the Link with the names and found out about the disappearances and the suicide.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, ‘but they must have families. Can we find them, talk to them?’
‘Sure,’ Alpha said. ‘But why? What help can they be?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I need to know whether they have anything else in common, apart from this photograph. Are the people who disappeared all Strakerites? Did they say they felt they were being followed too? What have the families done to find the missing people? And, most importantly, what did the committee find out?’
‘You can ask your father . . .’
‘Yeah, I’m just not sure that is such a good idea. Not yet, anyway.’
I didn’t want to talk to him until I had more information. It could be a dangerous way to proceed – if everyone else on that photo was either missing or dead, then I had to at least warn my father – but I needed to find more information before approaching him.
Gather supporting evidence.
Test and retest the hypothesis.
Scientific rigour: my father would expect nothing less.
And he had to be safe inside our house – the security fence would surely keep anyone out who meant him any harm.
‘Are you suggesting that we play detective?’ Alpha asked, grinning at the idea.
‘I guess I am,’ I said.
‘You’re full of surprises, Peter. I’m glad I called you.’ ‘Me too. This must be horrible for you.’
‘It was,’ Alpha said. ‘But I feel better doing something about it. People don’t just disappear, they have to be somewhere.’
The brain makes some weird connections. Something about her last sentence made me remember the Grabowitz photos.
‘People don’t disappear.’ I said. ‘But they’ve been appearing
“The Doomsday Clock”
I saw the people in the crowd, all of them, and they had become. . . were becoming . . . something else .
Something . . . impossible.
Rodney Peterson
interlogue
File: 224/09/12fin
Source: LinkData\LinkDiary\Live\Peter_Vincent\Personal
We never actually stood a chance.
Our lives were mapped out for us even before we were born and there was no hope that we would ever break free of our destinies.
I even thought that I could swap courses and learn about literature.
One of the stories my mother used to read to me was about Chicken Licken. She used to do all the voices for all the animals that Chicken Licken enlisted in his mission to see the king. He had to see the king, you see, because he thought that the acorn that hit him on the head was a piece of the sky. I guess I’m a bit like Chicken Licken, you know.
I am the boy running around trying to tell the world that the sky is falling.
And you know what? It’s not an acorn this time.
The sky really is falling in.
-18-
File: 113/47/04/cbt/Continued
Source: LinkData\LinkDiary\Peter_Vincent\Personal
The bottom of my world didn’t quite drop out, but it suddenly got a lot shakier beneath my feet.
A photograph that proved my father was on a committee that had studied the Straker tapes?
That was like finding a photograph of Charles Darwin, hidden away in a secret laboratory, creating a monkey out of clay, or something.
All I could think of was that the photo must have been faked.
I mean, my father, DAVID VINCENT, undertaking a scientific study of Strakerism? He would never be a part of such a thing.
Would he? Not the David Vincent I knew. He hated Strakerites. He despised the fact that their beliefs were given any weight in this world of ours.
So to suggest that my father had ever taken their ideas seriously . . .
I tried to turn my questions into something we could use and the picture that Mr Del Rey had hidden beneath his desk seemed a good place to start.
‘The people in this picture – what else do you know about them?’ I said.
Alpha shook her head. ‘Nothing. My mother remembered a couple of the names, the others I got because they were meta-tagged into the photo. Then I searched the Link with the names and found out about the disappearances and the suicide.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, ‘but they must have families. Can we find them, talk to them?’
‘Sure,’ Alpha said. ‘But why? What help can they be?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I need to know whether they have anything else in common, apart from this photograph. Are the people who disappeared all Strakerites? Did they say they felt they were being followed too? What have the families done to find the missing people? And, most importantly, what did the committee find out?’
‘You can ask your father . . .’
‘Yeah, I’m just not sure that is such a good idea. Not yet, anyway.’
I didn’t want to talk to him until I had more information. It could be a dangerous way to proceed – if everyone else on that photo was either missing or dead, then I had to at least warn my father – but I needed to find more information before approaching him.
Gather supporting evidence.
Test and retest the hypothesis.
Scientific rigour: my father would expect nothing less.
And he had to be safe inside our house – the security fence would surely keep anyone out who meant him any harm.
‘Are you suggesting that we play detective?’ Alpha asked, grinning at the idea.
‘I guess I am,’ I said.
‘You’re full of surprises, Peter. I’m glad I called you.’ ‘Me too. This must be horrible for you.’
‘It was,’ Alpha said. ‘But I feel better doing something about it. People don’t just disappear, they have to be somewhere.’
The brain makes some weird connections. Something about her last sentence made me remember the Grabowitz photos.
‘People don’t disappear.’ I said. ‘But they’ve been appearing