Return, Old Timer!

Sack remembers when he had left Andes, he was one of the few who could fly the no-fly zone over the Andes, through Brasil and into United States. No one would know his whereabouts once his  G800 had entered US airspace, the ping was gone, the green spot on the radar systems is vanished and until Sack returns and reenters the Venezuelan airspace, which would be a few days later, no one would know where he was staying or what was he doing in the United States. 

You could be going for a cup of coffee to enjoy the tranquil and peace of Palo Alto High Street. Sack sometimes would appear out of nowhere wit a red cap on reading Stanford University Medical School, and walks the streets slightly gaited and limping until he reaches a book shop, Bell’s Books. Enters it, without being noticed until Mary shouts ‘Hello Mr Apocalypso’ To much of his dislike. He ignores her, wave his hand and proceeds straight upstairs. Today’s preoccupation is geoengineering and ancient hydraulics. Until he hears the sound of Peter, the attendant in the upstairs at the rare book sections telling Sack that there is a geoengineering section full of books that nobody touches, but there is no books on ancient hydraulics systems and plumbing - but there is a plumbing section buried in the engineering section downstairs. 

Sacks hates everything. He thinks these lot are just a waste of space and they drag their feet when he asks for a specific book. He never fails to repeat in his head that they dislike him because he is rich, filthy rich and that he builds worlds old and new and that he is not contend with other stuff. He used to be friendly to them. He used to, but not anymore, since the student union at Stanford stables rose up against his philanthropy movement after it had been discovered that Sack and other clubby mates are building ‘new futures’ in the far flungs of South America, and that they are spending an enormous amounts of money to accommodate their end of the world paranoia and that they never cared to build better hospitals for Palo Alto, or help poor and super bright students of Stanford who produce most of the ideas that turn into concrete business products from which the likes of Sack profit and benefit. ‘They don’t care. They will suck out all of our blood and leave us dry and dying’ one of the placarts would read. Its too much “hard” frequencies for Sack in the Bells. Impenetrable. ‘I would rather go to my shed and work’ He would say once he makes sure he walks out of the bookshop. 

The long stroll to the “Shed” isn’t an issue for Sack. He loves walking and generally feels safe. He knows he is known and he knows that he could be tackled or could be stoped ont he street and asked questions by the wanderers, the strange onions and the weird lemons. But he would persevere. His phone would ring at times. He ignores unless a particular name appears and that is the name of Fiel. This guy is something else. They go back years. They build all types of digital platforms that would help them build their empires. A long way before their fame took hold off in the Valley Sack was diagnosed with Bipolar. Fiel was admitted to hospital with measles due to an unwarranted trip to Africa and both had met in the corridor of the same surgery they had been sent to by their site manager. Whilst Fiel got cured, Sack never recovered, and instead built an empire at the back of his mental faultlines. He would spend a lot of time and days on end sleepless, working to have his breakthrough after ten years of perseverance and pain. It came quickly for him, he managed to utilise the knowledge he acquired with help fo the site manager and turn his idea into a product. As a result of his work, people all around the world would have a chip in their heads signalling them potential accumulated deep-cells of diseases and ‘faultlines’ would be visible in their dreams and in their applications warning them of risks and dangers to their health. A multi-billionaire who had installed a number of security features all around his property. Paranoia at home but complacency in the streets of Palo Alto. 

Since last week, his Andes property in Wamani, a prefab underground bunker with a number of geodesic domes and an airstrip that never ends. Had been airbnb-ed. He had acquired the land a few years ago for his cattle project - rearing beef and exporting it to poor countries, feeding the world. A sort of payback to the community and to the world. 

Current residents, a bunch of agriculture residents who have gone on a mission to explore this part of Andes, are supposed to stay in the residence until end of year. A good eight months, which for Sack isn’t a major issue, as he has a lot in his hand to do anyway. Sometimes his helipad in Embarcadero, is stuffed with queuing of helicopters and dronepters landing and taking off. Normally its either one to three vehicles ready tot ake off. And it bothers brooding Sack when he sees when the combination of limousines and helicopters crum up the area and it makes his journey to his favourite flat much harder. He is having to penetrate through the nose-to-nose cars and heaving noise of the latest technological enhanced helicopters, who can still be noisy and loud. He deliberately chooses to head for Embarcaredo penthouse at after lunch. Once he gets his work done, his lunch over and bookshopping complete, he does another stroll round Stanford and then heads off for the milieu of his tranquil place.

His phone rings as he is walking toward the daily trip. Carrying his bag full of books is getting a little too heavy. But he sees the helipad in the left angle of his eye and he notices that there are no helicopters, no cars and the area is eerily quiet. He stops for a second, takes a deep breath and then looks behind to see if anybody is chasing him. He doesn’t normally do that. He feels crisp secure and safe when he walks the bay and the town. But, for some niggly reason he feels that he is being chased. 

No one is behind him. No soul on his pathway or his tread. And no people or noise and usual commotion ahead of him. 

He looks at the phone again. 

Is Friel. 

He misread it earlier, thinking it was Phil ringing. Phil is his sales manager who rings him at two every day to give him the latest update. 

But this time its Friel. 

Sack always answers Friel. 

Friel always answers Sack. 

‘Hello mate. You took your time!!!’ Friel, sounding slightly rushed.

‘Sorry mate. Walking toward flat. Whats up?’ 

‘Well good. Sigma minus thirty-three’ Friel said and hungs up. 

Huh. Sig…. he mutters silently but in disbelief. 

He knows what that means. 

He stops and his books bag paper handle lets go, all books fall on the edge of the pavement. One of the books almost walloping onto the main road a car near miss as it goes by. 

He ignores it. He chucks books on the grass, near the road fence and then his walking picks up and he walks much faster now. Looking behind him frequently. He crosses the road in a hurry. The more yards he makes the more worried he looks. There are no people anywhere to be seen. He looks behind one more time. He cant believe it. How is it possible that all these people have just disappeared completely. Do they know before me!? He wonders. His paranoia increases further. 

His walking is increasing rapidly and breathing too. He then rings Friel. Phone does not get through. There is no network. Phones are dead. Internet and Starlink lines are all dead. By the time he gets to his penthouse, all security details together with flat cleaner and the pilot are awaiting in panic. Frome the distance they notice him coming in. A sitting drone is sent immediately to pick him up quicker for a speedy lift off to the terrace in the helipad where his dronecopter has been waiting him for a while now. 

“Boss we are ready to take off. It is Sigma 33 as you well know!’ One of the security detail tell him. Yes I know comes the answer. He is in no mood to waste time. Wavers tot he cleaner and two of the admin staff to stay behind as they need to take care of the estate in the bay. You could see the devastation in the face of the cleaner who had a small child, a nin-year old child who has been studying in the local school. Doors of the dronecopter are closed and the vehicle is ready to take off. A pad is given by one of the security detail to him. Sack gives another look at the cleaner and her son waiting at the door of the entrance. He is negligent of feelings and has no time to think things through properly. He is paranoid and panicking. Pilot orders everybody on board to buckle up as the speed will go through fusion and within seven minutes they should be in the Andes. Sack looks up, to heavens, as if to pray and seek forgiveness. The dronecopter is sucked into the air tube five miles down the road and arrival in seven minutes and thirteen seconds is spot on. First China X Model rocket is due to land pretty soon either in America or in the nearby zones. The missile is hypersonic and is a dettachment frontier missile with a satellite launcher. America is bracing for the worst. Sack cares no more. All he wants to do is head to his Andes porthole and hide and live. He knows that the moment he left California, that was the last time he was going to see the place. And he had planned a long time ago for this. Friel and the crew had been in the know of this kind of development. They have known of the depletion rate of US army and technology complex due to the partition wars. Sack knows that his longevity is important for the future of american civilisation, culture and society. He knows that friel has only got a few more months to live due to his longevity contractual obligations. He has lived long enough, I mean hundred and seventy years is more thane nough - he mutters to himself. A sliver of smile prescribes his face and the moment he has landed in Wamani, his rescue and survavibality is secured. Dronecopter lands on top of the pre-fab pit not far from the main entrance. Shutters have been pushed down. Eight of his crew together with Sack disembark and head towards the main entrance. In their logs the gates are opened. Sabrina and one of teh security personnel have not shown signs of life but the door must be opened. 

One of the guards who got there first reports back that the gates are interlocked. Which means it cant be opened without the override from inside. And inside are a bunch of youngsters, university students from China who have rented the cave for a few days. 

It can’t be. Sack shouts at the guards.

For a minute his heart rate intensifies and his face is drooling. It can’t be. They need to open teh door. 

He then shows the guard the green signal on his metaform showing that teh gates are opened. 

Yes sir, I know. But, remember we need the override from inside and this wont work if the override isn’t active. 

He smashes the pad on the floor and grabs one of the guard by his collar and orders angrily to do teh utmost to open the gates. A total silence envelopes the area. Through the intercom, the chinese student announce that they are  agroup of techanarchists who have invaded his property and that this is now theirs and that there is nothing that they are going to be convinced to open the gates and then they begin reading a political statement. 

Sack has retiurned where he wanted to be in the day of the end, but the end isn’t suppressed to be his, but it is though. He leans against the gate and looks at everybody in hate and rage, so red that everything else in fronot of him becomes clouded and indifferent. Breathless he falls.