Binary Phases

By A.N. Stevens

In the 26th century the last person on Earth wrote the epitaph for humanity. "Greed and stupidity came to rule our world. We all thought we would survive it. We were wrong."

Then an alien entity representing the Continuity intervenes by manipulating events in time to change the outcome. The Continuity is a universal civilization based on the premise that the individual is paramount to the optimum evolution of the whole. Conversely, failure to meet the needs of the one is a failure to us all.

This is the story of three men. The first, Hayden Parks, a man of great success who responds to the siren call of an alien. The second is Raven Prophet, who's temporal existence was accidentally separated into discrete individuals and spread through nearly a million years. And the third, Julian Cauldwell, is a self admitted failure at life until he is recruited by Prophet to help save humanity from extinction. Each will begin separate odysseys through time that will change the future of humanity.

Then came the Jiop, a very xenophobic species. And they had a far different plan for the Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.N. Stevens
• Release date: Jul 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311424167

A.N. Stevens

Back when I was young pup people would always ask, "What are you going to do with your life?" Took a while before I decided the standard career approach wasn't going to work for me. So I decided to pursue what interested me at the moment and see where it would lead. In my 20's I worked to travel and traveled to work. So I saw a good part of our world and experienced it, not as a tourist, but as a participant in the local culture, working for a few months then moving on. Most of the time I did honest hard work, but sometimes it was a bit nefarious.In my 30's I got married and then fell in love with a classic wooden sailboat. Spent the next decade working as a carpenter in the south Florida boatyards, and of course sailing the Caribbean.My early 40's were a time of change, some good, some not so much. Sold the boat, moved to the mountains, then got divorced. It felt like I was starting life over so I decided to do something entirely different. I answered an ad and found myself working in a winery. Turned out I had a talent for it. Had the taste buds to develop a good wine and enough knowledge of chemistry to understand the process. But as the years passed, the passion for wine-making faded. It was time for something new.So I married again to a good woman and companion. Then a few years later retired to write, paint and sculpt.I have seen exquisite beauty and terrible ugliness. I have experienced the commonality of what it is to be human and the divisiveness that seeks to separate Us into Them. As an author I draw upon my travels and the people I met along the way and combine them with my love of sci fi, where imagination can take you beyond the limits of our existence. While the artist in me works in oil on canvas and sculptures in wood.Now as an old dog, I have the time to tell the stories that life has given me.

Book preview

Binary Phases

By A. N. Stevens

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 A.N. Stevens

Cover Art by A.N Stevens

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Sample: Binary Worlds

Chapter 1

Phase One: Prelude to a dream.

A raven perched on a branch overlooking a high mountain meadow, waiting. Secrets, so many secrets, the raven mused. Today, the raven had been told, a very old secret would be revealed. Across the meadow the door of a cabin opened.

1.1

The old man stood on his porch gazing across an alpine meadow to the Whitebark Pine forest, and then up and beyond to the range of mountains that divided the continent. The morning sun glistened off patches of snow scattered amongst the gray rocks accentuating the cliff faces that crowned these mountains. Summer’s warmth would never reach them all, no not up there.

Happy birthday Hayden Parks, he whispered to the wind. Still tall and lean, but now bending with age, he felt pretty good today, for a man of seventy-one. Well as good as it gets anyway, Hayden observed, as he smiled that inward smile of a man who had long lived alone with his thoughts. Maybe good enough for a hike.

It had been weeks since the snowmelt, since spring had brought a brief season of color to the white world of winter. The hike once had been an almost daily ritual, even snowshoeing through the deep powder of winter, but now twenty years later it had evolved into an occasional cautious journey across his domain.

Yes good enough. he spoke to his favorite walking stick, and together they descended the porch steps and entered the meadow. Here he noted that the Indian Paintbrushes, with their vivid burnt red tassels, had come to dominate the riot of colors that can only be found in these high meadows. It is your turn to shine. He said to them reassuringly. A raven flew across the meadow towards the stand of pines that bordered this side of the meadow. Hayden idly wondered what messages the raven carried today. And as he slowly meandered across the meadow marveling at the intricate interweaving of life, his thoughts drifted back through all those years to the first time he had come to this beautiful place.

1.2

That day, twenty years ago, when he stood at the hotel window, staring across the city to the mountains beyond. The first rays of sunrise had set their peaks ablaze, while all else around him was still held in the half-light of dawn. Hayden was in Denver for an inspection of a potential acquisition. Another company to fatten the ledger, another trophy for his boardroom wall. The implied sarcasms of the thought bothered him. Usually these were the moments he lived for, the final dance around the deal until it was done, when he would feel these sense of triumph that comes with the very private thought, I am richer today. Well, he had long since come to accept greed as a basic motivation of his life and by any sense of the word he was a success. But now, as he watched the sun line creep down into the foothills a strange thought crossed, then re-crossed his mind, filling him with an impulsive desire that was a counterpoint to his normal focused drive. He stared at the mountains feeling a pull that resisted definition or dismissal.

Memories intruded. Jen, his wife of twenty-four years had taken their two daughters on vacation somewhere in these mountains every year. They would return with tales of their adventures to which, he had to admit, he only half heard as intrusions into his corporate world. Jen and the girls had always been there, a constant loving presence. But business had always come first, and now he felt a sense of remorse that comes with the realization that maybe he had missed something important.

The impulse gripped him again, blending with that unsettling revelation, merging finally into an unexpected need. Okay, what the hell, I can take a day off. For a while he stood and watched the sun illuminate the world, amazed at the decision he had just made.

Hayden called down to the front desk, Rent me something with four-wheel drive and get some maps of the mountains around here. I’ll be down in an hour.

Yes Mr. Parks, I’ll see to…. vaguely echoed in his ear as he hung up and headed to the bathroom. Then having finished his daily routine, headed towards the wardrobe cabinet where he realized the only clothes he had were suits. So he put on the gray one but left out the tie as a concession to the wilderness he expected to face.

He left the suite, took the elevator to the lobby and as he approached the desk an attendant looked up at him with the semi-sincere smile that goes with the job.

Good morning Mr., Parks. Your car and maps are waiting and I have a package for you, he said as he placed a wrapped cylinder about a foot tall on the black marble countertop. A note came with it, here you are sir. And if there is anything I can do sir? Have a good day sir.

With that Hayden was dismissed to begin his adventure. So he grabbed the package and note, turned and strode across the lobby. His leather shoes created a staccato that accompanied him eagerly toward the door.

Outside, waiting for him, was a white pickup truck with large well-treaded tires and an automatic transmission, which the valet had assured him, would be easier to drive. He paused to look at the kid holding the door open for him. For some reason he’d always found a well-trained hotel staff irritating in their generic politeness. But he tipped the kid well and climbed into the cab, floored the accelerator and burned rubber half down the driveway. Somewhere between elation and fear he briefly questioned his sanity. Self-control seemed to be slipping away to the novelty of adventure.

Hayden drove west on the Interstate into the mountains, then turning randomly on to side roads that led through old mining towns, which were now being reincarnated for the tourist trade. On up he went, on gravel roads in various states of disrepair, past the occasional house or other structure hidden away among the pines.

After a good while of taking in the scenery with that wonderful sense that comes with really seeing something for the first time he came to a road that turned upwards towards the higher peaks. It was a rutted rock strewn one lane track that could lead to the unknown he had come in search of. He engaged the 4-wheel drive and proceeded cautiously up the road.

Hayden had gone about a half a mile when passed a barbed wire gate with a hand painted sign over it. ‘Keep out. Property of the Summer Dream Mining Co.’ It was the last vestige of civilization on a road he felt compelled to follow.

After another half mile he started climbing a series of switchbacks. The road grew worse, with sheer drops of what had to be hundreds of feet to one side, forcing him to devote all his attention to the road. Occasionally he would glance at the emerging view, but it wasn’t until he reached the top that he stopped, got out and took in the enormity of the scene that spread out all around him.

To the west were the high peaks of the divide. He was on the tip of a ridge that ran like a finger upwards past the tree line to join with the meadows that surrounded the rocks and snow above. Below were the foothills covered mostly in the dark of the pines, but here and there were patches of Aspen simmering bright green in a light breeze that wafted coolly from the peaks.

To the east were the plains, a distant golden expanse fading to a dusty horizon. Far away puffy white clouds hung below him casting shadows across endless fields. He could see the buildings of downtown Denver, just barely discernible, as a small incongruity in a vast landscape. No wonder Jen loves this so much he spoke to the wind, then stood transfixed, in awe. For a while time passed unnoticed.

Finally Hayden returned to the truck. The road continued up the ridge and disappeared into the pines. He drove on with an almost mystical determination to see where it would lead. After another mile or so he emerged from the forest where the road ended on the edge of a meadow.

A shallow bowl maybe 200 yards across sat like a saddle astride the ridge. His first thought ‘the flowers’. This was not some well-manicured garden or park; this was a wild entanglement of colors. Greens of every shade and hue provided a three dimensional canvas on which reds, yellows, blues, whites, rainbows of color which seem to have been flung across the greenery to adhere like paint drops from the hand of a mad artist. Images coalesced into thoughts. It reminded him of a Van Gogh painting or, as he slowly wandered through the wildflowers, maybe Jackson Pollack. Hayden stopped. ‘I’m thinking about art?' Amazed at the dusty corners his mind had wandered into.

He turned his attention away from the meadow to survey the surrounding terrain. Not far up the ridgeline the trees ended, opening out into an expanse of meadows that rose up to embrace the rocks above. What had once been gray and white walls had now resolved into crags and crevasses. Boulders and rockslides intruded into the meadows, with some even cascaded into the pines below. Blue white patches of snow clung to shadowed places, contrasting with the angular grays and blacks. ‘Picasso too,’ he thought, as the dust scattered out from another corner.

Following an ancient rockslide down, he looked to the southwest, off one side of the bowl. A valley, miles across, was held between massive fingers of the mountain. He could see where springs emerged feeding the snowmelt in hundreds of trickles. Each one carving the fine details on the landscape below, eventually joining together to create a rushing stream, which he caught, glimpses of through breaks in the pine and aspen canopy. He could even hear it, thousands of feet below, a distant symphony of water in a hurry to rejoin the sea.

Hayden then turned to the opposite side of the meadow. Here the spine of the divide was a jagged line leading North. And below him the foothills tumbled down to meet the plains in a random display of perfection that intersected the haphazard geometry of civilization encroaching into the forested hills. This merged into mega geometry of modern agriculture, which stretched to the horizon that was so far away that forever may not be a big enough word to contain it.

Hayden began feeling light headed. Not enough oxygen, it must be over 10,000 ft. here. He gasped, I could pass out and be eaten by a bear or something. And so with the vague thought that an artifact of his civilization would protect from such a fate, turned back to the truck. When he reached for the door handle, what he took for a large crow flew out of the trees and swooped down over the truck to land on a nearby branch. The bird cocked its head to stare at him with unblinking intensity. This reinforced his unease with wildlife in general. As he clambered into the cab, he fixed his attention on the package and card. Probably another bottle of single malt from Preston. Hayden mused. That guy must really want the deal.

He reached for the card, opened it and smiled. A.J. was a friend from college. Now he owned one of the biggest construction companies in the state. His note, Jen called to say you were out here, so let’s get together and put a dent in that bottle. Hayden picked up the package, tore off the wrapping and opened the cardboard cylinder. Then extracted a bottle of fine Mexican Tequila. He remembered the last time years ago he put a dent in a bottle with AJ. Hadn’t touched Tequila since. Now as he sat and gazed at a world that had overwhelmed his senses, he twisted off the cap and raised the bottle. Thanks Jen he whispered. Then he took a long deep swig from the bottle. As it burned going down, he coughed and sputtered until tears formed little trickles that carved the fine details into his face. Presently he started the truck and headed back down the mountain.

1.3

Driving down proved to be far more nerve racking. He was sure that the brakes would fail and they would find him at the bottom inside a crumpled ball of metal with huge well-treaded tires sticking out at odd angles. Fortunately both he and the brakes survived the descent.

At the first intersection where track met gravel road another thought pressed heavily on him. He was lost. Hayden had absolutely no idea how he got here. He knew Denver was east but…. Hayden stopped, grabbed the maps and unfolded them. After spending some time trying to equate something around him to a spot on a map he realized just how lost he was. City boy. A curse to failing to pay attention to where he was going. Then he idly wondered how many other people had driven into these mountains, became lost and drove around until the gas ran out, then perished with a missing persons report as an epitaph.

Shit Hayden, another well-placed curse. Okay, maybe there’s somebody at that mine who could show me the way out of this maze.

Hayden drove back to the mine gate, got out, and swung it open. Then proceeded around a small hill towards the Aspen grove. Coming to an open area filled with heavy equipment that was rusty and worn from long use, he parked the truck and started to walk through this mechanized forest when he heard a voice with a serious growl to it.

Stop.

He did, then turned to see a big hairy man dressed in dirty worn out work clothes and an even bigger impeccably clean shotgun.

What do you want here? Came the growl again with a deep touch of menace thrown in. Before Hayden could respond. If you’re from one of the Big Boys I already told you bastards I wasn’t interested in selling.

Big boys? No. My name is Hayden Parks and ah, I’m, well lost.

A wry smile put a crease in the man’s beard. The shotgun dropped slightly as he stepped forward. Stupid tourist. A growl with considerably less menace in it. Nice suit, not too practical around here. You got a map?

Yeah, let me get it. Hayden retreated to the truck. The shotgun followed every step. He grabbed the wad of maps and on yet another impulse picked up the bottle. Do you drink Tequila?

A smile with teeth in it parted the man’s beard. Okay, come on, let’s go get some glasses and I’ll trace out the route on your map. Then a small pause, Henry, my names Henry.

Silently Henry led the way through his mechanical sculpture garden. Hayden couldn’t even guess the function of many them, and wasn’t sure if he should ask. As they passed one inexplicable assemblage he tapped on something that looked like it once belonged to a steam locomotive.

Trommell, don’t touch. The growl replied.

So much for curiosity, he thought. They continued on, coming to the Aspen grove. In the middle was a structure that the look of being designed by a committee that couldn’t agree on anything. Therefore they split up, each to build their own idea of a room or a wall or a roof. On closer inspection it seemed that none of them were very good builders.

Yeah, well it keeps the snow out. Henry said with all the conviction of a man who considered practicality far more important than appearance. Don’t mind the mess. Then as an after thought that would explain it all, he added, I live alone.

They climbed a unique assemblage of steps to a porch that had acquired an unnerving slope to it over the years. As they entered the slope took a new direction. Hayden looked around. A large open space with bare metal poles spaced here and there to support the roof. Areas were broken up by function, a shop cluttered with machine parts, an office, bed, kitchen with large table and six unmatched chairs. In the center was a large wood-stove that looked like it too had come from that locomotive. Henry went to a kitchen cabinet, withdrew two shot glasses and motioned Hayden to sit. The kitchen was neat, clean, no dishes in the sink. In fact as he looked again every thing around him was well organized. Perhaps there is more to Henry than he thought.

Henry set the glasses on the table. Got salt if you want it, no limes.

Hayden said no and poured them both a shot. Henry sat opposite and took a sip. Pretty smooth. Then he tossed back the rest and let out a long guttural growl.

So they sat and sipped and began talking, slowly, about the generalities of the world. And as the fire in their throats put a flame to their brains they each recognized a kindred soul despite appearances. They began talking of their lives and expectations and where it had led them.

Hayden learned Henry was the son of a hard rock miner from Idaho. That he was a graduate of the Colorado School of Mines in nearby Golden. While there, he had spent his free time prospecting the local mining areas. As he put it, I don’t think them old boys got it all, with a gleam in his eye that said maybe they missed a big one. After graduation he had worked for the ‘Big Boys’, traveling from one mine site to another all over the world. Didn’t see a damn thing but airports and holes in the ground. He did this for nine years.

Taking practically everything he earned, Henry began buying mineral and property rights to a good piece of a mountain. Vacations were spent acquiring equipment and sampling his claims to find where to sink a shaft. The day came when he was ready.

Henry quit his job and constructed the first incarnation of his cabin. Then started digging. Wasn’t long before he hit a nice vein, money started flowing in. It looked like his ‘Summer Dream’ as he called it was becoming real. He married a local girl, then built the second incarnation of his cabin. It was real nice.

About a year later the vein started to play out and with it his marriage. Seems that woman was only in love with the gold… She could get a heap of mad on too… It got to where I was sleeping in the mine just for the quiet… When she left, she drove the backhoe clear through the house. Henry smiled inwardly at the thought. I built this place out of what was left.

So that explained incarnation number three. Since then he had chased one vein after another only to have it end before hitting the his mother load. Cycles of boom and bust, the dream, one more drift away.

They sat quietly for a while. Night settled in. Henry stoked the fire in the wood-stove. Hayden noticed that two thirds of the bottle was gone and poured another round. Henry, do you know who owns that meadow up there?

Yeah, a pause, why?

I’d like to give it to my wife. A long pause, then Hayden asked. How much do you want for it?

An even longer pause passed between them. The whole mountain or just the meadow?

Hayden stared into his now empty glass. All of it.

Silence filled the room as Henry looked up towards the mountain. An obscene amount of money and I retain the mine and all mineral rights.

Done!

There’s one thing I ought to tell you. After I bought that upper section an old Ute Indian came by and told me a powerful spirit lived up there.

Henry, you afraid of ghosts?

I’m just telling you this because when I prospected up there near a rock slide a raven landed right next to me. That bird looked me right in the eye, then this voice, that came from everywhere or nowhere or maybe in my head, said, The gold you seek is not here. Now I know that sounds crazy, but as I sat there staring at the raven, trying to make sense of it all, I remembered what that Ute said. So I got to thinking, maybe there was a spirit and maybe that spirit knew where the gold was, so I asked. Where is the gold? That voice said, You already know. Then that raven took off and flew away. I‘ve never been back up there since. But a couple of days later I looked at all my sampling data again. It was like the mountain opened up to me and I could see the veins twisting through the rock. I did know where the gold was. That very day I quit working for the Big Boys and started to dig. Now I‘ve never told that to anyone, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t pass it along. Since you’re gonna own it, I thought you had a right to know.

Henry I’m just about drunk enough to believe you. Hell after today I’d believe a lot of things that yesterday were impossible.

Okay Hayden, you’ve been warned, now pass me that bottle. Let’s talk about this land deal.

Some agreed details later they had finished the bottle when Hayden noticed Tequila oblivion was gaining on him. Think a taxi would come out here?

Maybe, if you paid him an obscene amount of money. Henry replied slyly. But I don’t have a phone.

Hayden could hear the smile. He was marveling over the thought of life without a phone when Tequila oblivion overtook him.

1.4

Hayden awoke to the tortured side of Tequila. It took a disturbingly long time to realize he was lying on his hotel bed. Focusing in on his immediate needs, aspirin and water, provided the impetuses to get moving. Returning from the bathroom he noticed a map spread out on the desk. On it were a business card and a note. He started with the note. ‘I drove you in last night. Decided what’s a fair obscene amount of money. Call my lawyer this afternoon. He’ll have the paperwork done. Come back and don’t forget to bring the Tequila you Stupid Tourist.'

He picked up the card, the lawyer. The map had the route traced out neatly. So that’s where he had been. Hayden headed back to the bathroom.

After a long scalding shower where he steamed out the last of the Tequila tortures, he began to plan. Room service brought him breakfast, but after the first smell he felt the possibility that a torture was still lurking, and just drank the pot of coffee. Having been hydrated and caffeinated he was ready to start.

First he phoned Preston to say he being was being called out of town but would send the documents over. It was a good deal for them both and the scheduled company inspection, a kind of personal ritual with him, wasn't really necessary.

Next he called AJ and after trying to track him down left a message to meet at his suite that evening. Finally he called the lawyer who promised the papers would be delivered in an hour. ‘He’s either very good or very sloppy,’ Hayden mused. Then he sat back in an overstuffed leather chair and began to dream a summer dream of his own.

In little over an hour a messenger delivered a fat envelope to his room. As he read through the contract he decided the lawyer was good. Good enough that he tucked the lawyers card in his briefcase for future use. It contained all the details they had discussed with no hidden surprises. And it was a fair price for an obscene amount of money, but it bought a good piece of a mountain.

Hayden signed all the required spaces then called down to the front desk and had them send the messenger back up. Next, he called his bank and made arrangements for payment. Then settled back in the chair to add some more details to his dream while waiting on AJ to arrive.

1.5

AJ was prompt as usual. He entered with that big easy grin and sincere handshake that was always an asset to his success. Where’s that bottle? We got some catching up to do.

I already drank it AJ.

A look of concern then disappointment passed over his face, then the smile again. Well let’s go get a new one.

Not tonight, I don’t think I could survive it. Besides I have a project for you. Hayden showed his friend the map and outlined what he wanted. Two bedrooms. Big living area, dining and kitchen combined in a great room. I want it modern on the inside, and warm. It must fit the site without being an intrusion on it. Once you go up there you’ll see the views I want. And have it furnished; you know the style Jen likes. Oh Yeah, fix that damn road.

Okay, do you want it for year-round or just summers.

Hayden thought for a moment, Year-round. Then he added, Couple more things, stop by the mine and introduce yourself to Henry, and bring a bottle of Tequila with you. AJ smiled, understanding where his gift had gone. And don’t tell Jen. It’s a surprise.

Now I get it. I was wondering what a city boy like you would want with a place way up there.

Hayden smiled back. AJ, I’ve begun to realize some things about life.

AJ gave him a look he couldn’t quite figure out. Come on old buddy, you need a drink.

Against his better judgment or more likely the dread of tomorrow morning, they left the hotel, went to a nearby restaurant, had dinner, then retired to the bar where they talked of old times and new revelations until the bar closed.

The morning found Hayden consumed with another bout of the Tequila tortures, with a few new evil twists thrown in. Never again he moaned. It took until late afternoon to recover enough to pack, head to the airport and catch a fight home.

Phase Two: Once upon a time in a bar.

1.6

I met the Prophet while sitting in a bar. An ordinary looking man sat down next to me and ordered a shot of a rare and expensive Highland Single Malt whisky. This caught my attention because it was what I was drinking. I turned to look at him.

He was incredibly ordinary, height, weight, features, and clothing. He was someone you would forget the moment your attention was focused elsewhere. The man slowly downed his drink and turned to face me. It was then I noticed his eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had seen something the rest of us hadn’t.

He cleared his throat and spoke to me. You won’t like the outcome.

What? What are you talking about?

He paused and seemed to consider his options. Never mind, it won’t do any good to warn you.

Okay then don’t. I turned back to savoring the qualities of my whisky hoping this madman would take the hint and leave me out of what ever delusion he was experiencing. Moments passed and I glanced over to see an empty stool. Relieved, I returned to contemplating the expected profit on an investment I was about to make, hence the rare and expensive whisky. I was planning to risk