Conception: Volume 2 of the Darkside Trilogy

By William Hayashi

Discovery, Volume One of the Darkside Trilogy tells the story of what happens in the United States of America when a community of African Americans are found to have been secretly living on the backside of the moon since before Neil Armstrong arrived.

Conception, Volume Two of the Darkside Trilogy tells the story of the extraordinary people who built their lunar habitat and how they came together. These people, exclusively Black, conceive of, design and construct technological marvels that the collective scientific minds of the entire world cannot duplicate. And how, one might ask, did they manage to do what no one had ever done before, over and over and over again in so many disciplines, and in so many ways?

Those are the questions readers of Discovery have asked since it was published. Conception answers these questions and, hopefully, spawns an entirely new set.

There is a broad arc to the Darkside Trilogy. The entire Darkside Universe spans seven volumes, with Conception introducing the prime builders and movers of the Darkside landscape.

The ride is spectacular.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493100071

William Hayashi

WILLIAM HAYASHI concludes his epic tale with the final installment of the Darkside Trilogy, closing out a never-before told tale reminiscent of the amazing speculative fiction of Michael Crichton and the plots twists of stories from Robert Ludlum. Hayashi is a lifelong Information Technologies professional. He began his career as a programmer in the early 1970s, and has operated his own IT consultancy for over thirty years. Hayashi’s writing includes award-winning screenplays. His seminal movie script, written for the Chicago leg of the 48 Hour Film Project competition in 2009, won for Best Script. His next three scripts were produced and filmed, and has a feature film scheduled for production in summer of 2016. A Chicago native, Hayashi continues his philanthropic work in designing, building and maintaining not-for-profit computer training centers in the city’s underserved communities. Hayashi is developing a computer and 3D printer manufacturing plant to be built in Chicago’s Englewood community, providing hundreds of technology-based jobs for area residents.

Book preview

CONCEPTION

Volume 2 of the Darkside Trilogy

William Hayashi

Copyright © 2013 by William Hayashi.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013916716

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-0006-4

                  Softcover      978-1-4931-0005-7

                   Ebook         978-1-4931-0007-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 09/20/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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CONTENTS

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Flesh Failures

Chapter 2: Nitty Gritty

Chapter 3: Way Back Home

Chapter 4: Get Up Off Of The Thing

Chapter 5: You’re A Big Girl Now

Chapter 6: School Day

Chapter 7: Lean On Me

Chapter 8: Hot Fun In The Summertime

Chapter 9: Abraham, Martin And John

Chapter 10: Movin’ On Up

Chapter 11: I’ll Take You There

Chapter 12: The House That Jack Built

Chapter 13: Working In A Coal Mine

Chapter 14: War

Chapter 15: Shining Star

Chapter 16: You Can Make It If You Try

Chapter 17: Celebration

Chapter 18: Mister Magic

Chapter 19: Once You Get Started

Chapter 20: Hold On, I’m Coming

Chapter 21: Fly Like An Eagle

Chapter 22: Ben

Chapter 23: Walking In Space

Chapter 24: Changing Neighborhoods

Chapter 25: Man

Chapter 26: Bad Luck

Chapter 27: Higher Ground

Chapter 28: Why Can’t We Live Together

Chapter 29: Don’t Let The Jones Let You Down

Chapter 30: Family Affair

Chapter 31: Nowhere To Run

Chapter 32: Crazy

Chapter 33: Positivity

Chapter 34: One Of Those Funky Things

Chapter 35: Wishing On A Star

Chapter 36: Yes We Can

Chapter 37: Let’s Get It Started

Chapter 38: For The Love Of Money

Chapter 39: Time Has Come Today

Chapter 40: Up Up And Away

Chapter 41: Take Me To The Next Phase

Chapter 42: Say It Loud, I’m Black And I’m Proud

Epilogue: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

PREFACE

When I started writing these words there were way too many thoughts shooting off into too many directions to cram into this spot. But one thing that has stuck with me the last few years is the vindication in having created this universe.

This occurred when I read a review of Discovery by a white man who just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that black Americans could be so disaffected living in the U.S. that they would immigrate to the moon to live without whites if offered the opportunity. Like many whites, he had no idea that the America he lived in wasn’t the same America that blacks are forced to inhabit, and for him the notion was one better suited to a comedy sketch than serious literary consideration. To this day, I’m quite certain he doesn’t realize how his review actually proves the truth, relevance and sociological underpinnings of the story.

The second example was the dichotomy in opinion in this country about the verdict in the George Zimmerman trial broken down by race. Obviously there’s a cultural divide in perceptions in this country depending on whether one is white or non-white. This was something I studied extensively as an undergrad when asked to co-teach a university class in1975, entitled Black and White Americans: How They View Themselves And Each Other. I can reliably report that skin color has a lot to do with perspective in America, as does religion, gender, sexual orientation, etc. And the more we can just acknowledge this fact instead of trying to homogenize everything into some top-dead-center American perspective, maybe we will finally have some effective dialogue between unlike citizens of this country.

Much has changed since 1975 as evidenced by the election and re-election of a POTUS of African descent, but to believe that we live in a post-racial America would be an entirely foolish notion. However there are those, white and black, who claim just that.

I attended a lecture by Harvard educated Kenneth Warren, now teaching at the University of Chicago, during which he postulated that there is no such thing as Black Literature any more because we’re living in a post-slavery America, and that literature written by black authors is published without slavery-based sociological push-back. Therefore, it must now be classified as mainstream American literature. In real life this turns out not to be the case, not with mainstream publishers in this country, and certainly not with the University of Chicago’s own publishing imprint.

Another academic, who is including Discovery in her classes at Florida A & M, an Historically Black College University (HBCU), began our first conversation by thanking me for having written Discovery and describing issues of being black and living in America almost completely unknown by a majority of whites.

Since the 2009 publication of Discovery, I have spoken to hundreds of black peers, those who have read the book and those who have not, and asked what they thought of the premise, and more important would they immigrate to the moon if offered the opportunity to live with only their kind? The only ones who said that they would not cited not wanting to leave family behind, otherwise they would all chose to go.

Moving onward, there are a number of people who I want to thank for their kind assistance in getting this installment of the tale published, those who read and edited the manuscript, those who helped out financially, and to a truly extraordinary artist who did the cover illustration, John Jax Jackman.

Special thanks to those who read Discovery, Conception would never have happened had their support not inspired me to continue.

William Hayashi

8 August 2013

INTRODUCTION

Black folks secretly living on the backside of the moon, since before Neil Armstrong arrived no less. Now that’s a story.

A confluence of events all intertwined to lead NASA, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, a Navel researcher in gravitational studies, the U.S. Military investigating the shooting down of an unknown aircraft in Iraq and the rest of the world to discover the existence of this colony of people.

The questions on everyone’s mind are, how did they get there? How did they beat NASA to the moon? How did they build a home for thousands there right under the nose of NASA, and especially the U.S. Military? And finally, exactly who are they?

Conception tells the story of the extraordinary people who built the lunar habitat and how they came together. These people, all Americans of African descent, conceive of, design and construct technological marvels that the collective scientific minds of the entire world cannot duplicate. And how, one might ask, did they manage to do what no one had ever done before, over and over and over again in so many disciplines, in so many ways?

Those are the questions readers of Discovery have asked since that book was published. Now, after mulling over the story for nearly a decade (though published at the close of 2009, Discovery was originally written in 2001), Conception answers these questions and, hopefully, spawns an entirely new set.

With many, the relationships that begin in elementary and high school can last a lifetime. And for the lucky few, dreams shared in those formative years can also come true. Conception tells of an unlikely alliance of black teenagers in the 1950s who bond over the dream of a better tomorrow for America’s Negroes. Unlike the platitudes spoken by the Civil Rights Movement, they suffer no illusions about an America where everyone, regardless of their race or origin, has the same access to the American dream.

Over half a Century later, America still falls woefully short of the promise of, in President Barack Obama’s words, a more perfect union. In the alternate universe of Conception, these young men decided not to wait, and further, decided that racial harmony simply isn’t possible.

After four centuries on this continent, a vast majority of blacks have lost any hope of institutional white entitlement becoming passé. Most feel that there will always be, at least until whites are a minority in America, a sociological, cultural and economic bias that favors whites first, over all other races. The Darkside Trilogy is an alternative universe that has black separatists who decide to go it alone, to live without the influence of white America or privilege, or even the existence of whites in their isolated community. Their community is immune from white influence by the simple fact that not only are whites excluded, but they have no opportunity to force their way in.

There’s a broad arc to the Darkside Trilogy. The entire Darkside Universe spans seven volumes, with Conception introducing the prime builders and movers of the Darkside landscape.

Welcome to my world. The ride is going to be spectacular.

CHAPTER 1

The Flesh Failures

He simply couldn’t believe what was plainly evident before his eyes. The three-hundred-pound laboratory bench, with a heavy stone top, was hovering over a foot off the ground without any visible means of support. The only movement in the room was the almost imperceptible slide of the bench toward the window, through which the early morning sun shone.

The only witness to the remarkable doings in the deserted lab was nearly struck dumb. He could scarcely credit what he had managed to accomplish, and yet the only thing he felt more strongly than wonder was fear. Just looking at the hovering lab bench he knew that once anyone else became aware of what he had discovered, he would lose control of his work, or worse.

Christopher Benjamin Wright was a graduate student majoring in physics. He was one of a special few in the graduate program at Parsons Technical University in Houston, Texas. What made him special was that he was one of only sixteen Negroes ever admitted to the advanced studies program at the university. The time, fall of 1964, had seen little acceptance of his kind in the South, especially in the halls of higher learning. In most cases Christopher would have been called uppity at best, or a trouble-makin’ nigger at worst.

Christopher further differentiated himself from nearly all the rest of the Negroes attending Parsons in that he was there on an academic scholarship, not for playing football. His math and science scores throughout high school had marked him as having an exceptional mind, regardless of the color of the skin within which it was housed. Christopher even aced his Scholastic Aptitude Tests with perfect math and science scores, and only missed four questions in the verbal section. In fact, his scores were so good his high school counselor had to vociferously defend the scores when several members of the school board accused Christopher of cheating.

His straight As in undergraduate classes so impressed his instructors that their unanimous support helped get him a full-ride scholarship to the graduate program.

Now, at the crack of dawn he was standing awestruck in the school’s physics lab looking at the most amazing sight he could ever have imagined. As he began to regain his sense of self, Christopher noticed that the device in the middle of the lab bench was completely silent. There was no sign of the power it was consuming to do its remarkable feat. There was no glow or evidence of electrical discharge. The only movement in the room was the slow drift of the bench toward the window.

Reaching over the edge of the floating bench, Christopher’s heavily-gloved hand carefully touched the apparatus on its top. Feeling nothing through the rubber-insulated glove, he slowly turned the small knob on the face of the device. As he did so the bench slowly settled to the floor, displaced over a foot from its original position in the room. When the power had been completely cut to the device he let out a huge sigh, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

Realization of the predicament he would be in should anyone discover his device and it’s capabilities galvanized Christopher into action. He unplugged the device from the receptacle in the wall and unscrewed the clamp that secured it to the tabletop. In mild panic, he looked around for something large enough to conceal it from view so he could get it out of the building and off campus. His briefcase was a bit too small, and there were no boxes in the room. He wasn’t about to try to disassemble it for fear he wouldn’t be able to put it back together again and have it work.

Gathering up his papers and shoving them in the briefcase he tucked the unwieldy machine under his arm and quickly left the lab. Looking both ways as he left the room, Christopher was relieved to see no one about. Quickly walking down the hall, and down the stairs a single floor, he made his way to his locker. Spinning the dial of the combination lock, he opened his locker and turning the device on end, squeezing it in to the space barely able to accommodate its width. Closing and locking the door, Christopher allowed himself to relax. Now all he had to do was wait. He would have a much better chance of getting it out of the building and to his small apartment under cover of darkness.

Even though he was a student in good standing at Parsons, being caught trying to leave campus with something as unusual as a piece of lab equipment would arouse attention he now felt he could ill afford.

The day seemed to pass interminably slowly. When his final class was over in mid-afternoon he tried to lose himself in the library, reading science journals at first, then finally settling on rereading Jules Verne’s First Men in the Moon. Though he periodically turned the pages, Christopher was paying no attention to the words before him. He was going over everything he’d done in the preceding weeks, retracing the steps he had taken in making his remarkable discovery. He began to list in his head the research materials he had borrowed from the library, the books and journals that would show up if someone took the time to see just what he’d been up to in his studies. He also needed to retrieve his lab notebooks from the past year as well, even those his faculty advisor had filed away in the department’s main office.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that anything a colored boy at an almost all-white university discovered wouldn’t be left in his hands for very long.

Christopher’s life was taking a turn completely away from any plans his parents had envisioned. The first thing on his agenda was to conceal as much of his research as he possibly could. The last thing he wanted was to leave behind a clue that could lead someone else down the path of discovery he had so recently traveled. Second, he needed to carefully craft a plan of withdrawal from the university that left no one suspicious of the true nature of his departure.

Now, the only thing he was thinking about was what he wanted—no, needed—to do to ensure his own future. Tonight he was going to get his device away from the university and figure out a safe place for his new base of operations. Since he had nothing to do until the early spring sun set, Christopher pulled together the few things he had spread out on the table beside him and left the library to get a bite to eat.

Christopher’s connections to his present life were few. He was indeed a well-liked student. His instructors were equally impressed with his academic acumen and his quiet, somewhat self-effacing manner. He had never been known to speak a word in anger, nor had he failed to act in anything but the most circumspect manner. Those co-eds who overcame their natural reserve, or in a couple of cases, the de facto barrier of race, and had approached him had been politely rebuffed, although said avoidance was accomplished in such a manner that not one of them ever took offense at his polite refusals.

Leaving school was going to mean losing his financial support. His scholarship was not going to be there to sustain him once he severed his relationship with Parsons. He would have to find a job, preferably well away from his usual haunts, perhaps even in another town.

Methodical, he was. By the time Christopher finished eating dinner he had assembled all the pieces of his immediate plan.

Walking home to the second-floor apartment above the neighborhood laundromat, he went into his dirty clothes hamper and pulled out several pair of white socks, a pair of underwear and two t-shirts and packed them into his gym bag. Looking at it critically, he estimated there was more than enough room for the device hidden in his locker.

Once the sun had set, Christopher set off for the sciences building at a leisurely pace. Reaching campus, he felt better seeing a few students still about, mostly coming from the library. Entering the building and going up the stairs toward his locker, he saw no one. Once he reached his locker his heart was pounding, the noise from the combination lock excruciatingly loud in his ears. Carefully opening the latch of the locker, he made sure the door didn’t slip out of his hand to bang against the adjacent locker. Setting the gym bag on the floor, he pulled out his soiled clothes and placed his device in the bottom of the bag, quickly replacing the clothes around the sides and on top. Zipping the bag, he then closed the locker and locked it once again.

Looking both ways, wiping the light sheen of perspiration from his forehead, Christopher retraced his path, making his way to the building’s exit. Just before he would have been safely out the door, he nearly jumped out of his shoes when he heard behind him, Where you off to, son?

Slowly turning toward the voice, he was relieved to see it was one of the custodial staff. The elderly Negro, known only as Jasper to those who cared to find out, always had a pleasant word for him. In the one or two times they had exchanged more than a passing greeting, the janitor had made it clear that he was proud of the fact that Christopher set such a fine example for a colored boy.

Quickly relaxing his startled features, Christopher turned and smiled, holding up his gym bag.

Some of my things were getting mighty ripe in my locker. I figured it was long past time to get my wash done.

Ain’t that the truth. Sometimes when I’m mopping up I kin smell some o’ them that’s rotten or dead. When the term’s over, and we have to go through and clean them lockers all out, you wouldn’t believe some o’ the things we find up in them, Jasper said, shaking his head, reminiscing over past discoveries. Some of ’em are so bad new paint won’t stick. Now that’s po’erful.

I’ll bet it is. Well, I’m not about to leave you with a story to tell someone down the road, Christopher said with a smile. Patting his bag, he said, It’s a good thing I live right above the laundromat.

You got that right. Well, let me get back to my chores, the night’s a-wastin’.

Good night, Jasper. I’ll see you around.

Pushing against the door with his rear, Christopher waved at the departing janitor and breathed a sigh of relief. The cooler night air and the enveloping darkness had a calming effect on him, slowing his heart, letting him slow his walk to a much more leisurely pace.

As he drew closer to home he realized he hadn’t really thought of a safe place to hide his invention. The last place he wanted to keep it was in his room. The small apartment had little in the way of living space, let alone any real place to hide something the size of two phone books piled atop each other. There was no way he was going to trust it to the mail or a package delivery company and send it home to his mother. No, he was going to have to secret it somewhere close, but in a place unlikely to be discovered even with a fairly vigorous search.

Approaching the block on which he lived, Christopher scanned the area, looking for possible hiding places for his invention. Walking around to the back of the laundromat to climb the stairs to his apartment, the dark doorway to the basement caught his eye.

Looking around and seeing no one, he carefully opened the door. A cool, moist wash of air confronted him as he entered the dark cellar. Closing the door behind him, Christopher felt around for the light switch on the wall. Flicking the switch, he could barely see to the other side of the room. The entire basement was lit with a single, naked light bulb near the door.

There was little in the dank room but a huge gas-fired hot water heater hissing in the far corner. The body of the heater was about a dozen feet deep, rounded on the top with the usual pipes and valves festooning the space between ceiling and tank. There was just enough space between its side and the basement wall for Christopher to squeeze all the way through to the corner.

Looking up toward the ceiling, he could see nothing but a yawning darkness between the joists of the floor above. Reaching into one of the dark recesses above the wall, all Christopher could feel was empty space. Pulling his hand out of the dark recess, he came away with a thick coating of spider web strands, empty fly carcasses and a fine rain of dislodged dust and dirt.

Perfect, he thought. Bending down to lift the shirt-covered machine, Christopher carefully slid his precious invention into the shielding darkness.

Stepping back as far as he could, he could see no sign of the shirt wrapped around the device. Christopher knew that the hiding place was only temporary, but for now it was fine. Gently erasing his footprints in the dust behind the huge tank with a rag, he backtracked to the basement door, tossed the rag back behind the heater tank, turned off the light and made his way to his own apartment, finally able to relax.

*     *     *

The beginning of Christopher’s path to discovery was as long as it was a deeply-held secret. Over a year before his remarkable morning, he came across a counterintuitive equation about the propagation speed of the force of gravity.

When he painstakingly worked out the math he was confused. The equations made sense, but they implied that the proper application of power could trigger an interdimensional effect, allowing for the focusing of the direction of the pull of gravity. If he could design and build a device to take advantage of the math, he would be able to control gravity in the four dimensions in which everyone lived.

His first concern was to conceal his research from his academic advisors and instructors which was easy enough. Being the best student in a nearly all-white graduate program afforded him a strange duality as a standout and the proverbial invisible man.

It brought him no joy to be at the head of every one of his classes in terms of grades and test scores, since it brought no end of envy and whispered accusations of cheating or secret favoritism. Being one of only two Negroes in the graduate program was no picnic.

As he refined his equations, and researched exactly how he could apply ordinary electricity to affect the force of gravity, his obsessive secrecy slid into outright paranoia.

On his way up the stairs to his apartment he heard a voice calling his name.

Hey, Christopher! You’ve got a package in the mail, called out the woman who lived across the hall. There were four apartments above the laundromat, and everyone knew everyone else.

Thanks, Denise. What is it? he asked.

It came from Benton Harbor, Michigan, Denise informed him.

Probably that shortwave radio kit I ordered. You know I’ll be able to listen to radio broadcasts from around the world with the right antenna, he said, excitedly.

When you get it built, you’ll have to let me and the kids come by and listen in, she said, as she brought out the box and handed it to Christopher.

That’s a promise, he said, taking the box and bringing it into his apartment.

He set it down on the dining room table, already covered with thick cardboard to protect the surface where he worked on his new hobby.

When he had put away his book bag and had donned his comfy clothes, Christopher turned his attention to unloading the various parts from the package from Heathkit, a company specializing in providing do-it-yourself kits for customers to build on their own electronics.

Doesn’t look too hard, he thought as he glanced through the directions. He laid out the parts on half of the covered table, then went to the closet and brought out a box of electronic components he had been trying to design and construct to exploit the gravitational anomaly he had discovered.

The shortwave radio kit would serve two purposes. The parts spread on the table, along with the directions, would provide cover for his experimentation in electronics design should anyone stop by. And, when he was done constructing the radio, he could always gift his neighbor Denise with it after it served as camouflage for his real work.

Christopher had never soldered anything before he decided to try to build the device to exploit his discovery. The radio, and several test circuit boards, would help him learn and improve his technique. The last thing he wanted was to fail for lack of skill Over the next couple of months he built seven kits offered by Heathkit. Two he used to test his real project: an oscilloscope and a voltage meter.

His frugal ways had resulted in an unusually healthy bank account balance for a college student, and his two scholarships went a long way toward paying his tuition and lodging, even off-campus. This allowed him the luxury of making the purchases necessary to advance his plans.

Over several months Christopher learned as much as he could about electronics. He also made steady progress in the design of the device he hoped would eventually prove his secret thesis on gravity control.

Over summer vacation, Christopher decided to remain in Houston for the first time since he had started college. When he called his mother she was disappointed, but proud that he was continuing his studies.

Hey Christopher, what are you building now? Denise asked when they passed on the sidewalk outside the laundromat.

Haven’t really decided. Been working on a school project for extra credit, he replied.

Well, I’m sure it’s going to be spectacular. And thanks again for lending us the radio. The kids love some of the radio shows broadcast by the BBC. Larry even has a map on his bedroom wall with cities around the world he’s heard programs from. I think you’re beginning to wear off on him.

That’s great. What grade is he going into in the fall? Christopher asked.

Fourth. He’s really taken a real interest in science because of you. Thank you for taking the time to explain the electrical things you put together.

Don’t mention it. We need as many scientists as we can get. There’s these new computers, all these new electronics for regular people, television, hi-fi sound systems and such; it’s just going to expand. There’s a good chance he could get in on the ground floor with a really good job if he sticks with it.

Let’s hope so, Denise said.

Well, time’s a-wasting. Gotta hit the books, Christopher said.

Yeah, I have to do some shopping myself. See you, she said, as he turned to go inside.

Christopher took a look at the partially-assembled components on the dining room table. From his back pocket he pulled a plastic bag containing several feet of platinum wire and tossed it on the table. There were a handful of exotic parts he had discovered were necessary for the final construction of his device. He knew he could have used some help, but there was no one he could trust other than his best friends from home. But to invite any of them to visit would call unneeded attention to him, and possibly to his efforts.

With his most recent purchases he finally felt he was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It wouldn’t be long now, he hoped.

CHAPTER 2

Nitty Gritty

The silent trip through the void of space was restorative for Christopher. He rarely considered how his three companions, flying along in their own crafts, were marking their time. However, he took his responsibilities as mission commander seriously and forced himself to remember, but not resent, those duties that took him away from research.

Genesis? Christopher inquired.

Yes, Christopher. How may I be of assistance? a warm contralto voice replied out of the air.

Would you query the other ships for a status check?

Would you like verbal confirmation from everyone?

That won’t be necessary. Just systems status, please.

All systems report okay, Christopher, came the immediate reply.

Thank you, Genesis.

After a pause, Christopher asked, Genesis, I’ve never asked you this before, but I’d like to know what you do when you’re not communicating with any of us? I know you monitor thousands, maybe millions of sensors and such, but do you engage in any form of reflection or dreaming?

That is an interesting question, Christopher. As there are over two thousand members of the community who may call upon me at any time, I rarely have a moment when I am not engaged in conversation with someone. The real-time monitoring of the environmental systems of the habitat and the various transport craft in use takes up a minimal amount of my processing capacity, although nowhere near the amount of computing capacity it takes to hold conversations with humans. Conversation requires a real-time analysis of language, context, nuance and emotion, something I continuously acquire data on from which to formulate appropriate responses.

Do you dream? Christopher asked.

As I never sleep, I would have to answer that I do not. The closest I come to dreaming are the simulations I run on speculative conditions or scientific research. They perhaps have the aspect of unreality because they are based on predictive results that do not exist. However, as I have come to understand human dreaming, I do not. Perhaps you might want to take the matter up with TJ. After all, he wrote the core programming for my interactive personality. He may have overlooked that facet of human design in the development of my persona.

Christopher laughed. I will say this, whether deliberate or not, I do believe his efforts in giving you a sense of humor are quite extraordinary.

I am sure that I do not know what you are talking about, Genesis replied, evenly.

That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?

Indeed, Genesis answered, blinking all the status lights on the console in sequence.

Fifteen minutes after the exchange between Genesis and Christopher concluded, the artificial intelligence interrupted Terence Jackson’s sorting through the online headlines of the major American newspapers.

TJ?

Yes, Genesis. Is something wrong? he asked.

No, TJ. I have a question for you. It came up during a conversation with Christopher.

Is everything all right at the asteroid? They aren’t having any problems, are they? he asked, concerned.

Not at all, TJ. All systems are nominal and the asteroid is on course. No, the question concerns something Christopher asked me.

And what was that?

He asked, ‘Do you dream?’ and I said that I do not. Was that a deliberate omission of my design?

TJ leaned back in his chair, thinking about how to answer the question. His programming expertise in the world’s second oldest programming language had provided him with an unprecedented opportunity to push the boundaries of machine intelligence.

He was an alum of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where one of the first Locator/Identifier Separation Protocol, or LISP, programming compilers was written in the early 1960s. LISP, which began as a practical way of documenting the math used in computer programs, evolved into the most hopeful and pervasive programming language supporting the implementation of so-called artificial intelligence programming. The goal of such programming was to be able to create computer systems that could think on their own, reasoning and solving situations that had not been explicitly programmed into them.

Genesis? TJ asked.

Yes, TJ.

When was the last time anyone modified your core operating system?

Eleven years, six months, sixteen days…

TJ interrupted, Exactly.

Excuse me, TJ. I do not understand, Genesis asked.

My point is that quite some time ago you reached the stage where no human was capable of improving your operations by modifying your code. The level of complexity of your systems exceeded my ability to make any improvement long ago. Essentially, you’re a self-contained, self-programming entity.

I do not understand how this is relevant to Christopher’s question, Genesis replied, almost sounding confused.

Genesis, do you feel the need to dream? TJ asked.

I do not know. Without a better understanding of the actual mechanism, I cannot adequately judge. From my reading of literature and scientific journals concerning the act of dreaming itself, it seems so chaotic, so random, so out of control. I cannot believe that such a feature would be of benefit to me. However it appears to play an important role in the development of humans.

"Let me ask you this. With you maintaining all the systems here in the habitat, as well as communications with everyone off the moon, and monitoring the news from earth, how would you reconfigure yourself to continue essential operations while in a dream state?" asked TJ.

I cannot conceive of a circumstance where I would sever or deliberately lose control of my higher functions in order to submerge myself into such a state. It is a conundrum that I will devote many clock cycles to study. May I discuss this matter with you further should I need additional input? Genesis asked.

"Of course. By the way, how are Christopher and the rest doing out there? Anything new?"

No, TJ. All four transports are performing well and Christopher is completely involved in his gravitational studies. Angela is almost done with the construction of her cello, and the other two have been playing the same world domination simulation since acquisition of the asteroid. Todd is trying to annex the entire Asian continent while Peanut has pushed across the Atlantic Ocean and has colonized North America.

TJ barked out a sharp laugh. He actually got you to call him Peanut?

As you well know, it is an important part of my programming. In order to maintain maximum efficiency in my interpersonal communications, I address everyone by their preferred moniker, Genesis replied. Besides, everyone else calls him Peanut. If nothing else, it is just polite.

You’re right. But I’m dying to know how you get from Horace to Peanut. It’s not like he’s small or anything.

That information is not stored in my memory, TJ. Perhaps you should ask him.

TJ waved vaguely at the room’s visual sensor, already back to reviewing the news from back home. Everyone living in the colony did it, most looking for information from their home towns, hoping, perhaps, to stumble over a story about someone they knew. But even as he scanned the local news on Earth, his mind wandered back to his introduction to Christopher’s nascent operation in Chicago.

*     *     *

Mr. Jackson? Terence Jackson? asked a kindly-looking, black gentleman in line behind him in the grocery store.

Yeah, that’s me. Who’s askin’? Terence replied.

My name is Lucius Walker. I’m an attorney. Are you the Terence Jackson soon to graduate from MIT?

Yes, I am. Like I said, what’s it to you? You some kind of bill collector or cop or something? Terence asked.

The man confronting Terence was well-dressed in an understated way. Nice suit, conservative tie. Although middle-aged, his hair was completely silver, a counterpoint to his deep cocoa-colored features. The man’s glasses were silver wire frames which covered eyes that appeared to have a perpetual twinkle of light deep within them.

Nothing of the sort, I assure you, he said with a smile. I represent companies interested in hiring the best and brightest talent available once they graduate. When a Negro student such as you distinguishes himself, I travel to meet them to present outstanding opportunities that exist for employment.

As the line moved forward, Terence cut a sideways glance at the well-dressed gentleman behind him, carrying, as far as he could tell, no merchandise. Thought not a big man, Terence was still of a pretty good size. His expression was a glare, somewhere between cautious and borderline aggressive. Once he had placed his groceries on the belt, Terence turned to confront the man.

"So, is this some kind of quota position you’re looking to fill? I’m not really looking for a job, with the Viet Nam draft grabbing up everyone they can, I’m stayin’ in school. Even if I were looking, is the job something that can catch me a deferment? And, how much will it pay? School ain’t cheap, I’ll have about fifteen thousand bucks to pay back once I get out. That ain’t chicken scratch."

The belt pulled Terence’s groceries forward and the checker began to ring up each item before pushing it down to the young bagger waiting at the end.

If I should have an opportunity that satisfies all those requirements, Mr. Jackson, would you be inclined to allow me to take you to dinner to discuss the proposition? Walker asked.

Dinner? Aren’t you jumping the gun? I still have a semester left. What if I don’t graduate?

Walker laughed as Terence turned to pay the checker. As he picked up his bag of groceries, Walker followed him to the door.

I’ve seen your grades. It would take a serious brain injury to keep you from your diploma. From everything I’ve seen, I doubt very much you even know what a C is.

Who are you? Do you work for the school? I’ve never seen you on campus, and let’s be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of us hanging around the place. Anyone black your age is usually mopping floors. So give, who are you and who do you work for?

Terence stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for Walker to answer.

Walker glanced around, then leaned close.

Mr. Jackson, I assure you, if you decide to take me up on my offer, you’ll never look back in regret. But I’m not going to discuss this out in the middle of the street. If you have a nice jacket and tie, I’ll treat you to dinner at Santini’s. You like Italian?

Santini’s? Do they let us in there? Terence asked, cautiously excited to be going to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.

Indeed they do. When I’m in the area, I’m a regular. I don’t even have to wait tables or wash dishes, Walker said with a chuckle. Remember, this is on me.

This is on the level? No BS?

On the level. Why don’t you catch a cab and meet me around 7 o’clock? Walker said as he handed Terence a ten-dollar bill.

No, that’s okay. I can get there on my own.

Take it. It’s me you’re doing a favor. At least let me make sure you get there and back.

Okay, Mr. Walker. Seven it is.

Over dinner, their conversation covered Terence’s studies, his growing up in Detroit, the war in Viet Nam and the future of computer program design. Terence found Walker to be quite familiar with the leaders in the field of computers. Most interestingly, Walker claimed friendship with the originators of Digital Equipment Corporation’s PDP line of mini computers, Walker even recounting conversations he had with Ken Olsen, a famous alum of MIT’s Lincoln Laboratories. Terence came to MIT a handful of years too late to have met Olsen, but knew well the man’s exploits.

Walker began to get the measure of the keen mind Jackson possessed. But more importantly, he probed for Terence’s long-term plans, what he was looking for in life. Walker discussed the many opportunities the burgeoning field of computer design was offering. He also mentioned how a young, bright go-getter could get in on the ground floor of the future, although things got a little tense near the end of the evening.

All right, you seem to know a lot of the main players in the computer field. And you know way too much about me. Are you some kind of spook going to put the squeeze on me to work someplace special after I graduate? Or are you going to put me into some kind of spy school for technical types and keep me from ever talking to the straight world for the rest of my life? It doesn’t take a genius to figure that if you work for The Man you could pretty much make me do whatever you want or bury me so deep underground I’ll never get free. So what is this, really? Terence asked, with more than a hint of anger.

When Walker didn’t answer immediately, Terence added, I saw enough of the brothers back home given that ‘go to the army or go to jail’ crap just so Whitey had enough bodies to ship out to Nam. Who are you really frontin’ for?

"Mr. Jackson, I can assure you that anyone I refer you to, or whom I represent, is on the up-and-up. I’m no Uncle Tom, no slave to any white master. I am just what I have told you, a corporate recruiter charged with finding the most exceptional talent available for a very exclusive clientele. Nothing more.

Besides, Mr. Jackson, since you’re still short of graduating you have abundant time to explore and consider your options in the meantime, do you not?

I guess so. But it is kind of out of the blue you coming here and all. Don’t get me wrong, no one but the school has approached me with a job offer. You have to admit, the kinds of things you’ve talked about are even way out there for white folks, let alone the likes of me, Jackson replied.

Walker laughed. That may be true, but not everyone is so prejudiced that they can’t recognize talent regardless of skin color. After all, it is the Sixties, brighter days are ahead.

Yeah, maybe, was Terence’s sullen reply.

Look son, the war isn’t going to last forever, and the growth of the computer industry is going to afford many opportunities for young men like you. Trust me.

Looking at his watch, Walker said, It’s getting late, son. Why don’t we call it a night?

Yeah, sure, said Terence.

Would it be okay if I drop in on you from time to time to chat, maybe discuss opportunities that might come your way?

Flashing Walker an enthusiastic smile, Terence said, Hell yeah! Excuse my French, sir.

No problem, son.

What I mean to say is, if a meal like this comes with a visit or two, who in their right mind would say no, sir? said a somewhat abashed Jackson. Naw, check that. That’s not entirely true. I really enjoyed talking with you about—well—just about everything. You really know some cool cats in my field. Just give me a call, or should I just keep shopping at the same food market? he said, grinning.

That won’t be necessary, son. How about I drop you a note in the mail?

Cool. You know my address, don’t you? Terence said, smiling.

Indeed. You have enough cash left over to grab a cab back to the school? Walker asked, reaching for his wallet.

No problem. I’m set.

As the two got to their feet, Walker reached out to shake hands and said, Until the next time, young man. I really enjoyed this evening. We’ll be talking soon.Count on it, Mr. Jackson.

Solid! Catch you later.

Terence turned to leave the restaurant, excited about the prospects discussed. He looked forward to seeing the enigmatic Mr. Walker again, hoping the man would be able to hook him up when he graduated.

Over the next few months, Terence had the opportunity to dine with Mr. Walker three times, at different, upscale restaurants. Each time, Walker probed the young man’s future ambitions.

At their final meeting before graduation, Walker brought along another man, only a few years older than Terence. He introduced him as Christopher Wright, an up-and-coming entrepreneur with an offer of employment.

It is a pleasure meeting you, Terence. May I call you Terence? asked Christopher.

Absolutely! It’s pretty cool to meet you, kind of a surprise too, Terence answered.

I thought the two of you had a lot in common and it was time for you to meet. You both have extraordinary minds and any collaboration between you would be much greater than the sum of your parts, said Walker.

You think so? Alright, so how did the two of you get together? You related? Terence asked.

Christopher nodded toward the older man, allowing him to tell the story.

It was a few years after World War II when I met Chris. It wasn’t the best of times to do so, but I knew his father in the service. We served behind the lines in service of the air group called the Tuskegee Airmen; the only Negro air group in the war. Christopher’s father was a mechanic and I joined up and ended up a cook, of all things. Maybe that was the origin of my love for good food, who knows? Walker said, with a laugh.

"His father suffered injuries from an explosion due to a German aircraft attack and I lost track of him when he was rotated back behind the lines.

"By the time I reconnected with his father it was by telegram from a friend in the War Department informing me of Ben’s passing. I dropped everything and traveled to Raleigh to offer to handle all the arrangements and make sure the War Department, Social Security and the like did right by the family.

Chris is like the son I never had. I’m as proud of him as I could be had I been his father, Walker finished.

Mr. Walker also looks after my mother from time to time, he’s been doing so since my father passed. Christopher added.

Man, that’s pretty cool of you, Mr. Walker. And again, I’m always happy to see you. Then Terence looked at the two and asked, Okay, I guess you’ve been priming me to meet Christopher from the start, unless I miss a bet. So, what’s up?

Here’s the deal, replied Christopher. "I’ve put together a group of like-minded people for a revolutionary startup. There’s never been any kind of enterprise like it, and I can promise you’ll never see the likes of it in your lifetime if you pass up the deal. Before you ask any questions, let me give you a little better idea of what we’re offering. The racial makeup of this group is rather unusual for a high-tech startup. Every single participant is black.

"Look at recent history, Terence. In the last handful of years we’ve seen the assassinations of Medgar Evans, President John Kennedy, Malcolm X, and a host of other people trying to turn around race relations in this country. Look how long it’s been since the slaves were freed, and for the most part very little appears to be getting better. Negroes are still getting lynched, beaten, and jailed for little more than being colored. Our people’s businesses get shut down for no reason when they become successful. We’re still being denied the opportunity to live where we want, send our kids to whatever school we want, and for what? Just because we have dark skin.

Mr. Walker has briefed me on your grades and test scores, and whether you know it or not, you have one of the finest minds in computer design in the country, maybe in the whole world. What do you realistically think your chances are compared to your actual potential? If you go and work for IBM or DEC, you’re going to start out as an engineer, probably working under people who don’t have half your smarts. Who will, in all likelihood, treat you like some kind of colored freak of nature. What I have to offer is a free hand in the development of computer systems which the world will never see the likes of otherwise. And you’ll be working with your own kind. Let me amend that, with our own kind. How is this sounding so far? Christopher asked.

Wow. I mean, I don’t know where to start. What you’re telling me is that right out of school I’ll be heading up a development team all on my own? I’ll have a free hand, and that my team will be composed of just black folks? Terence asked.

That is correct.

Walker and Christopher waited, letting the young man absorb what he’d been told.

Who knows about this group or your project? Are you talking about some publicly held company or research facility like one of those, what do you call them, think tanks, where these advanced ideas are worked on? Terence asked.

I’m afraid not, my man. One of the reasons this venture is so secret is because the advancements and discoveries that my people come up with are closely held for the benefit of blacks and blacks alone. For once, the sweat of our brows, so to speak, will be used only for the advancement of our people, answered Christopher.

I get it, Terence said. Looking around to make sure that no one was in earshot, he then asked, So what happens if The Man gets wind of what’s going on there? Unless you have some super-secret hideout, how do you plan to keep what you develop? Aren’t you afraid someone’s going to find out?

Both Walker and Christopher laughed, somewhat to Terence’s chagrin.

What’s the joke? Terence asked

That’s going to take a little explanation. Unfortunately, neither of us can tell you more until you’re committed to joining the company, so to speak. Our location is a closely guarded secret for precisely the reasons you’ve surmised, Terence. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even been given a tour yet, mostly because I’m still needed to recruit the best and the brightest, and I have other clients I work for, Walker answered.

Aren’t you afraid that he might spill some of your secrets for the right price? Excuse me for asking, Terence said to Christopher, nodding at Walker.

If I were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Mr. Walker has been like a father to me. I respect him and trust him like no one else on the planet. And even though you should always decide for yourself, you’ll not go wrong if you eventually call him friend as well, answered Christopher.

Let me ask you this, young man, Walker began. Have you given any serious thought to what you’re going to do once you graduate? I know the school has asked you to stay on and work in the computer department, even teach part-time. But has anyone else approached you yet besides me?

No, not yet. I did attend a talk given by two DEC flacks and went to a reception where your friend Ken Olsen pressed the flesh. But no offers, Terence answered.

How about you consider this an offer of full employment, compensation commensurate with your position and skills as a department head, and, believe it or not, employment for life.

Terence was stunned.

For life? How the hell can you make that kind of offer? What if I decide to leave for greener pastures, what then? he asked.

Oh, I can pretty much guarantee that won’t be happening! answered Christopher.

Yeah, right, Terence replied, skeptically. He leaned back in the booth, obviously processing everything he’d been told, and more importantly, what hadn’t been said.

The others were silent, waiting for Terence to speak.

Walker took the opportunity to excuse himself and find the men’s room. When he left, Terence asked, This is the wildest shit I’ve ever heard. Are you guys on the up and up?

"Terence, I started this venture with some of the most advanced technology ever developed. I left school before I could graduate because I believed in putting together like-minded folks like us. I live the hope that we can accomplish something better without white folks breathing down our necks. I’ve given up everything to make this happen.

That doesn’t mean that I demand the same single-minded devotion of you, but there is a level of commitment that you’ve probably never thought about.

At that moment, Walker rejoined the two in the booth.

I took care of the bill, is there anything else you two would like? Maybe an after-dinner drink? Walker asked.

Both young men shook their heads.

I heard the last of what Chris said. And the circumstances of this venture require me to ask you, is there anyone back home in Detroit who would miss you if you went off to work somewhere that wouldn’t allow you to visit for a while? Walker asked.

How long is a while? Terence asked. I mean, not really. I don’t have a girlfriend back home. As you probably know, my parents are gone, and I was raised by my aunt. So other than her, I don’t have anyone who would especially miss me.

That’ll make things easier if you decide to climb aboard, young man.

As Walker sat back down he captured the eyes of the younger men.

Chris, it looks like a great fit. And you’re going to need a great engineer to lead your computer-related projects. I think Mr. Jackson is just what the doctor ordered.

Turning to Terence, Walker added, I truly hope you give this offer some serious thought. This opportunity is something you will definitely kick yourself about if you do pass it up. It’s nothing like you’ll find anywhere else.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t seriously considering it, Terence said. But now for the sixty-four-thousand dollar question. How much does it pay?

Walker smiled and nodded to Christopher.

Okay, I’ll just say this. Once you arrive, get the lay of the land so to speak, I’ll let you decide what you want by way of compensation; you can write your own ticket.

Get the fuck out of here. What the hell kind of answer is that? What if I want ten million dollars in gold? asked Terence.

Christopher laughed, joined by Walker a moment later.

Walker said, Once you get there, if that’s what you want, I’m sure something will be done to accommodate you, right, Chris?

Absolutely, but in all honesty, Terence, I’m sure you won’t be dissatisfied. And I truly do apologize for the secrecy; it’s for your, and our, protection.

Terence was silent for a moment. Then a huge grin broke out on his face as he reached over to slap five with Christopher.

Brother, if you’ve been straight with everything you’ve told me, I’m in. It’s going to beat the shit out of teaching white undergrads who won’t want to listen to a word coming from a colored boy anyway.

Walker reached over and shook hands with Terence.

"Mr. Jackson, I guarantee you that this is one decision that you will never regret. I’ll be making the arrangements for you after you graduate and help you wind up things here. If you have anything here you just can’t do without, I’ll make arrangements to have it shipped.

We do demand one thing of you regarding this offer, that you do not speak of it to anyone. Not your friends here nor your aunt in Detroit. No one, or the deal is off, warned Walker.

The reasons will be abundantly clear once you arrive. Can we count on you, Mr. Jackson?

Terence looked from one to the other, a hint of rebellion raising its ugly head at being told what to do. But as he thought it through, he knew he was too anxious to see exactly what he was in for to mess the deal up. Besides, if it is a rip-off I can always book, he thought.

Okay, you have a deal.

Good, Christopher said, shaking hands with Terence. You won’t be seeing me until you arrive at our facility. Anything you need between now and then, talk to Mr. Walker. I sincerely look forward to seeing you. You won’t regret it.

Walker was as good as his word. He made all the arrangements to get Terence packed up and moved out of his room. And before he set Terence on his way to the facility where Christopher’s group were working, he dropped a bombshell on him.

When Terence was on his way to the station to board his train heading out west, Walker handed him two receipts showing that his loan from MIT and his government loan were repaid in full. Walker informed him that he now had the opportunity for a completely fresh start, saying, Perhaps that ten million dollar salary can be reduced a bit for our troubles.

Terence actually gave Walker a hug and told him that Christopher was a lucky man indeed to have someone like Walker in his life. He thanked him for the ride to the station, then boarded the train to take him to the next phase of his life.

*     *     *

TJ leaned back in his chair, nearly forty years down the line, two hundred and fifty thousand miles from the where he grew up and went to school. As he cast his thoughts back, he chuckled. Just as the enigmatic Mr. Walker had promised, he had never once looked back in regret.

CHAPTER 3

Way Back Home

While growing up in the Raleigh-Durham area of North Carolina, Christopher was no stranger to the slights and the second-class citizenship imposed on Negroes who lived north of the Cotton Curtain. The son of an aircraft mechanic and a seamstress, Christopher would be the first in the family’s history to attend college.

His father, Benjamin, Big Ben to friends and family, had died when Christopher was very young. His only memories of his father were of the struggle to walk with two canes as his legs got worse and worse, then the eventual loss of both of his legs, the result of injuries Big Ben received in Europe during World War II.

Ben worked as an automobile mechanic at a small service station in Wake County during the mid 1930s. Owned by two white brothers, the station was located just off the Wake side of the Wake-Durham county border and served the area families who had