Egos Eclipsed: Finding the Future in the Ashes of the Past

By Sidney Dutton Hoover

In near-future California, during a presidential election year, things are falling apart as never before. To escape inevitable drowning, innocent, isolated eighteen-year-old, homeschooled biologist Chik Cantera needs a lot of help fast. Environmental warming, a mysterious brain-rotting disease, terrorism, rabid right-wing politi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sidney Dutton Hoover
• Release date: Jul 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988420002

Sidney Dutton Hoover

Sidney Dutton Hoover was born before the dawn of the atomic age, recovered from polio, taught social dancing and college English, cooked in diners, fixed up and built houses, and provided several decades of probation services for Seattle Municipal Court. He was awarded a Master of Arts in English Literature by the University of Washington in 1968.

Book preview

one

When Chik Cantera turned sixteen, the United States Department of Internal Security classified him as a mid-level national security risk. They believed he was being groomed by Meeko Gallantos, a long-monitored, high-level national security risk. Escalating tensions between NATO and the Sino-Soviet Alliance triggered the Department of Internal Security’s increased interest in the Gallantos-Cantera cell.

Early in the summer, DIS awarded a no-bid contract to Simon Percy Sterling and Associates, a little-known firm in Palo Alto that did things for government and political entities that they could not do for themselves. Simon Percy Sterling’s management assigned the task of engaging the targets and earning their trust to Hasti Ferdowsi, a hard-to-rattle, twenty-three-year-old attorney. Despite being an SPS rookie, Ferdowsi’s track record was impeccable. To prepare for this challenging assignment, she reviewed background investigations and toured the Space Systems Command Center at Los Angeles Air Force Base.

DAY 1: CAMP CORINTH ON BASSWOOD LAKE

Camp Corinth on Basswood Lake was a 244-acre lakefront property deep in the Stanislaus National Forest southeast of Sacramento. In Central California, Camp Corinth had a reputation as a place where kids from all economic backgrounds could mingle as equals for a week. Corinthians often had revelations that stuck with them for life. As a teenager, Hasti Ferdowsi attended three times. Simon Percy Sterling arranged for her to be a Corinthian journey guide and for Chik Cantera to be awarded a Camp Corinth scholarship for outstanding homeschooled biologists.

On a toasty mid-August Sunday in mid-California, around midday, Hasti Ferdowsi parked her electric BMW in the Camp Corinth staff lot. She jogged to the nearby director’s residence to meet Oliver. He assigned Chik, Hasti, and a seasoned journey guide, Gloria, to Sentinel House, on the camp’s southern edge. Then, Oliver took Hasti to the Cantina, a gold rush-style log cabin, where mail and snacks were dispersed. Outside, the red, white, and blue hung like a sweaty Fourth of July polo shirt on the camp’s fifty-foot flagpole. The charter bus from the Bay Area honked as it entered the parking lot.

Chik was the last bus rider to enter the Cantina. He looked lost. A large army surplus pack filled absolutely to the bursting point dwarfed his five-foot-six, 130-pound frame. Motioning him over to her spot at the table, Hasti showed him a neutral smile and said, Hi, I am Hasti Ferdowsi. Let’s get you registered. Name?

Chik Cantera, he responded with a nod, but no hand. Good to meet you.

Hasti scanned the registration sheet, found his name, and explained, OK, Chik, you will be in Sentinel House, where Gloria and I are guides. It’s at the far southern end of the property. Let’s get you a name tag. Keep it on for the rest of the day. With me so far?

With you all the way.

Why don’t you look around for fifteen minutes until I finish my shift? Hasti suggested with a bright smile on her full, severe lips. Then we can pack our gear over to Sentinel together.

Outside the Cantina, Chik took off his pack, sat on the ground, and leaned back against his gear. He watched a co-ed group playing frisbee golf on Assembly Field. Groggy after the long, hot bus ride, he dozed off for a few minutes. When Hasti came out, she stood in front of Chik. Even though she was an inch taller and ten pounds heavier, she debated whether to offer him help. Then she put both hands where they could not be ignored and braced her legs. Chik took her hands at the wrist and popped up off the grass like a cat.

Hasti helped him sling his pack onto his back and said, Follow me to my car so that I can get my stuff. Then I will show you the most highly scenic route to our cabin, OK? I presume you appreciate the highly scenic?

Very much, Chik agreed, looking directly at her for longer than before. The black plastic frames of his glasses disappeared into the thick brown hair over his ears. Lead the way.

Hasti hoisted her pack out of her car’s trunk with ease. It was lighter than Chik’s. She was an experienced packer. She led him west through an area of contemporary structures used as a conference center in the off-season. At a campfire meeting ring on the lakeshore, they turned south along a wide, well-worn trail through ancient cedars and firs behind the rustic cabins fronting Basswood Lake.

To get him talking, Hasti asked, What do you want to get out of this week?

I don’t know, Chik said while shaking his head side to side. I’ve never been to a summer camp. I got a scholarship. I don’t know why. Everybody here looks very preppy. I won’t fit in here at all.

Hasti assured him, Everybody at Corinth is equal before Christ.

Nobody here will have the slightest interest in me.

Most kids who come here get a big takeaway even when they don’t expect to.

If you say so.

Arching a broad, well-plucked eyebrow and pursing her lips as if to speak, Hasti remained silent.

Everybody assigned to Sentinel Cabin stood in a circle at 1600 hours and introduced themselves. Hasti and Gloria gave brief remarks. Everybody got a copy of the ground rules.

Hey, what do you think so far? Hasti asked Chik after the others were gone.

I didn’t expect so many women.

Tilting her head and throwing a heavy braid of her dark brown hair back over her shoulder, Hasti said, When I was here as a camper, it was not co-ed.

Oh. How’s the Internet service?

Nonexistent. If you want anybody to know about something, you’d better write them a postcard. Corinth spins it as a plus since it supposedly helps us get serious about our business here.

Uh-oh, it never occurred to me that they’d put a camp in a dead zone.

When this camp was founded, the country was nothing but dead zones. And yet, the people have prospered.

Have they?

Scrunching up his nose drew attention to the tiny blue stone in his right nostril. From there up to the bridge of his horn-rims, his nose was broad and robust compared to the narrowness of his cheeks. Chik brushed back the hair on his forehead and took a deep breath. They left the cabin at an eager pace. Along the most direct route to Mona Lodge, Corinth’s dining and meeting hall, Hasti pointed out additional indisputably pleasant features of the property. For the next four days, Chik and Hasti walked together between Sentinel House and Mona Lodge twice a day.

After lunch on Wednesday, Hasti pulled him to a stop by his shirttails, wiped the sweat off her nose, and asked, Don’t you ever worry that you are too much of an outsider to be of much use to society?

It was so quiet she thought she heard Chik’s heart speed up.

I am on the spectrum, Chik said shrugging. He resumed walking. Why can’t I be an insider and an outsider?

Hasti was at a loss for words: the background briefing had said nothing about autism, but he did not seem to be joking.

DAYS 5 & 6:

Being summoned to Oliver’s office at 1000 hours shocked Hasti. His exasperation showed in his voice when he said, Brother Cantera slipped out of Sentinel House last night and roamed the grounds, apparently solo. What could he be up to?

How did you find out?

With a straight face, Oliver said, The night security officer reported it.

Night security officer? Is that a new position?

As an employee working under a national security contract, she ought to have been told.

Nobody besides us knows about him yet, Oliver whispered. He has night vision and some secret technology and knows what he is doing. He says Chik has been out roaming a few nights. If he keeps this up, DIS will be forced to pick him up.

Excuse me? Hasti objected. Arrest him?

He could be up to no good.

Such as? she pressed.

Blowing up the dam. Or, more likely, going nuts.

How about if I just ask him what he’s doing? That should put a stop to it, I would think.

Let me talk it over with Raymundo and get back to you, Oliver said picking up his phone and motioning for her to leave.

Hasti was fully dressed in her sleeping bag. At 2330 hours, when Chik crept out of Sentinel House and into the night, Hasti tailed him along scanty paths through old-growth evergreens. He stopped at the thin strand of lakeshore beach called Watercraft Haven where canoes, kayaks, and dinghies sat upside down, linked with a heavy chain. Chik went straight to a particular dinghy, smoothly flipped the fiberglass hull right side up, and dragged it to the water. Hasti approached him casually and demanded, What are you doing?

Going for a row.

Not without me you aren’t, she said, stepping in and taking the middle seat, facing the rear.

That’s where the oarsman sits, Chik said.

I know. Get in!

You get out. You can’t come! Two wrongs don’t make a right. Outside the camp property, deep in the forest, the sound of a four-wheel-drive truck in compound low groaned through the damp dark. Chik said jokingly, That could be the law.

That’s no joke. I’ve changed my mind. She sprang out of the dinghy. I’ll wait here until you get back.

As Chik approached the other side of Basswood Lake, the burned-bare tree trunks of once majestic evergreens poked up out of the darkness aided by the last quarter moon. A large fire decimated the area across the lake from the camp a few years ago. While firefighters saved a marina from the fire, it fell victim anyway because of lost business. Now it was vacant and slowly being stripped of one thing after another.

Chik steered into shadows and beached the dinghy. He trotted toward a metal utility pole at the edge of the former parking lot. Although its payphone was gone, a field service call box remained, secured with an old combination lock. Chik opened the lock in less than a minute. Inside was a device that looked like a primitive dial telephone. He messed around at the call box for fifteen minutes. Then he returned to the boat, launched it, and rowed slowly back to Corinth’s side of Basswood Lake.

When he got back to Watercraft Haven, Hasti stood at the shore.

This is the first time I’ve done anything illegal, he told her.

"I bet. And you call yourself a hacker."

No, I don’t! I never have. And to the extent I was, I have given it up.

I hope so.

Maybe he was being honest. Hasti breathed a sigh of relief. The way Chik said illegal reminded her of a mash-up of Marlon Brando as a mobster and an exasperated Bugs Bunny, an octave lower than she expected it.

Hasti returned to Sentinel House alone after being gone an hour and a half. All the boys and Gloria were still sound asleep.

Friday morning, Hasti and Gloria were summoned to Oliver’s office. After being questioned by Raymundo, they had a speakerphone meeting with a big shot who ordered, Everybody writes their own report on what happened last night. Don’t compare notes. Don’t skimp on details. Please don’t give me your theories on what it means. Send them directly to me via ForceLink. Say nothing about it to anybody who is not at this meeting.

Got it, Mr. Bradland, Raymundo said.

We learned anything new? Bradland demanded. Anything? Anybody?

We must obtain the subject’s landline modem, Raymundo insisted. We have reason to believe its operation is illegal. We have lawyers figuring out which laws he is breaking.

Make it snappy, Bradland said, or we will have trouble getting a warrant.

Warrant? Raymundo asked. Really?

Yes. Warrants up, down, and sideways. Everywhere warrants, Bradland insisted. This might be big. We don’t want to run into a technicality. If you haven’t got one yet, start immediately, before you lay a finger on him. What level of sophistication are we looking at, Clyde?

Hard to say, Chief.

As they stood up for a group stretch, somebody knocked on the front door and shouted, Anybody home?

It was Chik.

What can we do for you, son? Oliver demanded.

"I don’t know if turning myself in is the correct way to phrase it, Chik said. If anybody is looking for me, well, here I am. I’ve got my gear. You’ve got the rest of my stuff. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want."

You’ve got the modem you used at the marina with you? And you’re giving it to us? Raymundo clarified.

Yes, sir, I won’t even insist on a receipt. You see, I want to go legit.

Raymundo could not help saying, I’ll believe that when I see it.

Hand it to the DIS. After six years of scratching around the tree’s roots, they glimpsed the forest. Their attempt to scare Chik Cantera flopped. Thank God for Hasti Ferdowsi.

By Sunday, the big shot DC client was both pleased and irate with the Sanguine Eclipse Phase One: pleased with how Chik Cantera took to Hasti Ferdowsi and irate about the motherboard reboots plaguing scattered satellites. With some time to analyze all the data, the first signs the Space Force system was hiccupping came on Thursday morning, before Chik rowed to the marina. Sporadic at first, the autonomous rebooting gradually sped up. While not the start of World War III, it undermined confidence in readiness. Space Force investigators had not yet figured out why the rebooting started or how to stop it.

two

DAY 9: PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

At Camp Corinth, Hasti and Chik made no arrangement to get together again. But when Hasti wrote in her report summarizing Phase One of Sanguine Eclipse, I’m not exactly his type, she only half believed it herself. Anyway, it was beside the point: she had a job to do.

Snail mail to his post office box would take too long. Hasti straightened an inch-tall stack of Simon Percy Sterling’s background information on Chik and positioned it in the middle of her never-cluttered desk. Pink highlighter tracks dominated the top page. She drummed on her desk with two fingers. She picked up her phone with her right hand and stared into space without unlocking the screen. Finally, she twirled a pencil around with her left hand.

Hasti walked down the hall, into her supervisor’s office, and announced, I’m going home early, changing outfits, and driving into the city to see if I can run into Cantera at the Go Club.

Her boss, Sally, was no help. At first, she barely looked up. Then, realizing she would only get this chance to pay attention to something that might turn out to be relevant, she asked, What do they do at the Go Club?

They play the most challenging board game ever conceived. It’s more complex than chess.

It sounds like a bar for swingers, Sally said dismissively. "You’ll get a nice fat bonus if you pull this off. We need to have a working relationship with Mr. Cantera by the end of the week.

Also, take a pair of Eye-Links and wear them. Somebody might expect me to be responsible for you. A maniac could try to kidnap you. You must wear the Eye-Links. They are not optional.

I hate those glasses, Hasti protested.

Use them to help you cheat. At Go, silly. Beat him, and he’ll beg for more.

You are disgusting.

That is my specialty. Wear them. Promise?

On my honor. Hurt that Sally was already shuffling papers, Hasti held out her arms and asked, How do I look?

She wore a thin cashmere top over a short black skirt over orange leggings.

Sally briefly glanced before quipping, Won’t that European wool be a bit warm today?

Not when you factor in the breeze, Hasti said with a slight smirk.

Hasti checked out the latest Eye-Link Eleven, which still featured the original thick black frames, and configured it to her phone. She could be aggressive when it was helpful. She didn’t mind looking nerdy if it was for her safety. The cheating part, though, made her stomach tight.

DAY 9: JAPANTOWN, SAN FRANCISCO

Hasti left her apartment in the Green Acres district of Palo Alto and drove west on Arastradero Road to I-280 North. While the BMW mostly drove itself, Hasti focused on staying calm. She found 101 so crazy that it was better to turn the autopilot off. On Webster, near the Peace Plaza, she found a space at an electric car charging station and hooked the car up. She left the key fob with the attendant with instructions to keep the car until she returned to get it.

People of all races and ages crowded the sidewalks, out and about despite a bracing fog. Many walked as if they intended to get a lot done before dark set in. Hasti went four blocks up Webster and turned right on Pine.

In two blocks, on the other side of Pine, was a classic 1901 four-story designed and built to be a Buddhist temple. It survived the 1906 earthquake and fire. In the 1940s and ’50s, the congregation weathered dark hatreds. But it could not survive the forces of American secularization. Unable to afford the upkeep and taxes, the remaining Buddhists decided to rent it out to community groups.

A half flight of steps up from the sidewalk gave access to the basement, side setback, and rear. Stairs to the main floor went from the edges of the property to an elevated front porch. A sign on the front door said the Go Club would be open from five to ten o’clock.

Hasti had time to look around the neighborhood. Many people lived outdoors, often in tents erected on parking strips. As their numbers grew, San Francisco passed ordinances requiring proof of residency to live on the streets. Each approved camper got a six-by-ten-foot tarp that went beneath their tent. Legal campers received free trash collection, an electric hookup to charge their devices, and a small reading light.

Nearby, only one of the three approved spaces was occupied. Hasti paused at the tent on the edge of Cottage Row Mini Park and bent over to peer at the attached residency verification, which bore the name of Chik Cantera.

Hello, anybody home? she asked after seeing a dark form inside.

Who is it?

I am a friend of Chik’s.

He is at the club.

The club isn’t open yet.

For Chik, the club is always open. Leave me alone.

Hasti moved on, wondering why Chik needed a tent. He supposedly had a job.

When Hasti returned to the Buddhist temple, its front door was unlocked. Letting herself in, she saw nobody around the entry area. She heard two faint voices coming from the doorway into the main hall. She walked toward the doors and made a coughing sound. The voices stopped. She stuck her head into the hall and almost bumped into Chik.

His expressive facial muscles could not hide his surprise at how different Hasti looked with her hair in two turrets rather than in braids and wearing a skirt rather than jeans. As he approached, Hasti stood and waited to see if he would hug her. Instead, he mumbled, What a surprise! Where did you get those glasses?

We can talk about them later. Why don’t you show me around?

The next floor contained a narrow apartment facing the street, occupied by caretakers, Alan and Coco Pi. A sign on the suite’s door stated: Asia Island Cultural Institute. At the edge of the third story, narrow stairs led up to the attic.

On their way up those stairs, Hasti asked Chik, And this is where the Go Club meets?

No, we meet in the sanctuary, where I found you, Chik said, stopping and turning around to face her. This is a little garret where we can have some privacy.

Privacy? Come to think of it, that was something scarce at Camp Corinth.

The fourth-floor gable enclosed a cozy space for two. A classic, low Go table flanked by two thick cushions was in the middle. A small window looked out the rear up the hill toward Lafayette Park.

Chik asked, Are you good with no chairs? I can go get one.

My hips are well stretched, Hasti said with a smile.

I wish I could say the same.

Yoga routines work for that, she pointed out.

It’s a part of my personality, he insisted. It’s something I’m working on via depth dreaming.

They removed their coats and hung them on hooks on the door.

As if she wanted to change the subject, Hasti said, Self-image plays a big role.

The campers at Corinth spent the week in sandals, shorts, and sweatshirts. This being the first time they had seen each other in civilian clothing, Hasti took particular note of Chik’s outfit, which was unique, if nothing else. On his feet, Saint Laurent pointed-toe ankle boots, under thirty dollars at A Golden Moment thrift store on Clement Street near Roosevelt Middle School. Next up, black