Alex finally arrived back at his hotel room around 3:30 a.m. As he’d expected there was indeed a fair number of messages waiting when he got back. One from the Consulate, probably wanting to assess any damage to international relations; three from the Ministry, one of which was from Captain Andrews; and finally, several from his parents.

He was surprised to see that there wasn’t anything from Gerry or Jessica. They had been his best friends as long as he could remember. They probably just hadn’t found out about the scrap with the Matrons at the Boom Room.

Alex took off his coat and got some water. Settling into a chair, he dialed the number for his parents and resigned himself to receiving a good deal of stern lecturing

The figure of Captain Andrews sat in front of several television monitors watching footage of the fight at the Boom Room. Fortunately for him, the security cameras had been rolling the entire time and had managed to catch the fight from several angles. If the Matrons had been a bit more
security conscious, they would have had no record of the previous evenings events. It had been a sheer fluke that he’d been able to get copies of the tapes. The surveillance team had lost sight of Alexander while one of them was getting some pretzels at a corner stand. Looking briefly at his watch, Andrews noted that the team’s re-training should commence in about two hours.

Andrews took another sip of from his tea and spoke into the microphone. “Rewind Maestro102 to time index 22:47.”  The computer stopped at the frame when the Draughtsmen arrived and re-started the video from the point where Alex stood up from the chair he’d been ordered to sit in by Vox.

“Decrease speed by 50%,” he said and the video image slowed. On screen, Alex slowly drew back his hand as though to throw something. Andrews watched on monitor two as a dark mass formed in Alex’s hand. “What are you doing Alex and how?”

Thinking to pick up some clues in the dialog, Andrews ordered an increase in the volume and filtered out more of the background sound -- crashing chairs, breaking bottles and the music. He was moderately successful but there was little he could do with the music. “too loud I
suppose...” He watched the feed several more times from three different angles. Nothing. And the “music” playing on the club sound system didn’t help matters.

“I wish I could filter out that damned noise! How can anyone concentrate while listening to that drivel. Why people listen to --”  Andrews froze as the idea slammed into him. “Oh bloody hell” He ignored the computer’s request for clarification and spoke again.  “Retrieve Maestro076. Display on monitor four.”

The image that came up on the new monitor was of Alex and Lieutenant Johnson during last months sparring match. Johnson had recovered quickly enough but everyone was still mystified as to how Alex had managed to win. As the video progressed, Johnson definitely had the upper hand and seemed to be working up to finishing the match when Alex’s stance changed. He seemed more alert, rested. When Johnson moved in again, Alex had no problems fending off the attacks and even began counter-attacking.

“Freeze image. Filter out foreground noise. Increase volume 30%. Rewind to time index 14:38. Resume.” The video started again at the point just before Alex’s performance increased. The strains of a song, one called “Thunderstruck” he discovered, could be heard in the background. As the song progressed Alex’s performance improved. Greatly. Then came the
lightning. He had seen this footage many times but had never made the connection. He watched as Alex’s fist, trailing lightning all the way, made contact with Lieutenant Johnson’s jaw, sparks showering the immediate vicinity, and saw the reaction of the onlookers to the boom of the
resulting thunder. Andrews picked up the phone and punched a few numbers.

“I believe I have stumbled onto the secret of our young charge’s abilities. We’ll need to schedule a few tests.”

Alex had several hours to kill before his flight out so he decided to walk through Central Park for a bit. He walked for about half an hour and found an empty park bench. He was still running through the events of last night and, as much as had happened in the club, the part that he kept coming back to was his conversation with Knock-out -- Sarah -- outside of the police station. She was extremely beautiful, of course, and certainly fit her “hero” name. But she also seemed to have a working brain and a good heart. At least he hoped so. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with people. He began to wonder how well she would get on with Gerry and Jessica.

After a while, his thoughts drifted to his decision to apply to Juilliard. It looked like his study of physics would have to wait a while longer. He would like to think it was due to his desire to further develop his musical skills, but Sarah’s face kept surfacing in his thoughts. As he sat pondering his academic future, he began to hum.

“Brahms, isn’t it? Very nice. One of my favorites, in fact but I generally prefer Mozart,” said a nearby voice. Startled, Alex turned around to see who had spoken. He had some difficulty reconciling who he saw with what he’d heard the man say. To say that the man was dressed in
rags would have been a polite exaggeration. Every scrap of clothing the man wore had been patched too many times to count and then, apparently, run through a shredder. It was nothing short of a miracle that any of it kept from falling off of his body.

“Thank you Have you been there long? I didn’t see you when I sat down?” asked Alex.

“Hard to say. I don’t pay as much attention to the time as I used to,” replied the man who then added, “Would you have sat down if you had seen me?”

Embarrassed, Alex gave a little shrug and said, “Hard to say. I’d like to think so but...”

The old man, for Alex could now see that he seemed to be past middle age, chuckled. “Fair enough. Tell me, what thoughts could be so heavy as to make your face do that?” The old man furrowed his brow and frowned in a parody of Alex’s earlier expression.

Alex smiled, oddly at ease in the presence of the stranger. “I was just trying to decide what to do with the next couple of years of my life. I’d like to study physics but I’m probably going to go to Juilliard as my mother wishes.”

“There are worse things to study than music,” said the old man. “Tell me, when you’ve made your choice and you’re studying music, are you allowed to read other books?”, he asked with an almost comical seriousness.

“Well yes,” replied Alex suspiciously.

“Is there anything to keep you from reading up on physics in your spare time? As far as I know, there are no laws forbidding it. College is all well and good, but somewhere along the line, the idea sprouted up that unless you have a piece of paper saying how smart you are, you have no
business learning about the Universe. It’s a shame.”

The old man was silent after that and Alex almost thought he’d gone to sleep. Alex was about to nudge him when the old man turned, looked him in the eye and said, “I’d ask you to consider one thing in the next day or two. Consider that studying music and studying the way the Universe works may not be as different as you imagine. A symphony is composed of many notes and rhythms, sounds and silences. The orchestra that plays it is equally complex, consisting of a wide variety of instruments and musicians, even a conductor to help things along. There can be a profound intricacy in a simple string of notes.

“The Universe operates in a similar fashion, albeit on a far grander scale. The simplest particles stringing together to make up atoms, which in turn make various molecules. The symphony builds until entire solar systems and galaxies are made. And somewhere along the line, Life might even make an appearance.”

The old man paused again then smiled. “Maybe a bit too much information for such a fine afternoon. I should be going. People to meet, things to do, and all that. It was good to finally meet you, Alex. Be well.”

With that, the old man got up and started to walk off. Alex, shook his head as though to clear it and called after him, “Hey, wait! Who are you? What’s your name?”

The old man paused a moment, turned, smiled and simply replied, “Weaver.” He then walked around a bend in the path and was gone. It wasn’t until later that Alex realized that Weaver had called him by name even though Alex had never given it.
 

Home   Gaming Guidelines    PC Roster    NPC Roster