San Francisco, California, January 3, 2014, 7:50 a.m. PST.
The dark-haired man walked up to the reflective glass doors of the towering building. Massive letters hovered near the top of the tower; they read The Sotir Group. The man paused for just a moment to make sure he looked right. He smiled to himself, knowing he carried his 190 pounds well on his six-foot frame. He opened the doors with a smile of confidence on his face. He walked up to the security desk. His blue eyes gleamed with pleasantries.
“Alexander Lamb, I have an interview with Dr. Gordon.” His voice didn’t go up at the end of the sentence as he heard most sheeple do, and he took pride in that. His dad taught him to walk straight and talk straight. It pleased Alexander to see that the security guard behind the counter was brown-haired with bright green eyes.
“Mr. Lamb, welcome.” He handed him a visitor’s badge and told him to have a seat; someone would be out soon to see him.
Five minutes later, a tall tubby man with a graying beard and a tweed jacket came to collect him.
“Alexander, hello, it’s good to see you made it. I’m Dr. Gordon. You don’t mind if I call you Alexander, do you?”
“Not at all,” Alex said. Dr. Gordon has a rapid, breathy air about him.
“Good,” Dr. Gordon said.
They shook hands and walked deeper into the building. They took an elevator up quite high. On the way up, Alex thought back to how he ended up in this plush elevator.
Three months ago, Alex Lamb was at the end of his rope. Alex applied for the police academy and was rejected. He felt that it was because he was too smart. As he lay on his bed in his mother’s basement, he stared at a painting he had done of a warrior angel. He had given up.
He planned to load his Colt LE6920SOCOMII which he bought secondhand and go drop a few mud people. The Colt was in excellent condition. He would do his part to cleanse this great country. He would go out in a blaze of glory and be remembered for all time.
“Alex!” his mom had called from upstairs; you got mail.” She cackled at her own joke. Whatever it had been. Alex didn’t move or speak. Maybe she would shut up if he just ignored her. She had smashed his daydream.
“It’s a big package from someone called the Sotir Group.” His mom squawked. Alex lay there for a few seconds more when the memory crashed into him. One of his friends online talked about the Sotir Group and how they were looking for armed security agents. Alex’s dad had taught him to be respectful of guns and the awesome power you wield when you hold one.
He missed his dad; he had been taken too soon.
Alex followed the link his friend had given him on a whim. He had been sure he was going to get into the police academy. His test scores would be the highest they had ever seen. Alex Lamb had a near-photographic memory, and he read the entire study guide for the entrance exam several times. When he took the test, he recognized the material and breezed through it easily.
Had they rejected him too? If so, why would they send a big package to tell him he didn’t get it? Alex got out of bed quickly and went upstairs to retrieve the package.
“He’s alive!” his mom exclaimed when he emerged from the basement.
“Hey, Ma,” Alex replied, “where’s the pack…” The package was a large manila folder with the Sotir Group name and logo all over it. Alex picked it up and started to retreat to the basement, but his mother stood in his way.
“Open it! I wanna see too.”
Alex sighed and set the package back on the table, and opened it. He had no idea what to expect.
On the forty-eighth floor, the stainless-steel doors slid open, and they stepped out of the elevator car onto a plush red carpet.
“This way.” Dr. Gordon gestured, and Alex followed him to a well-furnished office. As Alex followed Dr. Gordon, he returned to his memory of getting the application; maybe there was something that could help him in this third and final interview.
After his mother saw it was just a stack of papers to be read and filled out, she lost interest and returned to watching T.V. Alex took the papers back to his basement room and laid them out on his bed.
At the age of 24, Alex Lamb was back in his mother’s house as he clawed his way back to his feet. He had become tired of the rat race of corporate America and decided he still had time to follow his dream to become a police officer. The reality was he had been laid off and took the opportunity to follow his dream.
When he was first extricated from the never-ending scramble for the few crumbs corporate deigned to let fall from their mahogany tables, Alex gathered certifications like playing cards. He felt he was too old for the military; besides he didn’t want to get brainwashed in boot camp. One of the things he picked up was his armed guard card. It opened several doors for him and he was able to get a few jobs as an armed guard. However, he found he hated the small jobs guarding places like pot dispensaries or banks. Both were places of gluttony and greed.
Now here he was, out of savings and out of options. Alex sat down at his desk and dug into the papers.
The more he read, the more he liked the Sotir Group. They were a philanthropic company, and they did God’s work all over the world. The Group was looking for a few good men to be security and were willing to train and house the candidates.
There seemed to be two career paths available: support and tactical. On a whim, Alex checked the tactical box. Of course, most people would check this box, but Alex was sure he could pass whatever test there was. There would be three interviews to determine if he was worthy of representing the Sotir Group’s name. The paperwork was ambiguous at best on the details of the job. Alex chalked it up to not being able to predict every situation perfectly and the legal team not wanting the company to get sued somehow.
Dr. Gordon sat heavily in his chair behind his desk.
“Have a seat, Alexander.” As Alex sat down, Dr. Gordon’s facial expression became serious.
“Alexander,” he said gravely. “I want to impress upon you the nature of this interview. This is the final step before we hire you.”
Alex just stared at him.
Clearing his throat, Dr. Gordon continued, “Well, okay. Do you have a problem with killing in self-defense?”
“No,” he responded instantly but in a measured voice. Why was that the first question?
“Good. Do you have a problem following orders when you do not completely understand the reasoning behind them?”
“Well, that depends. Do I trust the person giving the order?”
“Hmm, good question. How about no? This person just presents you with authorization to be able to give the order.”
“Then yes, I have a problem following ambiguous orders with no clear reasoning,” Alex knew this was a deal-breaker; most of these corporate types wanted blind allegiance. The need to ask questions and get straight answers was lost; sheeple these days just followed blindly.
“Good, good, I have one more…” Just then, Dr. Gordon’s phone rang, and he immediately picked it up. Until that moment Alex hadn’t realized there was a second phone on the large desk. It was big and gaudily red. How had he missed it?
Wow, he picked the phone up before the ring was over. Alex wondered who could be on the other end. After the first interview, Alex began to suspect this was some kind of government contracting job. However, by the second “interview”, he realized this company was doing more than helping people eat.
All the other candidates looked like him. The rhetoric they talked about was something he had been researching ever since he was laid off to make room for a person of color to be hired. The adventurer in him wanted to see where this job went. Would he get the chance to shoot at those brown bastards?
“Yes, Sir, right away, Sir,” he hung the phone up and motioned to a blank wall.
Alex looked in that direction, then back at Dr. Gordon, confused. Then a door seemed to appear mysteriously, the cedar paneled wall and swung open. Alex got up hesitantly and walked to the newly revealed entrance.
The room he looked into was well-lit, and there was a salt and pepper-haired man, mostly salt, hanging from a bar by the back of his knees doing hanging sit-ups.
When Alex walked in, the door closed quietly. The younger man just stood there, waiting for the gentleman to finish his set. Sweat dripped from him and pooled on the floor beneath him. He didn’t count out loud, so when he curled up the last time and swung down, it seemed abrupt. He wasn’t winded at all. The man toweled himself off and shook Alexander’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Alex. I can call you, Alex, right?” All Alex could do was nod his head. This man’s presence was immense, and it filled the office.
“Good, good, sit down,” he gestured to a chair, much like Dr. Gordon had. No, that wasn’t right. Dr. Gordon had done it the way this man had.
As he moved to sit down, he glanced around the room and saw, to his surprise, a tall Black man standing in the rear of the gigantic office. At first, he thought he was a statue, but he smiled at him. Alex jumped, the only crack in his outward calm.
The man behind the desk laughed.
“Don’t mind, Sam. He’s an old friend and confidant.” His smile was brilliant and disarming.
“If you haven’t guessed already, I’m Robert Cross, and this is my think tank.”
Alex had recognized him as soon as he was right-side up. The man was tremendous; he had to be at least 6’4”- 250, 260 pounds of mostly muscle. He was older, but he seemed to be fighting- and winning- the battle of the bulge. All Alex could do was nod his head. This was The Robert Cross, owner of the Trillion Dollar Cross Tower, being built here in San Francisco and a hero to all the right-minded thinkers in America.
Cross pressed forward. “I called you in here because your answer to the second question in conjunction with the first intrigued me. So, you are willing to kill just as long as you understand why or trust the person giving the order?”
“Yes, Sir,” Alex said as his inner composure returned to him.
“Good, good. What if it was the other way around? What if you were giving the order, and someone refused because they didn’t trust you or understand why?”
“Well, Sir,” Alex said, clearing his throat. “I would hope that the person I was giving the order to trusted me. If the person was someone I didn’t know, I would do what needed to be done myself.”
“Good,” the older man said, clearly pleased.
“You understand what we are fighting for, don’t you?” His eyes seemed to burn through Alex.
“Y… yes,” he stuttered, trying to get the words out as fast as possible. “We are fighting to reclaim our country and our heritage.”
Cross laughed heartily. “No, son, we are fighting for something much more basic than that: we are fighting for our right to exist. You see, in this world, we are the minority and always have been. We are explorers and conquerors by nature. However, everywhere we sailed, we only met brown people. We were the first to explore this entire planet on sheer will and ingenuity, and not once did we find anyone with features like ours. Our fair skin, desire, and ability to rule were nowhere to be found,” Cross paused and walked around his enormous desk. “We were a rarity, and the knowledge filled us with the holy realization that we were more valuable because of our small numbers. Only we could bring order to the chaos and savagery we encountered, so we did.”
Cross enthralled Alex; the former statesman’s words rang so true in his heart that he could only wonder how he had missed such a fundamental truth.
“We taught them to live in a roofed dwelling, to speak our language, and to worship our gods. We brought them out of the stone age and gave them a modern life of comfort and ease, and how do they repay us? By trying to exterminate us. There are less than 800 million White people in the world right now, and we are an endangered species. They tried to breed us out of existence. Now they are trying to cause a new type of White extinction. These Black bastards have begun to show signs of abilities that make armies of trained soldiers seem ineffective at best. When they begin to learn they are not alone, they will band together and come for us. So, you see, we have to kill them and stop this mutation from spreading.”
Alex looked nervously back at Sam, standing there in the corner, watching them both.
Cross chuckled, “Don’t worry about Sam. He’s been with me from the beginning. Well, he’s been with my family for as long as I can remember. He doesn’t care, either way, so don’t worry about him. I have a good feeling about you. I am rarely wrong. You will start ASAP. Come to this address tomorrow. Come with purpose in your heart and a strong will.”
Cross handed Alex a business card. At first, the card was blank but soon, golden numbers and letters formed on the face of the card. It was an address in a city Alex was unfamiliar with.
Alex got the feeling of dismissal almost immediately. He stood and found Sam standing at his elbow, guiding him to the door. He looked back, and Robert Cross was deep in his work as if he had never been there. Such focus, Alex thought, I’ll do well to match that.
Northern California, January 4, 2014, 7:30 a.m. EST.
Alex arrived at what looked like a farmhouse sitting in the middle of nowhere. He saw no other cars; he was thirty minutes early, just in case. No CP time here. He got out of the car, walked up to the large doors, and looked around. As he inspected the area, a voice startled him.
“Are you Alexander Lamb?” The voice was androgynous. There was no emotion either. Nevertheless, he answered with as much controlled confidence as he could.
“Yes, I am,” the doors opened slowly.
“Go in, sit down, and buckle up.” Alex was confused, but he entered and found a chair sitting in the middle of the room with, to Alex’s surprise, a seat belt. He walked over, sat down, and buckled up as he was told. As the belt clicked, the floor of the room dropped so fast it took his breath away. He opened his eyes after a couple of seconds when he realized the dropping had not stopped.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Lamb, I feared you had passed out from the sudden drop. Not uncommon at all,” the voice was coming from the wall facing him; there was an androgynous face on the giant screen. They had a nice enough look about them: youthful, plump cheeks, their eyes were green, and they had the ghost of a pleasant smile on their face. Short auburn hair adorned their head.
“How deep are we going?” Alex asked.
“Oh, not deep at all; it only feels that way. My name is Minerva. I will be your guide and, hopefully, in the future, your friend. The elevator will stop soon, and several men in surgical masks will get on. They will begin our intake procedure. They will check for diseases and give you vaccinations and whatnot. Don’t worry; these are not full of mercury,” the face had a pleasant smile.
Alex saw something was wrong with this person’s face; it wasn’t exactly real. Just as he was coming to that conclusion, the elevator stopped abruptly. Doors on either side of him opened, and men in surgical masks rushed in just as Minerva said they would. The chair he was sitting in unfolded, leaving him on his back. Before he knew what was happening, the men strapped him to the chair, turned gurney, and started poking him with needles. Alex winced. Minerva appeared on the ceiling now.
“Don’t worry, Alex. May I call you Alex? They will just take some blood and give you some shots. You’ll be fine. We need to make sure you are who you say you are. Facial recognition can only go so far. Have you ever had a genetic assay done on you? It’s quite fascinating; you will learn so much about yourself, and so will we.” Alex realized as Minerva was talking that they/it was a computer-generated face, a very good one.
“Alex, you are surprisingly calm. Most new hires are in at least wary annoyance at this point.”
“I’m not worried. I know if you wanted to kill me, you would have already. Besides, you warned me of this, so why should I be? For a program, you are forgetful.”
“Ah, so you noticed I’m not human. Everyone does eventually, but you were quicker than most who have come through here. I, however, am more than a program. I am an A.I., which means I am parsecs away from a program.” Minerva smiled, and it seemed genuine, even for an Artificial Intelligence. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?”
Darkness enveloped Alex, and he dreamed of needles and sharp instruments. He dreamed of a world that was sane and good and White.
Interlude 2
I was dreaming again, and I knew it. I was moving through trees at an incredible pace. As before, I felt the pull of the thread, only now it was a string, strong with time and wisdom, I could feel it at the base of my skull. It thrummed with age.
I tried to focus on my surroundings. There were trees with impossible branches. They were feet around, and were we chasing… something? Something big and furry. I felt myself hoot in excitement! The sound was startling, but I was able to hold on to the dream.
“Good little Mfalme, you have gotten better. Now watch and learn.” The voice came from outside of me.
Suddenly, I felt other minds in my head with me. They were telling me where they were and where I should turn the massive beast. I hooted on cue. The minds were clear as day to me; it was not a language per se, but more like a clear and concise idea. I could put faces to different opinions. I knew who they were by the way they made me feel. There was a whoop heard in my head and outside of it. There was a tremendous crash, and we all started hooting together. My pulse pounded in my ears. My blood seemed on fire, and I was pushed out of the dream.
“No!” I screamed.
“No, little Mfalme, this is not for you. Not yet.”