THEY FINALLY ARRIVED AT Ears’ condo community after running into a few other detours. At the gate were two security guards to ensure that only residents and their guests could pass.

“Glad they’re finally doing this,” Ears observed.

“I wonder if my kung fu brothers are here?” Molli asked. “Let’s get that ice first, then check.”

They helped Molli up the stairs but didn’t see her friends. Once inside the condo, the living room light came on unexpectedly. A man was sitting in one of the chairs.

“Hold on,” he pleaded, raising hands halfway in the air. “No weapons, and don’t mean to scare you.”

Molli shouted in her commanding martial voice, “Who are you?”

Ears knew immediately. “Stu. Control Freak.”

“What are you doing here?” Molli demanded, bent over in pain.

“Little lady, you appear to be banged up.”

Peter’s sense of danger was on high alert. “No, don’t start. Answer her question now. We’ve just been through hell.”

“Not meaning to create more hell for you, son. Hopefully, I can help y’all exit from this mess.”

“Why are you here? Who else is here?” Ears asked.

The kitchen light came on, and Polly responded meekly, “I am.”

“Polly?”

“In the flesh, Ears,” she replied, smiling as she walked into the living room.

Peter was spooked. “Stu, how did you get here, and why are you in our condo?”

Stu motioned for them to sit. “Let’s stay calm, everybody. Polly, can you help Molli into the kitchen and get her iced? Your arm looks like a bull stepped on it during a bad day at the rodeo. Mechs?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Peter confirmed, sitting slowly as Polly assisted Molli to the kitchen. “We were doing an interview downtown. Two attempted to whack us on the sidewalk with their vehicle. Failing that, they chased us. Then one of them clung to our car as we drove away. I assume they used minidrones for tracking, despite their ban and netting around the city.”

“Or it could have been Molli’s phone switched on accidentally,” Ears confessed.

“Either way, they tracked us,” Peter concluded. “But still, how did you get in?”

“Son, when you carry a big wad of cash in your wallet, you can make magic happen. Now, rather than you poking a hundred questions at us, please afford me a chance to explain what’s on my mind.”

“And I daresay,” Polly added from the kitchen, “Stu, as you call him, is taking his own risks by being here.”

“As much as she likes y’all, she asked me not to come here and recommended hunkering down at the ranch outside Austin instead. I’d love to be back home, but this visit seemed the right thing to do.” He turned to peer into the kitchen. “Polly, how’re you two doing in there?”

“Not seeing any broken bones. There is considerable bruising, including these poor ribs trying to heal.”

“Ouch!” Molli screamed as Polly applied a makeshift ice pack to her ribs.

“Just a few minutes longer,” Polly directed. “You boys go right ahead.”

Stu nodded and sat forward in his chair. His tanned skin and wrinkles from too many years in the sun obscured what otherwise was a kind, round face. A full head of short, gray hair covered his scalp, and he wore three large gold rings with various stones and emblems on each of his hands.

“My years in the rodeo, son,” he indicated, noticing Ears was staring at his rings. “I don’t envy Miss Molli. Been there, done that a few times with broken ribs and bull’s feet. Speaking of which, I’d like to get to the meat of the visit.”

He clasped his hands and began rubbing them together. “Y’all are in the middle of a heap of trouble.”

Peter started to respond, and Stu motioned him to hold back. “I don’t see this as your fault,. Indeed, I may well have contributed by exposing as much of the truth as I did on your podcast. Let me tell you, however. It had the intended effect.”

“What was that?” Peter inquired.

“I suspect you can’t do this, but you should don a new pair of virtual ears, excuse the expression, son,” he said, glancing at Ears. “Listen to your podcast as if it’s brand new news to you. It can be upsetting to many. I get that you’re only reporting what’s out there. And the voice you have, as big as it is now, is not the only voice in town. But you successfully built a baleful of trust. People listened, and some of them decided to take action.”

“That means what?” Ears wondered.

“Until this point, your average Joe didn’t appreciate the Texas-sized variety of weapons tech here today or arriving soon. They could have scoured the web to gather this, but that’s inconvenient. They needed a voice and eyes and ears working on their behalf. Your pod became a big part of that voice. I grasped this before we met, and it’s one of the reasons I wanted to say what needed to be said. You are more famous, or infamous, than you can grasp. It’s not just a little old podcast. You got millions of people talking, chatting up a storm, waiting for the next interview.”

Ears had to speak. “It’s kind of my fault. I saw the feeds and reactions, but we agreed to ignore it all and push through this batch before the holidays.”

“You kids are caught up in a twister of events that are much bigger than you imagined. To some degree, you’re adding power to that vortex, and I was trying to pop that twister down to a dust devil. But I’m afraid my strategy backfired.”

“What strategy?” Molli queried from the kitchen. “I’m listening in here.”

“My intention was to expose this damn obelisk for what it is. An obfuscation. It’s an obelisk obfuscation. I kind of like that. I inferred this when we spoke but could only go so far at the time. Now the tide has turned. Anarchy is breaking out across the world, even in this country I love so dearly, and as sick as it’s become in the last decade with its cowardly inclination toward fascism.”

“You mean the obelisk is definitely a ploy and not from aliens?” Ears questioned.

“Folks, I recall listening to a podcast some years ago, much like your own. A Nobel laureate was asked what he considered to be the existential issues facing humanity. Know what he suggested?”

“No,” Molli responded on their behalf.

Stu laughed. “Possible events in time. Things like errant asteroids, global plagues, nuclear winters.”

“But aren’t those actual existential issues?” she continued.

“They are possible happenings. Things you need to watch out for. Events to prevent. Get my drift? I see no solution in the suggestions.”

They were all silent, wondering where he was going.

“Okay, I’ll tell you since time is short. The answer is embedded in the question about existential issues facing humanity. Got that? Humanity itself is the existential issue. Humanity. Despite all these years living together, we have no goal as a species. No good goal, no good outcome. No commitments. No assurance of combined efforts toward resolving. Divergence. No human or hybrid I know has a goal for species survival, at least not one in agreement with the billions of others.”

Stu shifted in his chair and looked at his watch. “Apologies for going off track, but there’s an inference about our current state of affairs. Ears, your question was about who’s to gain from the obelisk obfuscation, right?

“Right,” he affirmed.

“Who gains from the anarchy? Is it those trillionaires I mentioned? Well, the answer there is yes. Is it folks like your acquaintance, Lady Eugenie? Sure. Her kind want this tech to run roughshod and unfettered to see what comes out the other end, hoping to profit along the way.”

Peter and Ears didn’t respond.

“Hell, yes,” Molli yelled from the kitchen.

“Smart girl. I can’t stop there, though. We see others in every corner who are using this golden ploy to gain power, wealth, and, as I inferred in my interview, extend their legal and regal righteousness to create an eternal heaven on Earth for themselves and their tubmates.”

“And hell on Earth for others not bathing with them!” Polly added. “Almost there.”

“You’re getting my drift, I believe. I’ll add a few more examples. You see what some of our religious friends are doing across the globe. They’re linking the obelisk to prophecies and writings from their religious books. Imagine that. The gall! Gaining members to their flocks based on fear and loathing of doom from the sky. You only need to strip a bit of prophetic code from the book of Revelation. It’s vague enough to apply readily to our anticipated alien visitors. But I can’t pick on this subset of religious types because they are no different than others cooking up a similar brew for their own benefit and gain.”

“We’re not responsible for their actions!” Peter insisted.

“Let me continue on the thought. No, no way in hell could a podcast reaching even a hundred million or a billion have that effect by itself. There’s a term in chemistry, back to my chem engineering days, where you add one more drop.”

“Titer,” Ears confirmed. “Funny, we were discussing that a few weeks ago in a slightly different context.”

“Got you, son. Your podcast may be that one more drop in the solution. Ponder it, kids. Place this in your blender of humanity and turn it to liquefy. Mechs thinking they’re the solution. Geedee entrepreneurs sensing they’ve got the magic potions. Nuke lovers the same. Poison gas producers the same. Nano-robotics firms added to that. Then you have folks like this Eugenie gal and her friends influencing the easily influenced to ride the tech out, stripped of oversight, and see who or what wins. Any one of these techs, and the multitude of subsets beyond them, could devastate our race and the whole planet. Hey, I like where I live and what I do. I just want to ride my horse and hope we don’t all die from some Joe-Bob backwoods brewer who flips his recipe one day from rot-gut whiskey to the next modified bacterium or synthetic-hybrid DNA parasite.”

“Feels like we’re doing the interview again,” Peter observed, “but we aren’t. I get what you’re saying. Didn’t consider it in the aggregate because the effect is too incomprehensible.”

“Reminds me of that Eugenie gal. She’s an auggie. Now, she didn’t tell you that, I suppose, because she and others don’t want people knowing. I don’t mean to imply she’s like any other auggie with a minor implant or two. In her case and many others like her, they are long-time BMIs, bio-machine implants. Not the mech kind by any accounting. I doubt she has a single metal bone in her body. No, she’s different because of her extensive links into AI networks. She has visions of life on Earth we can’t possibly comprehend. Do you understand what that degree of mental tech does to one’s ego? Makes you believe you possess a superiority to us regular folks. Superior intellect, superior fact base, and quantum-driven computational power.”

“She didn’t seem too dangerous at the time,” Ears interjected.

“That’s a volatile combination when mixed with human emotion and cunning. Put together ten like-minded intellects. With that level of processing power, they’ll have the ability to create cascaded and interrelated chains of events to effect their desired outcomes, however fiendish those might be. It’s like running an infinite number of Monte Carlo simulations in your hyper-AI extended mind, then sitting back in your lounge chair to observe events unfold per your devious plans. Consider all that predictive power in real-time, coupled with substantial wealth and connections to move the global meter in your chosen favor.”

“Wow, I had no idea and didn’t notice anything unusual,” Peter confessed.

“Of course not. That’s why this new tech is so insidious. You’re never aware who’s using and who’s not. But back to your comment on incomprehensible. What makes it that, son, is the sad fact that the bar is lowered to the floor. Now, the lowest common denominator of humanity is jumping over that bar.”

“What bar?” Molli requested as she straggled from the kitchen with Polly. Her arm was wrapped in an iced towel, and her right ribcage sported a similar wrap beneath her top. She and Polly each took a seat.

“Looks like she did good work there,” Stu bragged. “Thank you, Polly.”

Polly nodded her head and confirmed, “Nothing new is broken, that I can tell.”

“What bar, Molli? The bar of capability, of ease, of investment. One of your interviews mentioned it. Volatile tech is fully democratized. Any old still operator can buy a kit and create the next little monster or monstrosity. And I’m not just referring to black market geedee kits which, by God’s grace, have not plunged the planet into significant peril as yet. I mean across the spectrum of little terrors, be they nano or viral or mechanical or animal or synthetic. Y’all understand? It used to be that virulent tech took considerable doing. Now, nobody is watching Joe-Bob with his backwoods still churning out virulent mash for profit or fun. It’s out of control. Pandora’s box is blown wide open, calling out to any two-bit genius who believes he has the answer to self-enrichment or the world’s problems, be that alien or human.”

He stopped talking for a moment and motioned to Ears. “Son, I could use a shot of good scotch whisky, if you have any.”

“JW okay?”

“Perfect. Anyone else? A shot glass is fine. No ice, por favor.”

Stu continued while Ears walked to the kitchen. “Your BioEthel gal talked of a perfect storm gathering. She was fifty percent right, but she left out the lynchpin in the storm. This damn obelisk fell from the sky, albeit I contend it was crafted by humans. Then we put it on display to worship its glorious essence at exactly the wrong time. Humanity already had enough to deal with, and our previous trajectory was likely going to end the game quickly for most of us, anyhow. But with this renewed urgency to act on fear, and it’s getting more urgent by the hour, human beings are teetering on the hairy edge of a self-inflicted apocalyptic wound.”

Ears overheard the comments from the kitchen and recalled his possible upcoming Toxo interview as well as related reports confirming its release into various water systems.

“Is Toxo involved?” he asked, coming back with the shot glass of whiskey in hand.

“Oh boy. You hit that nail,” he confirmed as he tilted his head back to take the full shot. “I’ve seen Toxo and Toxo derivatives are spread worldwide, but those reports are hard to assess. We’re in such a whipsaw now. It’s tough to decipher whether this global insanity threat is caused by biological agents, media fearmongering, or simply because people are naturally afraid. Either way, nobody’s left around the government to test and evaluate the causes of the commotion. No one’s at work because across the major cities, people are hunkering down in their homes or safe places, including those researchers.”

“Have you been into grocery stores or what’s left of them?” Polly queried.

“My pantry is well-stocked,” Ears confirmed, “and we were doing takeout and delivery. That’s been impossible to get lately, however.”

“Shelves are bare,” Stu continued. “Farmers aren’t delivering, food stocks aren’t getting to rail or truck, and the food prep industry has nothing to process. The entire distribution chain is in disarray. People are hoping they’ll be able to wait out the threat at home. And just like that old 1950s movie, the Martians will succumb to something on Earth, weapon or not, after a few weeks. Sure. You think we’d have learned a lesson or two about how to respond, given the prior global plagues, but no.”

“City services aren’t impacted yet,” Peter noted.

“Y’all seriously need to get out more – or not, at this juncture. As the seconds tick by, it gets progressively worse. Can’t tell you where it’ll end or when the water and electricity are kaput.”

Peter nodded. “Understood, but I’m not clear on why you’re here and why you’re sharing this with us.”

“Guilt, son, and maybe it’s that I appreciated you letting me on the show. I’m the thankful type.”

“You already gave us a million-plus each!” Ears exclaimed.

“Son, money means nothing when you ain’t got a bean. You’ve seen the financial markets? They’re on the rapid road to zero.”

Peter was still confused and anxious to get to Stu’s point. “This means what in real terms?”

“An offer to stay at my ranch and ride this tornado out. At least that could buy y’all time. Allows us to wait and see what our fearless leaders and the UN come up with, assuming they’re not too late to the party.”

“What of the podcast?” Molli urged. “We need to finish and run the rest.”

“That’s up to you folks. I don’t want you thinking this offer is take or leave right now. I understand it’s a shocker to consider, but I ask you to keep an open mind. If you come with me now, I could guarantee you a seat on my plane. The offer stays open after that, but you’d need to source your own long ride to Texas.”

“I don’t know if you guys caught the news, but some big airports are closing due to the unrest,” Ears added.

“I know, Ears, but they indicated it was temporary until the National Guard or Army arrives to restore order,” Molli countered.

Stu leaned forward and repositioned himself in his chair. “Kids, don’t believe everything you get from the news. I suspect from my sources that a good number of soldiers are returning home to take care of their own kin. Even if some of them make it to their assigned posts, we’ll not see a radical shift back to normalcy. Our new normal is abnormal in myriad ways. Catch what I’m saying? There will be a next shoe that drops big time, and literal hell will break loose in cities and towns across the world. You’re seeing it here, if your unfortunate episode today wasn’t enough to convince you.”

“You have room?” Molli wondered.

“It’s a big Texas spread, and I’m sure there are enough corners and blankets in that place for you. Worst case you’d be sleeping with my horses in the stables.” His belly shook as he laughed aloud.

Peter nodded. “Back to the podcast, though. Molli’s right. We’d need someone to stay, finish the interviews and production work, then queue them up. We have four or five left in the wings, if I’m correct, Ears.”

“Possible you could do that from my place? We aren’t Wild West settlers out there, but even in good times the cell coverage and wireline internet are intermittent. Given the disruptions, I’m guessing we’ll be lucky if data access works consistently. There’s a satellite setup, but it seems those may have been re-purposed for governmental needs. In other words, if you want to be certain your shows go on, I can provide no guarantees at my ranch. More likely someone would need to stay here. Could be you sport a better chance that utilities and power will remain intact in the big cities, assuming it’s not too late for the PDs and armed forces to corral the negative undercurrents.”

Peter peered at Molli and Ears. “What do you think, team?”

“We need to run the show, Peter,” Ears confirmed. “We’re so close and too many are ready to play. It doesn’t have to be the three of us, and one could do everything. Not clean, but acceptable.”

Ears turned to Polly. “When are you heading back?”

She nodded to Stu.

“Well,” he replied, “it’s understood y’all should discuss this. We got clearance for takeoff tomorrow at six early. You’d need to be at the airport in time to run through our special security section and hop on the jet.”

Peter rubbed his chin. “I’m more inclined for me to stay and hope it doesn’t get that bad, then get out if it does. Both of you can go, though.” He looked at Molli and Ears.

Molli pressed her lips together. “I must tie-up things here with my kung fu master. Feel I’d be bolting out when we don’t even know what happened to my buds who’ve disappeared.”

“Oh, we’ll find them,” Peter suggested.

“Here’s my take, just a gut sense,” she advised, turning to Ears. “Why don’t you go with them? You can be our eyes and ears in that part of the nation. Besides, if you’re there and we run into trouble here, we’ll have another plan ready to go. I’ll stay with Peter and we’ll keep progressing in Boston until and unless it gets too hairy to stay.”

“I’ll need to call my parents. They’re in Costa Rica, but I doubt it’s any safer there than here,” Ears stated.

“But you’re okay going?” Molli confirmed.

“It splits us up, but I like the Plan B idea. We need to do at least one more interview here with Hats, the guy doing the external mind control,” Ears replied.

Stu cautioned them, “Given the risks of travel in the city, you should do any remaining interviews via phone.”

Molli agreed. “My thoughts exactly. That’s a foregone conclusion after our fun mech encounter this morning.”

“Then we’re on. Ears, I suggest you get packing,” Stu directed.

Ears excused himself to run upstairs.

“Molli and Peter, you two better lie low,” he warned. “Bar your door and don’t respond to strangers. Once I’m home, I can’t guarantee any assistance for your trip to Texas. I’m guessing most types of long-distance transport may be suspended in the next few days or weeks. You’ll need to balance that risk with whatever benefit you engender by running these podcasts to the end.”

Molli’s makeshift ice packs were dripping on the floor. “I should change,” she acknowledged, peering at her wet top. “Stu, assuming we should keep calling you that, we do appreciate what you’ve done for us and your generous offer. I can’t speak for Peter, and possibly I’m ignoring my normal sense of danger, but I’m hoping all this unrest boils over and things get under control so we can laugh at this a few months down the road. Damn these fucking social networks! They take no responsibility and get people so overwrought with inciteful and hateful content. People are being led around by their balls based on virtual networks led by fringe nut jobs.”

“I’m with you there, Molli, and ‘Stu’ works just fine for now. My own sources and senses are pushing up red flags everywhere, of the apocalyptic kind. Here’s an anecdote you might appreciate. My grandfather was in that last great world war, a Pearl Harbor survivor. He had just arrived on the deck of the Arizona after enjoying a fine Sunday morning in town at church. Said he didn’t hear the planes until the bombs hit. He was blown off the ship with the first volley and started swimming and swimming. Made it through with minor burns. I’m sensing eight billion of us are standing on that deck right now.”

After Stu, Polly, and Ears gave their farewells and left the condo, Molli and Peter made plans for managing the next few weeks, understanding the situation in Boston might get worse. Molli checked the kitchen food stocks and determined there were adequate canned and packaged goods to last them a few months. Peter attempted to get food delivered from the grocery store, but nobody responded online or over the phone so they decided to first consume the perishable food in the refrigerator and freezer. In the event electricity and pumping stations were disrupted, Molli instructed Peter to fill both bathtubs with water. They also checked Ears’ closets and found an ample supply of blankets and coats.

For physical security, they both felt that any window access was unlikely. Front windows were only on the upper floor of the condo, inaccessible without a tall ladder. Since the condo was on the second floor of the building, back window access was also limited.

To forestall entry through the front door, Peter and Molli set Ear’s living room armoire on its side and dragged it in front of the door. Molli felt secure enough since she had previously taken her kung fu weapons to the condo. Despite these measures, they both rested uneasy that night, though Peter was more comfortable moving from the couch to Ears’ bedroom upstairs.

The next morning was Friday, and Molli rose early to practice her martial arts, despite her injuries. She felt good about their plan, believing they were employing an adequate degree of caution.

“It’s the United States, for God’s sake!” she pondered. “They won’t let this unrest and fear get out of hand.”

* * *

At mid-morning, Molli received a message via email. The source was not identified, but the news was devastating. Grieving in silence, she waited for Peter to awaken.

He finally emerged from the bedroom door and peered downstairs, noticing Molli at her laptop. Mascara was smeared on her face and her cheeks were stained with tears.

“Come here,” she requested. “Just received bad news.”

“What’s up?”

Peter flew down the stairs, and Molli stood to open her arms to hug him. “What bad news? Ears?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, holding him tightly and pressing her face into his shoulder. She could hardly speak. “Got an email this morning. Someone from Stu’s business.”

Pained by her injured ribs and gasping for air, she stopped talking.

“What happened?” He tried to pull back to see her face, but she tightened her grip.

“Don’t” she insisted. “The jet. The email said the jet went down over Missouri. They were almost home.” Her stomach muscles cramped as she cried. “Oh, my ribs.”

Peter was shocked. “How?”

“They don’t know yet, but the FAA informed them. It went out of radar range some distance from the ground and apparently crashed in the hills. A few people saw smoke, but we have no other news. Email said it’s unlikely they’ll get any details soon, given the state of things, and nobody can check on this while law enforcement is busy on obvious issues.”

Peter felt light-headed. “Too much. Got to sit.” He slowly walked Molli to the couch. She kept her face pressed into his night shirt.

“I don’t want to think of how. The risk. We should have stayed together through this. It’s my fault. I forced him to go,” she lamented, barely able to push the words out.

“Not your fault, Molli. Don’t jump to conclusions until we find out for sure.”

“My fault.”

Peter pushed her back. He was too shocked to cry. “Not your fault. We both wanted him to go, and he agreed. All three of us might have been on that plane. These are accidents, and nobody’s at fault.”

“We don’t even know Stu’s real name!”

“What did the email say?”

“Nothing much. A guy from his business said they’re presumed dead since jet crashes don’t leave survivors. It was brief. Here, read it.”

She turned her laptop around for Peter to view the email.

He read the few sentences.

“I’m in disbelief, Molli. Are you sure the story checks out? They supposedly left Boston only four hours ago. The timing doesn’t feel right, or they must have departed earlier than planned.”

“Took off at six or earlier. Who knows? The guy said it just happened. I’m sure his people were tracking Stu’s progress and communicating with them. Peter, please,” she pleaded, “don’t give me false hope. Please don’t pursue this path. Bad things are happening all around us. It’s dark times. Let’s not talk. Stay with me a few more minutes. I’m used to death – seen it too many times. I must force myself to be real and accepting. Just hold me here. No speaking.”

Peter held her. He had never been this close to Molli, and despite the shocking news, he noticed the rich smell of her hair and tenderness of her caress.

“Don’t take this path of softness, Peter,” he thought to himself. “Don’t even think how bad your timing could be here. Think of Ears, my Ears. He can’t be dead.”

After several minutes of weeping, Molli got up. “I need to cry in the shower, wash my face, then cry on my bed. Give me a few hours.”

“Okay. Shall we cancel today’s show with Oort Cloud?”

“No, don’t. I edited and queued it last night. Let it run as-is.”

Grasping her ribcage, she walked into her bedroom and closed the door. Peter went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of orange juice, and sat in a daze.

Molli emerged two hours later.

“The shock is still with me, Peter, but I’m coping,” she confided as she walked out the bedroom door.

Peering into the kitchen, she saw Peter with his head resting on both arms and his eyes closed. She hurried to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his.

“I tried to do too much,” he admitted. “Got caught up in it. The thrill of the podcast. The climbing numbers. Too much ego. I wanted more and more.” Tears poured from his eyes, and Molli reached for a towel as he cried out loud. “I can’t believe it. I loved the guy.”

“We loved the guy,” Molli sympathized. “Never was sweeter.”

“Always so happy, so positive on life. Never complained. Couldn’t pray for a better friend,” he grieved, sobbing into the towel.