Confiding

The ringing of my smartphone cut through the early morning quiet, a sharp intrusion into the strange new reality I was still processing. I picked up, my reporter’s instincts, honed by decades of chasing stories, immediately on alert.

“Hello, Jim, John Smith here.” The voice was calm, utterly composed, unsettling in its casualness.

“That was a nice trick, destroying my evidence, John,” I retorted, a dry edge to my voice, the lingering frustration of the vanished hologram still fresh.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” John replied, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. “Look, Jim, you sound like a decent guy, and I am a little over my head here. So, I’m going to stick my head out a little further and let you in on my little secret. Are you alone?”

“Yes,” I answered, a sudden tightening in my gut. “I’m home. Just got in.”

“Okay,” John’s voice resonated with an unnerving certainty. “I’ll be right there!”

My jaw tightened. “Well, I haven’t given you my address yet,” I began, the words barely out of my mouth before the absurdity of it hit me. He had appeared at the police station. This wouldn’t be conventional travel.

“No need for that, Jim.”

Suddenly, before I even had time to lower the phone from my ear, before the implications of his last words could fully coalesce, there was a sharp, distinct rap on my front door. It was a physical sound, utterly jarring in its immediacy.

“Just a second, John,” I murmured into the phone, my gaze fixed on the door, a cold knot forming in my stomach. “Someone is at my door.”

I walked to the door, my movements strangely stiff, and pulled it open. Standing there, on my very own porch, was John Smith. He met my gaze, a faint, almost apologetic smile on his lips. I simply stood there, utterly amazed, my reporter’s mind struggling to reconcile the impossible with the undeniable.

“I guess I’m not as surprised as I should be,” I finally managed, the words a thin thread of normalcy in the face of absolute wonder.

“Sorry again, Jim,” John said, stepping past the threshold into my living room, the space seeming to shrink with his impossible presence. “Never was one for being surreptitious, at least not until just a few days ago. Maybe you should sit down, and I’ll try to explain everything.”

I sank onto my couch, my mind reeling. John remained standing, his posture easy, radiating a quiet power. “You already have an idea about what’s going on, and quite frankly, Jim, my plans are to go public with this. So, I’m giving you the exclusive right here and now, just as I promised.” His gaze was direct, unwavering. “The only requirement, though, is that you give me your word that I remain anonymous in your reporting. For now.”

The weight of the exclusive, the sheer, unimaginable magnitude of it, pressed in on me. Anonymity seemed a small price to pay for a story that would rewrite human history. “Okay,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “you have my word.”

And then, John explained. He started from the beginning, or at least, what he considered his beginning: the impossible symbol in the Grand Canyon, the vanishing rock, his transition into stasis, his encounter with Adju within OrTerra, the revelations about Cordis and Anaphero, the rescue of Kerry Albertson, the unseen capture of Joshua Slogan. He spoke of the adelopods circling the Earth, ceaselessly recording every second of every square inch of the solar system for a billion years. He spoke of the Aelians, of his new role as the Ascendant, of the boundless knowledge and power now at his command. He spoke for what felt like hours, a torrent of the utterly impossible delivered with calm, undeniable conviction.

When he finally fell silent, the quiet in my living room was profound, deafening. I simply stared at him, my mind struggling to process the impossible truths. “Wow,” I finally breathed, the single syllable a gasp. “I’m a reporter. I’m supposed to always have something to say. To have a pithy comment, a sharp question. But… I’m speechless.”

“Yes,” John replied, a knowing smile touching his lips. “It does tend to leave anyone speechless. But I haven’t told you the best part.”

My eyes widened. “There’s more?” I asked, disbelief warring with a new, ravenous hunger for knowledge. “And it’s… better?”

“I left out the part that explains how I disappear and reappear at will,” John said, and as he spoke, he held up his left wrist. “Do you see this bracelet?” My gaze went to his wrist, and I saw… nothing. He was wearing no bracelet. “No, of course, you don’t,” he chuckled, a sound of almost mischievous amusement. “I’m going to place something on your wrist.”

Before I could fully react, before I could even process the warning, a cool, smooth band settled against my skin. There was no physical sensation of it being placed, only the immediate, astonishing awareness of its presence. And then, the world shifted. Just as John had described, I felt the immediate, exhilarating astonishment of weightlessness and a profound sense of euphoria, as if every burden, every ache, every limitation of my physical form had simply evaporated. I was in stasis.

John continued, guiding me, a silent thought in my mind, through the wonders he had experienced. We moved seamlessly through walls, traversed vast distances in an instant, observed history like a living tapestry, felt the pervasive reach of the Anaphero’s recordings. Hours bled away, filled with revelations that utterly redefined my understanding of existence.

Finally, we were back, the weight of the amorganon now a familiar presence on my wrist, my physical form reasserting itself within my living room. John looked at me, his gaze serious, acknowledging the profound shift in my perception.

“This is a lot to take in, Jim,” John began, his voice solemn. “And keep in mind that you now have, not only this amazing bracelet that allows you to go anywhere, to potentially live maybe forever, without the need for food or water, to visit and solve the mysteries of the past, but you can also make copies of this amorganon and give them to whomever you want. And they can make copies, and so on, and so on.”

He paused, letting the profound implications settle. “All mankind,” he continued, his voice now swelling with a quiet, yet absolute conviction, “can be free from hunger and thirst. Free from disease. Free from tyranny.” He looked at me, his eyes alight with a vision of a transformed world. “Now… you have your story.”

I stared at him, the weight of the world, and its impending revolution, pressing down on me. The biggest story of all time. Yet, the words felt hollow, inadequate. “Not so sure a story is that important anymore!” I clamored, the truth of it echoing in the stunned silence.

“Yes,” John replied, a profound sense of agreement in his voice, “I agree. And I need a little time to put this all in perspective and prepare for the onslaught I feel is coming. The world… the world won’t know what hit it.”