Mason’s mind quiets. They reach the end of the road. The space between the ceiling and Tower disappears. Distant, hollow, stretchy sounds slosh around the tight nook like thick soup ready to spill from its shallow saucer. At their feet, the Tower fades from the same alabaster white as the rest of the structure to storm-cell gray at the sharp point above their heads. A small, fuzzy, matte-black ball hovers between the tip and the ceiling. Set into the wall opposite the gray-gradient cone, a ladder ascends from the walkway and penetrates the roof through a vertical passage.

Pointing to the first rung, Chris smiles, “All the way up.”

Eyes peer past the simple, metal, white ladder into the short, wide, round tube, “Sure.” Hands wrap onto the cylinder-shaped step and yank his body. A quick burst of intense effort for a man his size carries him to the top where he finds the start of a sterile, narrow, well-lit hallway. At the opposite end, a short set of stairs connect to a generous landing, centered by a closed door. As Chris emerges, Mason’s breath works hard to catch up, “You were saying.”

“Saying?”

“Yeah about the Bermuda triangle. You know, about my story. About how it proves Atlantis existed or something?”

“Right. The Bermuda triangle.” Chris’ extended arm leads the way, “Well, it’s not so much your story but the topic itself. The Bermuda triangle’s no hoax.”

Mason’s plump word interrupts his pumping chest, “Really?”

Chris crosses the chalk-rough flooring, “Yea. No, the effect’s real.”

“How so?”

“The final battle between Atlantis and Mu took place there. Weapons beyond our comprehension were deployed. The very fabric of the universe ruptured and continues to ripple throughout history. Every so often, a wave crashes and temporarily reopens this tear in spacetime.”

Mason’s feet hesitate at the foot of the stairs, “A spatial scar?”

“Exactly. But more precisely, a temporal wormhole.”

“Hold on. That spacial scar… wormhole or whatever, are you saying that’s what’s really behind all those disappearances?”

Chris climbs ahead, “Yes.”

Mason tails behind, “Really?”

Chris’ eyes widen, “Really.”

Mason’s palm plants next to the door while his breath continues to work hard, “So what happens when it reopens?”

While standing on the landing with one hand on Mason’s back, Chris’ other twists the doorknob, “Those caught in the ripple return to this war. Think of the opposite of the Geneva Convention. Back then, torture wasn’t used to extract information.” Pushing open the door, Chris leans in with a whisper, “Torture was used to insure the departing soul would think twice before reincarnating on Earth. The combination of pain, fear, and humiliation at the moment of death was designed prevent the rebirth of an enemy.”

Moving from artificially intense illumination into naturally bright light, Mason’s slippers protect against the metal deck’s harsh lines and hard edges, “My God, that’s horrible. If that’s how the Alphas judge us, it’s no wonder we’re seen as a threat.”

Crossing the deck– a wide walkway perched above the landscape below and secured to the large structure they’ve exited, “Our ancestors not only practiced physical attrition but the metaphysical as well,” Chris grabs the simple railing and breathes in the pine-fresh air. “In those days, humanity played for keeps.”

Mason’s curiosity races along their path forward– a ramp rising up the side of this bulky structure to the roof, “But that’s not who we are today.”

Catching Mason’s eye, “Exactly. And they’ve promised to heal this ancient scar, to finally close the rupture we created. No one need ever die in that ugly war again. We can do something. You can do something.”

Standing still, Mason allows the landscape to flow through him. Has he been here before? The memory of the Mediterranean from atop Baha’i Garden’s long staircase in Haifa fills his mind like a foamy-warm bathtub. There, an aqua sky full of marshmallow clouds blanketed the steep stairs– a white ribbon stretching between and splitting around perfectly manicured lawns to colorful terraces full of purple flowers, stooping palms, and marble patios with pools of crystal-blue water. Here, the deep hue of an earthly atmosphere fades into another sky-barrier, holding back the inky black of outer space. Long, wispy, stretched-cotton clouds dot the horizon. Groves of thick trees, fields of bright grass, and ponds of calm water fit like jigsaw pieces in the picturesque park. Beyond the railing, red-gravel pathways roll like river water down each undulating level of the preserve.

Eyes track the smattering of species who occupy the mountain-spur-shaped space as words dribble out without distinct form, “Are those deer?”

“Deer. Rabbits. Squirrels. Sparrows. Even bees. This nature preserve is filled with extinct species, ready to be reintroduced once we get our shit together. Not to mention, the Alphas are determined to make us– us Betas, feel at home while we work our asses off. This is by far my favorite place in the whole universe to sit and think. Nothing recharges the batteries like spending time in a world preserved and protected from the ignorant, self-absorbed, petty idiots down there on the surface.” The brilliant, red-orange chests of a pair of passenger pigeons play amongst the bright, yellow-orange cones of an enormous wood’s cycad. “Plus, this is just a taste of what the Alphas are capable of.”

“I don’t know,” Mason’s frown tightens, “We don’t even know where they’re from.”

“Does it matter? Or does it matter that we need them.” Taking Mason’s arm, Chris moves them along the railing to the ramp, “They know our past. And Mason, you know what happens to those ignorant of their past.”

“Fine, if you’re so convinced they’re right for us, then tell the world yourself.” Mason’s lumbering effort ends where the incline levels at the top, “You’re approval ratings are on par with Kennedy in his first hundred days. You could…”

“Mason,” marching across a circular surface to its center, Chris motions to keep up, “this is so much bigger than you or me.”

Slouching, he treks to the focal point of the rubber-lined circle, “But you could…”

“I can’t.”

Latching onto Chris’ arm for support, Mason steady himself as the ground shifts downward, “Why?”

“If one wants to cement corruption, simply put the criminals in charge.”

“What?”

Chris’ eyes ping pong between the folded material in Mason’s fingers and the bunched look on his face, “Mason. We can’t do this.”

“What do you mean by ‘we?’”

Patting the hand, Chris stares at the tight grip, “No world leader can pull this off.”

“No…” The dogged attention finally leads Mason to glance at his firm grasp and let go, “But why?”

“We made the mess.”

“So?”

“So no one trusts the arsonist to put out the fire. The people want… need a firefighter. That’s you. You’re the hero; only you can do this. Mason Drake fights for justice and truth, both in reality and fantasy.” Chris looks skyward while they descend down the wide, circular, dark shaft of the massive freight elevator, “Mason, you’re more than just ‘the driven snow.’ You’re ‘the driven snow’ that magically turns into Frosty the Snowman and makes everyone want to sing and dance along.” Beneath a tight brow, eyes pin Mason down, “You’re the goddamn Pied Piper. They all follow you but you’re going nowhere.” Between stunted breaths, the voice rumbles, “Go somewhere. Follow the Alphas. Lead the people.”

Enraptured by the fading light above, “President Rosslyn, I really don’t…”

“Chris.”

“Right. Sorry.” Stifling further comment with his finger to his lips, Mason turns away to explore as if he might discover something beyond the austere materials of an alien elevator.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“It won’t.” A small, yellow, well-lit window rises from the floor. Inside, a habitat enclosure fills with beetles, twigs, and a small pool of water like the insect display at a children’s zoo.

“The only way to save our people, to save our planet, to save ourselves is the peace the Alphas offer. Sure we’ve had a moment of rest. We’re closing in on four years without any major conflict. The Persian Gulf, the South China Sea, Africa, the Americas… even that pesky issue with Australia. Everything has suddenly been patched, fixed, or solved. But do you really believe we can hold it together for another four?”

Populated with snakes and rodents, a new set of portals pulls him across the shaft, “I wish everyone would…”

“Son, we don’t have forever. As your President I cannot tell you more. But as your fellow Beta, I can tell you the NSA has intercepted communications between three major figures in the Middle East. Assets within the CIA are concerned about the future of the Arab League. These latest peace accords and corresponding UN Resolutions are fraying at the edges. Without our special friends, failure is imminent.

“Mason, in a few centuries, there will be more than a trillion planets under this permanent peace only the Alphas can provide. Yet, we remain part of the most exclusive group in existence.” More windows randomly rise around the space like Tetris tiles. Astonished by the array of animals he’s never seen before, Mason attempts to peer into each box while Chris ramps up the volume, “We’re stuck in this remedial class because we fail, repeatedly. Maybe it’s time for the right teacher.

“We think we’re alone in the universe for a reason.” As Mason hurries towards a new row, Chris grabs his shoulder, “The world doesn’t know it,” stops him, “but since the great war between Atlantis and Mu, we’ve been under quarantine,” and locks eyes. “Our past has been erased. We’re not allowed to know the truth because we don’t deserve to. Unlike these extinct creatures, these precious beings you see here,” pointing to the bright boxes all around, “here behind these rows of windows,” Chris lets go, “or up there in our beautiful park, we have no inherent right to exist on Earth. We’re a violent, dirty, mean species. We’re born with an insatiable, veracious, malignant appetite for destruction. It’s in our nature, our DNA. Little boys love to tear everything apart while little girls love to rat them out and watch them cry.”

“What are you…”

“Mason. Should we ever again discover the means to leave our solar system, the Federation will contain us like a contagion. Until we permanently reject war, poverty, hate… until we evolve beyond the animal within, we’ll remain here, ignorant and petty.”

“Really. So, how do we do that?”

“The dignity of justice. The challenge is right there in the second Amendment.”

“The right to keep and bear arms?”

“When no single person or nation possesses a single weapon of war and everyone on Earth is cared for mind, body, and soul, we will prove ourselves worthy.”

“That’ll never happen.” The spiraling windows no longer appear below but disappear above. Metal pillars and hollow spaces along the elevator’s rim echo with the groans of machinery he cannot see. A thunderous pounding from the darkness follows a subtle shuttering across the floor. Mason’s entire being retreats from the platform’s edge to its center and bumps into his companion who stares back. The safety of those steady eyes calms his nerves.

Smiling, “You’re right: some rights are fundamentally wrong. When the Alphas wrote the Constitution, they scripted certain provisions as challenges to overcome, not backstops against tyranny. Ha!” the President pulls the long, gray lock of hair behind the left ear, “What idiot really believes a militia of beer guts and bandannas with Glocks and AKs would survive an hour against the almighty, United States Marine Corps? The Alphas were trolling us, testing us, seeing what we’re really made of, seeing what really matters to us.”

“Hey. That’s not fair. Some of us carry arms that are far…”

“Mason. Listen. I don’t care what kind of little toys you or your buddies have because you see, it was never about keeping the government in check. It’s about maturity, growing up, finally earning the Alpha’s reward. When war’s no longer a right, no longer a privilege, no longer a pastime, we’ll have pasted the test. It isn’t about the government taking away your Desert Eagle. It’s about you wanting to give it up. It’s about the moment you don’t want it anymore because you want something else. And until we realize that politics, science, and religion have failed us, we’ll never recognize our true potential.”

A step back to give them both space to breathe, “Good luck convincing Americans they don’t have the God-given right to keep and bear…”

“Mason!” Chris’ eyes close, “Have you ever thought to yourself that these are the days you’ll remember with great fondness?” Chris’ eyes open, “That one day you’ll look back to this very moment in time, this very second– this second,” an index finger points to the floor, “this second right now, and realize that this was the best it ever was, the best it would ever be– could ever be, ever again?”

“No.” Watching a puff of steam float from the depths, he folds his arms.

“Have you ever imagined that the question you’d have about your next meal wouldn’t be what you’d have but whether you’d have it?”

“Huh?” From tracking the passing, chrome, pneumatic tubes– set every few feet around the circumference of the platform, his attention returns to his partner.

“Mason. Take a moment to imagine what it’ll be like trying to explain the taste of a simple glass of fresh water to someone who’s never even seen one.” Chris’ feet cross to the edge where a wall now rises from below and the thick tubes recede far above.

“What are you talking about?” Mason can’t take his eyes off Chris, facing the passing wall while standing close enough to lean against it.

“A future without the Alphas.” Hollow space creeps across the floor as the platform drops into emptiness. “A future where we’re left on our own.” Over the left shoulder, Chris glances from the darkness, “I’m talking about all the post-apocalyptic fantasies that will become our reality if we don’t get our shit together.”

“But…”

The President’s toes remain at the floor’s edge without a safety barrier, a Secret Service agent, or a single hint of fear, “But the Alphas will not fail us the way we’ve failed each other. We’re only human.” Turning to Mason with mere inches separating Chris’ heels from the unseen drop, “Hell, I’m only human. But they’re not. They will lead us. Think about it son, it’s finally time to turn our swords into plowshares. It’s time to submit to peace.”

“I’m sorry but it sounds too good to be true. Just not buying it. Too simple. Too easy.” The decade separating them isn’t quite enough for Mason to feel comfortable with the repeated use of the term ‘son.’

“No. This ain’t easy at all. It’s more, much more. We must listen. We must learn. It’ll take years of sustained effort to earn this. I get it; I’m not the leader who will take the final step. But you know what? With you’re help, I’ll be one of the fortunate few to take the first. Placing humanity on a sure footing will turn decades into years, months into days. Mason, you are that footing. Only you will set these dominoes in motion. Without your voice behind their message, we fail.” With open arms, Chris takes a single step towards him, “We need you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Mason.” Waving him over, “I’ve seen things that would spin those thick eyebrows right off that beautiful face. I’ve been a Beta for decades now, long before I became President. I’ve seen the full history of this planet and many others. I’ve watched great civilizations move from war and greed to harmony and prosperity with the help of the Federation and the guidance of the Alphas. Why do I know that we need you? Simple. I know because I’ve seen it, firsthand. Now come, stand with me.”

“Firsthand?” Taking a few, short, ginger steps from the center of the solid platform towards its precarious edge, “Like what, you’ve actually traveled to another planet or something?”

“Yes. Yes, I have. The Alphas took me to one much like our own. It was incredible, beautiful, beyond my wildest imagination. And let me tell you Mason, we’re so very fortunate to have been chosen.”

“Chosen?”

“For their help.”

“President Rosslyn, please. Should you be standing so close to that edge?”

A light chuckle, “Oh Mason. Come. See for yourself.”

Slippers slink across the knobby surface, “I still don’t understand. Why do we need their help?” Far below, a soft spotlight glows.

“Without it, we’ll self-destruct. Again.”

Mason’s eyes slowly stretch over the edge, “You don’t know that for sure.” Within the circular illumination, many bodies stop mulling about. A brief silence before a loud cheer rushes to greet him. Barely rising to the level of his heart, his half-open hand waves tiny bursts in return and the corner of his lip twitches into a half-smile.

With one arm around Mason’s back, Chris stands next to him and salutes the crowd with the other, “I do. And with Janet’s help, you will too. Ask your questions, listen close to her answers, and soon you’ll be ready to make the announcement. Have the Alphas told you when that’ll be?”

A second light shines a focused spotlight into Mason’s blinking eyes. The cheering swells. The crowd of thousands chant his name. There’s no hiding from the attention, spreading an uncontrollable smile across his face, “I… well, no. To be honest, I still don’t know if I will.”

“Oh you will. Trust me, you will. Our cosmic sisters and brothers are simply the best thing for humanity. They’re our saviors. Now come. Meet your fellow Betas.” The moment the elevator settles with a slight jolt, President of the United States, Flying-Owl ‘Chris’ Rosslyn, walks into the gathering, flowing onto the platform from every direction, “Everyone, please welcome Mason Drake: our newest, most popular, most important Beta ever!” The crowd roars.

The top men and women of our planet vie for position to catch Mason’s attention. Scientists, artists, religious figures, philanthropists, engineers, athletes, politicians, scholars, healers– all manner of genius, collect around the brightly lit center of the shadowy auditorium– expansive like an airplane hanger built to fit a hundred jumbo jets. If the average human mind uses ten-percent of its brain, these must be the ones using the other ninety. However in Mason’s case, he doesn’t have the intellectual bandwidth to process his surroundings let alone play on par with any of these Betas.

Abandoning the platform, they pass framed displays of his achievements towards catered tables piled high with tempting delights which lead to at an open bar with ample seating. As many words and well wishes speed past him, he ponders the moments before he woke this morning on this spaceship and struggles to remember anything concrete. The spotty images include: pulling back the bed sheets; watching his shadow race across the room as a light appears behind him; foamy, fuzzy, gray light oozing in and out of his visual field; plunging his hand into a liquid with the consistency of formed gelatin; focusing on Janet’s moving mouth while doing his best to remain upright; and suddenly standing straight while realizing he has no idea what she’s talking about or how he got on this spaceship.

At this point, memory sharpens. He clearly sees a ceremony, consisting of a ritualized promise, the strange handshake, and a drink of something like wine. After that, everything fizzles out again. His next, sober moment is opening his eyes in bed, watching Janet enter his room, and joining her to discuss the idea of telling the world we are not alone. Now, he’s standing at a bar with the leader of the free world meeting heads of state, directors of international conglomerates, an exclusive cadre of technical wizards, a range of brilliant artists, great scholars, and many other contemporary pioneers. The endless stream of amazing stories bends his mind into knots of bewilderment. He’s always wondered what mankind’s really up to. And so today, the curtain collapses to revel the secrets of OZ.

What’s wrong with this picture? Me. Why me? I’m no expert. Underneath it all, I’m the common man. Where’s the encyclopedia of insight, the experience? Why would an advanced race choose me to tell the world of their arrival? If President Rosslyn cannot, then why not Ron or the famous artist formally known as Manuel. Better yet, the iconic podcaster and physicist Doctor Danielle Osab? They’re all here; they’re all Betas. These guys are true intellectuals, real communicators. Their ability to answer questions and decipher information is without doubt. They’ll be far better representatives than me. Me… me? Why me? I’ll be laughed off the stage.

The parade of introductions eventually ends. Mason rests at the bar with Ron and Chris. The bartender hands Chris an odd shaped bottle. Is it an optical illusion, a multidimensional object, or an incarnated impossibility? The top both bends to become the handle which twists to the bottom and rises to the top while simultaneously opening downward from the top as the bottle’s body. A blue fluid fills the inner chamber, the curved handle, and seems to bubble at the open mouth. Grabbing the container– about the size and shape of a football standing ready at kick-off, ‘slap!’ Chris’ other hand smacks Mason’s shoulder, “Mr. Drake, you’ve really impressed everyone. Now drink up. You deserve it.”

“I don’t know.” Mason peers into the bottle’s incomprehensible center. If the space within followed reality’s rules, the liquid from the handle or the top or both should be pouring all over the bar. Instead, it seems to be contained in a container without a logical boundary.

Ron’s delicate hand takes the thick handle from Chris and slides the tall bottle in front of Mason, “Taste it. It’s amazing. Plus, it’s tradition.”

Inching closer to the bottle, he wipes the dew from its textured surface to get a clearer picture of what’s happening inside, “No. It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t know if I…”

“I get it big guy.” Chris rubs the back of Mason’s neck, “It’s a lot to process right now. You feel overwhelmed, unsure.”

Mason stares into steady eyes, “You’re right, I do.”

“So did I.” Ron’s arm slips across Mason’s shoulder while his hand links to Chris’ forearm. Both heads tilt inward and briefly connect with Mason’s as Ron’s voice deepens, “I remember that day.” Leaning back, he ferrets out Mason’s tender focus, “I remember: it felt like slipping down a steep hill. I didn’t know whether to be scared or excited.”

“Exactly.”

Chris sits and takes Mason’s hand, “The farther you go, the deeper you are, the more you understand there’s no turning back.” Tilting away with a sudden outburst, “Ha, ha, ha. How are you going to explain this to the Crew? In for a penny, in for a pound. No more point resisting the inevitable.”

“I…”

“But what really sucks? You don’t know if this is the best thing you’ll ever do or the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

“Whether you’re going to fuck up big time,” Ron pushes the bottle another inch towards Mason, “or you’ve just won the lottery.”

“Ahhh,” Chris’ look swings from the bottle back to Mason, “And the worse thing? It’s all ex ante. Wanna to know what the water’s like? Ya gotta dive in to find out. Like much of life, you won’t know until you go.”

Mason darts from one to the other, “Exactly. I don’t know what to do.” A shiny streak on his shirt catches his unsettled eye. A quick right hand covers the dry snot, lingering for some time on his left sleeve. He swallows hard. Heat sprinkles a concert of prickly sensations across his moistening forehead.

Is that… I thought I’d… when we were inside that engine, I could’ve sworn I got that off. Goddamn Janet with her insane mumbling about shit I’ll never understand. Jesus Mason. Seriously, that’s just disgusting. Pay attention man! You’re fucking it all up. How are you going to…

‘Tap, tap-tap,’ Ron’s fingernail connects with the bottle’s surface, “You will. It takes time my friend, but trust the Alphas. Listen to them. They have a way of making sense.”

Tightening his grip over his arm, Mason closes his eyes. With a deep inhale, the image of the physical flaw retreats to the edge of his mind. He exhales, “Ahhh…” His eyes open, “I’ll try.”

The President stands with a stone-solid voice, “Good. The Alphas understand it’ll take time but remember, there’s a limit. We don’t have forever.”

“I know.”

Pointing at the bottle, Ron smiles, “Excellent. Then I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Let’s party!” Ron extends a glass to Chris. ‘Clink-clink!’ Both tap the bottle in front of Mason, “To the Betas!”

Mason’s eyes shift from his new friend to land on his old friend, “The Betas. But first. Ron, what’s that on your forehead, why are you wearing a sari,” a nod towards the bottle, “and what the hell’s this thing?” A vigorous scratch and two unconscious swipes of his palm across his left forearm completely detaches the nagging imperfection from his spinning mind.

“Mason, great questions.” Ron adjusts in his chair, “Generally in nature, men are the decorative sex, the ones working hard to impress– the useless class. Nature made males for brutal, short, mostly futile lives, nothing more than a messy package to deliver the genetic goods. The truth of a man’s strength lies not in his muscles but in his desire to listen to his mother, impregnate his wife, and protect his daughter long enough for her to start the process all over. This is the design of Mother Nature.

“Like my bindi– a visual signal of my total commitment to the Alphas, I wear this sari to symbolize my…” a quick glance at Chris before returning to Mason, “our commitment to return Earth to a more natural state, a place where humans are simply one part of nature instead bullying our way into the center of everything and thinking we can upend the natural order of things any way we see fit; for instance, turning women into objects of desire instead placing them at the forefront where they belong, where they can do what they were born to do, designed to do: lead the tribe and create the future.

“These ornaments are a reminder of this truth. When I’m here– when I’m living on this ship, I wear them with honor and pride.” His laughter sounds like a flock of geese flying overhead, “Ha, ha, ha. And this bottle? Well this bottle’s tradition. All the newbies have their first drink as a Beta from a Klein bottle. And Mason, you gotta finish the whole thing!”

Pivoting from one to the other, “A what?”

Ron nudges it, “A Klein bottle– a theoretical, fourth dimensional object that…”

“Ron, I think Mason’s had enough theoretical physics for today. It’s time to have some fun.” Chris’ finger hovers near the bottle’s top, “Don’t pick it up. Just drink from here. You’ll see.”

“Okay?” Leaning in, he sips. The cool, sweet, bright-blue liquor coats his lips and slips down his throat as if forced in. It tastes amazing– savory cocoa and buttery caramel swirl within hints of sweet vanilla bean. Wiping his lips, he sees the liquid was not simply sitting still but cycling in a perpetual flow, “What the hell!” Mason’s eyes track the stream’s empty segment, speeding around the handle like a race car, spiraling through the body like a corkscrew, and passing the top like digital switch, flickering the mouth open and shut.

‘Smack!’ Ron’s hand lands on Mason’s back, “Ha, ha, ha. The first few sips are easy. Then they get hard. And it’s that last one that’s the real mitch!”

Another sip produces more segmentation. Mason quickly comprehends the task’s difficulty. Timing is key to those last few ounces. At first, he feels like a fool but the Betas clamor to his side; they cheer him on with such authentic fervor he shortly switches gears and finds himself having an amazing time. With explosive celebration from the gallery, the last drop disappears. Day becomes night. The party never seems to end. He cannot recall going to bed, but in the morning, he wakes where it all began: at his ranch, in his bedroom.

Was that a dream? Probably. That’s it. It was all a dream and today we fish! Oh God, I’m so glad I’ll be spending the day with the Crew. Thank God it was just a dream. Ron? The President? A hot, busty, blonde alien who couldn’t get enough of the Hammer? I mean, come on. How cliché.