tmonk_icon.gif rajas_icon.gif

Scene Title Omniscient
Synopsis The angels of the digital age converge on earth in an attempt to discern the locations of what is missing and what must be found…
Date December 21, 2009

Global Telecommunications Grid

A wise woman once said, the Net is vast and infinite…

Thousands of miles above the earth, satellites move and turn, an eternal mechanical dance of microscopic movements calibrated by computers and manipulated by tiny gas-exhaust thrusters. These are the angels of the modern age, omniscient watchers that linger in heaven, solar-panel wings outspread and halos of light dancing behind their binary-filled heads.

« — baker one-ten this is car 54 we have a possible code five at — »

Residing in these husks of metal and plastic, spirits do indeed dwell. Ghosts in the machine swim and swarm like moths to flame, devouring information and categorizing it in feverish search. For all their dispassionate communication, the entities that have become as a conglomeration known as Rebel have divided into their constituent parts, scouring the surface of the earth from satellite to satellite in search of several things.

« — for just twenty-nine ninety-five you get not one, but two Sham-Wows and an additional — »

Lenses and scanners sweep across the surface of the globe, millions upon millions of miles of ocean and mountain, clouds, storms and seas, cities and towns, graves and memories. Every hop and skip from one artificial eye in the sky becomes a different perspective on the world below, every communication intercepted becomes an ear to the ground, they are tracking something that does not wish to be found, and must use every resource available to them to do so.

«Why aren't we looking for the nuclear weapon?» R.Ajas has been wanting to ask that very question for as long as he has been searching the globe. The response elicited from across the communications grid comes off as a tired, weary one of their pursuit.

«It cannot be found. Fight battles we can win, R.Ajas. There is nothing we can do about that problem.»

«But we haven't even tried. We haven't looked once…»

«No,» T.Monk responds in cold quality, «We have not, have we? Continue your search for K.Apila.»

R.Ajas' response does not come immediately, it takes three and a half minutes, and in that time he searches the airwaves of the entire nation of Nigeria for a radio broadcast that matches collected samples of Hana Gitelman's brain-waves. Every single radio, satellite, television station and personal computer in the entire nation is swept through like grains of sand concealing a stone that is not found.

«I'm going to look for it. The radiological signature a nuclear device of that size should be easily detectable from space, we»


That, there, gives R.Ajas a long pause. He vaults from the satellite he is on to coil through the machinery of the satellite that T.Monk has settled down into. «Wait— what? That doesn't make any sense.»

«It makes perfect sense, if you think about it.» T.Monk's tone is patient, bordering on frustrated that he has to explain something so simple. «A thermonuclear device of 20 kilotons should be readily detectable from orbit. The United States Government would have attempted this, and since they do not know where the warhead is, it means that it cannot be found by that method. It is likely shielded, or somewhere the radiation cannot be detected. Therefore, any effort we expend in finding it is futile.»

Silence lingers in the void of space, electronic and otherwise.

«I…» R.Ajas loses his words, then loses his adhesion to the satellite, pushing off and drifting across the air-waves towards a US spy satellite, turning its lens towards Canada. «We have all this power, we can see everything from up here, and… and we're…»


R.Ajas' silence is his agreement.

«Obtaining humility is a step on the road to enlightenment. We are not omniscient, R.Ajas…» Once more taking on the tone of a mentor, T.Monk disengages from the satellite he coiled within and slithers through space across unseen airwaves as little more than the sound of information, transferring himself to a terrestrial satellite array. «We are but men, and men are never more than the sum of their parts.»

Silence hangs in response once more, until R.Ajas understands what T.Monk means.

«We're going to need help, aren't we?»

«Now you see part of the picture.»

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