Weary Traveler
Chapter 31

“Which one?” Nova asked, following Mitch’s finger.

“The long one that looks like an enclosed shooting range.”

“Fountain Pens? Have you ever written with a pen?”

“No, but it doesn’t look like anyone is there. Let’s check it out,” Mitch said, gripping Nova’s hand. He pulled her close to him and hurried through the crowd.

Their heads swirled left, right, taking in the strange sights of corpos climbing up slick vertical walls with only thin mesh gloves and socks; a small contingent with rectangular backpacks stuck to their backs levitated ten… twenty… thirty feet off of the ground, propelled by flameless jetpacks that used some kind of antigravity force.

The concrete ground rumbled as a pack of exoskeletons hobbled with wide, looping gaits. Bulging metallic arms lifted, firing blanks into the air. Just outside of the exo station’s boundary, was a clear dome the size of a bum’s bonzo canopy. An orchestra of colorful, flashing light and powder illuminated the inside, followed by wiry streams of yellow and blue electricity, and then a dense cloud like a black hole had popped into existence.

Mitch gazed at the flag sitting at the top of the dome: Non-Lethal Sensory Overload Grenades.

Another explosion burst, released a puff of smoke that squeezed out of a square vent on the side of the dome and filled the surrounding area with a rotten stench that smelled like an alley in the Twilight on a hot summer day.

“Oh my god,” Nova said, slapping her hands over her mouth to hide the gags that wriggled through her body. She peered at Mitch, who strolled ahead, unfazed by the reek, except for the tickle that pulled against his nose hairs.

“I don’t mind it,” he said with a quick shoulder shrug.

“That is so gross,” Nova said, elbowing his ribcage.

They hustled past the dome’s entrance, where a small crowd gathered around a salesman in a yellow hazmat suit with a garbage bin of colorful grenades. When he saw Nova’s body seized by stomach churning wretches, he pointed, grabbed his belly, and cackled like a deranged technician.

“Sadistic creep,” Nova said.

The salesman turned and chucked a black grenade painted with lighting bolts through a small panel, counted down from three on his fingers. Then touched the tips of his fingers together like they were kissing, puffed his cheeks and threw his hands and arms apart as an explosion of electricity burst from within the dome, scratched against the inside with tendrils of light.

Mitch pulled back the black curtain draped over the Fountain Pen station’s entrance, ducked through behind Nova. The inside of the booth was nearly pitch black, expect for the cobalt glow of blacklights that spread from the entrance all the way to the end about thirty feet further down where two, white targets glimmered deep blue. The wall on the left just inside the entrance was covered with an assortment of fountain pens. Hundreds of them in all shapes, colors, and sizes.

“Whoa,” Mitch said, taking a step back to absorb the magnitude of the collection. “I’ve never seen so-”

“Watch it, hotshot,” squeaked a voice from behind Mitch.

Nova contained a slight shriek. They turned around and discovered a young girl around ten-years-old seated on a tall, wooden stool.

“My apologies,” Mitch said, placing his hand over his heart, “didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly not,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What’s your name?” Nova asked.

“Elektra.”

“Is that a nickname?” Mitch asked.

“Does it matter?”

Mitch chuckled, scratched his chin.

“I guess not.”

“This is Mitch Henderson,” Nova said, thumping Mitch’s chest with her palm. “I call him Cowboy, though. And I’m Nova Zion.”

“Good to know,” Elektra said, throwing two, unenthusiastic thumbs up.

A trailing silence filled the air, peppered by the commotion and chatter swirling through the convention center.

“So… Mr. Space Cowboy and Ms. Holy Mount Zion,” Elektra said, extending her arms and bowing towards Nova as if prostrating, “what brings you two corpos into my magnificent demo station?”

“We were looking for a station without a line,” Mitch said. “And hopefully without a sleazy salesperson.”

“You found the right place. Just little Elektra twiddling her thumbs while the dumb corpo elite tickle each other’s toes and sniff each other’s butts, no offense.”

“None taken,” Mitch said. “We don’t belong in their-”

“And you would think those dummies out there could at least figure out that I’m not actually selling fountain pens for Christ’s sake. If that was the case then why would I need a damn firing range?” Elektra asked.

“That’s a good point,” Mitch said. “But it makes sense when you understand that corpos are empty-headed creatures without an intellectual, questioning bone in their body.”

Elektra pursed her lips, nodded, and wagged her finger at Mitch.

“You got that right, Mr. Space Cowboy,” Elektra said, hopping off of the stool. “How about a little demonstration?” she asked, wriggling a fountain pen gleaming with a lustrous, yellow-green hue.

“A magic fountain pen, huh? Let’s see it,” Mitch said, motioning for Elektra to take position at the firing point.

She stepped behind the stone barrier, aimed the tip of the pen down at the target, and inhaled a deep breath through her nostrils. She held it there with her chest puffed, tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth. Then her tiny thumb crept around the side and pressed the pen’s tail.

In the time it took Mitch to blink, the pen transformed. It expanded two sizes in length, grew a handle and trigger on the bottom, popped out a curved wing on each side, and a series of cables with a small scope on top.

Mitch shook his head, blinked to see if his eyes deceived him.

“A crossbow?” he asked.

Elektra pulled back on the string and a ray of yellow light appeared in the barrel. It sparkled and crackled as the string’s tension stretched, charged, like she had captured a miniature lighting bolt.

And then, she released the cable. The bolt sliced through the air, punctured the center of the bullseye.

“Holy shit,” Mitch said, wide-eyed.

“That’s incredible!” Nova said, shuffling next to Mitch to get a closer look at the weapon from over Elektra’s shoulder.

“I know,” Elektra said, brushing her shoulders off. She pressed the back of the pen, retracted its limbs, spun the pen around her fingers, and slid it into a tool belt wrapped around her waist with a dozen other clandestine crossbows.

“You made all of these?” Mitch asked, taking a step back to absorb the wall of fountain pens.

“Sure did,” Elektra said, chin raised, lips pursed. “All on my own.”

“These could be manufactured and mass-marketed from Rotech,” Mitch said, analyzing the pens. “Have you tried selling them? I can bring you into Research and Development and you-”

“Nope. Nope. Not a chance,” Elektra said, puffing her lower lip and shaking her head. “I don’t sign deals with the devil, nor take orders from him. I am and always will be my own boss. I sell as many pens as I need to survive. If I relinquish that power to the almighty corpo elite then I may as well banish myself from this miserable existence for sacrificing my soul into the hedonistic hell world with the rest of those uncreative droids out there.”

“Alright, alright,” Mitch said, holding up his hands. “That’s fair, Elektra. And very wise. I respect that.”

“But why a fountain pen?” Nova asked.

“I like antique shit. Yet, I’m trapped in a world surrounded by losers who only want the most advanced tech. Garbage scrap metal that is exactly the same as everything else in this corrupt, joyless city. Corpos have no use for pens. They are so cool that they can write their name in the air with the tip of their finger,” Elektra said, raising up her hands and wriggling her palms mockingly, “big fucking deal.”

“You’re right,” Mitch said, staring at his fingers. “It’s not as amazing as they make it out to be.”

“So they lose out on innovative tech because they lack taste and sophistication. Traits that appear in abundance within me,” Elektra said, kissing the tips of her fingers and then expanding them as if her hand blossomed.

“That is very unique for someone so young to appreciate a time so long ago,” Nova said. “Very admirable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Elektra said, brushing aside the compliment. “It’s nothing crazy when you recognize and reconnect with your past lives.”

“You believe in that?” Mitch asked.

“Of course. But it’s not even a matter of belief… It’s simply what it is. Because energy…” Elektra said, removing a pen, pressing its tail, and pulling back on the crossbow’s cable, firing another shot into the right target’s bullseye, “is eternal. Infinite, even. It exists around us at all times, even though we may not be able to see it or touch it. Just the same as everlasting life. Even though we may not be able to see or understand that, it doesn’t make it any less real.”

“Where does that knowledge and understanding come from?” Mitch asked.

“The ancient ones. The ones who have gone before us. That is what is so wretched about this sick society today. No one remembers their past… human history. We have been dropped onto a lonely island known as the present, with only instant gratification, consumption, and material wealth to occupy our minds.”

“The ancient ones?” Nova asked.

“Yup. They appear in many different forms throughout the ages, long before the CyberTech war. Wise Buddhist monks; Hindu gurus; magical wizards; spiritual sages. These are the everlasting forces that exist in the spirit realm right alongside this reality,” Elektra said, counting off on her little fingers. “Ancient teachers of Christianity; Egyptian pharaohs; Greek philosophers; Founding Fathers of the United States; physicists and inventors like the almighty Nikola Tesla. Wherever you replace wisdom in our past, you will replace an ancient one espousing a deeper truth about the nature of reality and our purpose in the Universe.”

“Who is Nikola Tesla?” Mitch asked.

Elektra’s eyes snapped to attention, bore through Mitch.

“He is only the greatest inventor in human history! A true pioneer of mechanical engineering. A master manipulator of electric currents. He developed lasers, remote control, wireless communication, and wireless transmission of energy. A true genius. And the inspiration for all of this,” Elektra said motioning to her wall of fountain pens.

“But how is it possible?” Mitch asked.

“Free, zero-point energy, man,” Elektra said, spreading out her short arms. “That’s what Tesla wanted. It is about harnessing the natural energy of the cosmos to power all that you see around us. And it is what the government and corpos of his era wanted to keep secret.”

“Why?” Nova asked.

“Same as any other government conspiracy. Power. Control. Profit. Domination of the sleeping masses. But not me. Not Elektra. A mind that has been awakened can never be stuffed back into the drowsy, ignorant unconscious. The awakened ones fight against the darkness and principalities with knowledge, guidance, and love from the ancient ones. That is our only hope in ascending from this hell planet. Ascension!” Elektra shouted, shaking her tiny fists in the air.

“May I try?” Mitch said, pointing to the wall.

“Let’s see it, hotshot.”

Mitch stepped in front of the display, reached up and plucked a matte black pen with gold accents. He tested the weight in his hand as he shuffled up to the firing position behind the barrier.

“You just need to-”

Mitch’s thumb pressed the pen’s tail, transforming it so quickly that he had to reach up with his left hand to keep the crossbow from toppling out of his grip.

“Now pull back on that little piece in the middle of the cable,” Elektra said, pointing. “The longer you hold it the greater the electric charge and the more voltage it will release when it penetrates its target.”

Mitch pulled back on the cable, sucked an enormous bolt of electricity out of the energetic ether. He held it until his hands began to shake. And then, he released the cable.

The bolt ripped through the air and sliced through the black canopy about three feet above the target.

“Whoops,” Mitch said.

“Nice aim, Mr. Space Cowboy,” Elektra said, chuckling. “You held it for too long, got shaky. Try a quick pull-and-release technique to reduce the tension.”

“Will that bolt kill someone if it hit them?” Nova asked.

“It shouldn’t, so long as the person isn’t covered in tech. All that metal could cause some heart problems, maybe even spontaneous combustion. Typically, taking one of these into the flesh will throw you through the air. Your clothing might ignite, the electrical signals flowing through your nervous system will short circuit, and you’ll probably go unconscious.”

Something vibrated in Mitch’s right pant pocket. He reached inside and pulled out his holo-comm. It beamed a three-dimensional image of Vincent’s face into the black-lit air.

“Meet backstage in five minutes. We’ve got a few things to go over before the presentation,” the hologram said before fading away.

Mitch tucked the device back into his pocket.

“Time for us to get going,” Mitch said. “How much for this one?” he asked, holding up the pen.

“Hmm…” Elektra said, stroking her chin, “One-hundred credits. Sounds like you can afford it, Mr. Hotshot Space Cowboy.”

“One-hundred?” Mitch asked, taken aback. “You can sell these for much more than that,” he said, reaching into his pant pocket. He adjusted the count on his credit disk, held it out towards Elektra. She reached into the pocket of her tattered hoodie, pulled out a small, vintage, toy car and held it beneath the disk until both devices chimed.

Elektra turned the car over, stared at the undercarriage. Her jaw dropped, eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead.

“Ten-thousand…?”

“That’s right,” Mitch said. “I like to reward people that create amazing tech. And you, Elektra, have invented something incredible.”

Elektra jumped through the air, collided into Mitch so hard that he grunted. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

“Thank you, Mr. Space Cowboy,” she said. She released him, then embraced Nova.

“Thank you, Elektra, for showing us your amazing invention,” Nova said. “Maybe history will one day look upon you as an ancient one.”

Elektra let go of Nova, backed away so that she stood across from her and Mitch.

“You two are definitely not corpos…” Elektra said, furrowing her brows and wrinkling her forehead. “So, who are you?”

“You want to know?” Mitch said, glancing and smiling at Nova. “Come over to the main stage in about ten minutes and I’ll show you.”

Elektra pursed her lips, nodded.

“Alright, Mr. Space Cowboy,” she said, bumping fists with Mitch. “I’ll stand next to some corpo dummies to replace that out.”