The Dead Machine

Chapter 1

            “Virgil? Good heavens, Virgil, is that you? Is that really you!?”     

            Virgil’s eyes immediately widened and his heart leapt at the sound of her voice. His hand trembled on the dials as he fine-tuned the transmission.

            When the hissing lessened he replied with unrestrained excitement, “Yes, yes it is me! It’s Virgil!”

            There was a moment’s hesitation then she asked, “How…how is this possible?”

            Virgil leaned into the microphone. “Do you remember, in those days just before you were taken away, me telling you that no matter what, I would find you? And that we’d be together again?”

            “Yes, but that was so many years ago. And in those delicate situations people say things, knowing that, well…they say comforting things to lessen the hardship, to lessen the pain. I never thought that …”

            “That I’d actually find you?”

            The static grew louder and a momentary panic gripped Virgil. He scanned the computer screens, recalibrating and synchronizing the feed.

            “… have found me. Oh, Virgil! Somehow you‘ve done the impossible.”

            “Nothing is impossible!” Virgil shot back. “They all scoffed, ridiculed and dismissed my work as delusion, as fantasy. My grants dried up, my investors backed out; even the military gave up. But I never gave up! I made you a solemn promise and today, that promise has been kept.”

            “Virgil, I don’t know what to say…”

            Virgil interrupted. “I can’t get a fix on your location. What are your surroundings? I need to know. Describe them for me. Can you see the stars?”

            The static increased. The reply broke up.

            “…The horizon in the morning… when I look out…the lights are always on… then, when we gather as a group…”

            The increased hissing overwhelmed the rest of the message.

            “Wait,” Virgil said as he again attacked the dials. “You gather as a group? Is there a specific time when you do this?”

            “A few times a week,” came the reply. “Mostly we do it when…”

            There was some background noise not related to the transmission, then a stranger’s voice. “Virgil? Lillian, did I just hear Virgil’s voice? Where is it coming from?”

            “Bert, this is a private conversation and…”

            The man ignored her. “Virgil? Is that you? Where are you? It’s me, Bert Langley. Remember me, the science teacher from down the block? You used to deliver the newspaper to my house when you were a kid. And I used to tip you a whole…”

            “Get out of here, you bastard,” Lillian bellowed. “Virgil doesn’t care about you! He wants to talk to me!”

            Virgil heard a grunt, a huff and a shuffling of feet.

            “Okay, he’s gone, and yes, we do gather several times a week to…uh, socialize and talk about our loved ones back home.”

            Virgil felt a lump in his throat. “You… still miss us? Even after all this time?”

            “Oh, of course, honey! It’s knowing that our loved ones still love us is what keeps us all together. You are all in our thoughts each and every day.”

            Tears spilled on Virgil’s cheek. “You are in mine each and every day too and…”

            Virgil stopped when he heard Bert Langley’s voice again. It grew louder as he moved back into the transmission field. “Over there, see? I told you! Lillian is communicating with the outside. What? No! She’s not sending signals, she receiving them! Well, see for yourself, apparently it is possible…”

            Lillian’s voice broke through in sharp hushed tones. “They’re coming Virgil! Disconnect! I don’t want them to know what you’ve accomplished. Get back to me further down the line!”

            “Who’s coming? What are you talk…”

            “Disconnect! Disconnect!” she shouted.

            Virgil did.

            He drew a breath, dropped his hands on his lap and stared at the now blank computer screens. A few moments later, when the shock of what he accomplished finally sank in, he said in a shaky voice, “I did it! After eleven years of working myself to death. After eleven years of ridicule from those jealous miscreants, I did it! We actually spoke.”

            He wrapped his arms around his shoulder and side and breathed deeply. He held up his index finger. “And this,” he said, nodding his head, “is just the beginning!”

            Virgil rose from his chair, walked over to the desk, reached down and picked up the framed photo that had accompanied him everywhere he went. He gazed at the photo, smiled, kissed it and placed it back on his desk. The photo was of his mother, Lillian.

            A woman dead for the past eleven years. 

Want to Read More? https://amzn.to/39yj03V