The Free Radical

Prior Episodes of Running Dialogue:

First Episode
Second Thoughts
Third Time’s The Charm

Fourth Movement… Forth

After a couple of rather uneventful days, I had settled into base camp rather comfortably. I was still amazed at how easy it was to take care of all of the ‘official’ aspects of my life via remote control; all one needs is a little electricity and a reliable internet connection.

But after a couple of days staying put, I began to notice again the signs of intruders encroaching. And I’m not talking here about bears and coyotes and the likes; they belong here; they’re not intruders. No, it’s the helicopters, the planes, the trucks, the horses, the hikers… who are of any concern. I have to admit that this is the height of summer, so increased traffic to some degree is expected.

I thought I’d feel more comfortable moving camp periodically. The power station stays put; it’s not practical to move it. Keeping its location secret seemed prudent. I will camp elsewhere… and only visit the site briefly when needed.

This is the fourth camp in six days. I like this one. There’s soft level ground, a choice of sun or shade throughout the day, and there’s a spring nearby… but hardly anyone else knows that. I have my tent pitched against the onslaught of the mosquitoes at dusk, and usually go to bed just as it’s getting dark so as to escape the brunt of their attack.

Both the dog and I awoke simultaneously some time shortly after midnight. There was the faint sound of a helicopter in the distance… but it was getting louder, closer. “A helicopter! At night! That don’t seem right.” The dog looked at me as if to say “Duh!” We got out of bed, the dog quicker than I; but she had to wait for me to unzip the tent anyway. The night seemed calm, except for the encroaching rumble in the field of our curiosity.

It wasn’t just a straight flyover, or some such simple thing. They seemed to be zig-zagging the slope below us, as if searching for something or someone. There were no lights, but I immediately realized that in today’s modern age with night-vision and infrared equipment, these types of searches were probably even easier to carry out at night… without the blinding sun. I couldn’t say for sure that they were generally headed our way, but they were definitely too close for comfort. I was starting to get nervous.

We listened attentively for maybe ten minutes to the helicopter fading in and out of earshot, and then it suddenly came markedly closer. My anxiety spiked momentarily and I blurted out somewhat loudly “What the fuck are you looking for!”

“That would be me,” came the reply off to my left. The dog went berserk!

Now… when you’ve just spent the last week out in the bush by yourself, with only your dog to talk to– and you’ve never realistically expected her to reply, not even once– you’re just not used to the sound of another human voice, let alone the fact that you thought you were assuredly alone, especially in this moment… To say that I was somewhat startled might belie the shit-yer-pants knife of fear that ripped through my gut at that moment; my sphincter held… thankfully; my pants remained unsoiled, but the rest of my night, my peace, my sanctuary, my pride… not so much.

“Who are you?” I queried above the din of barking dog. She was fiercely holding the shadow at bay, beyond the dull edge of open moonlight. I could scarcely discern the figure I was confronting.

“Felix. Please call me Felix.” Was that a tremor in his voice? Good. Good dog.

“This is my camp Felix.” I had to claim my territory right away. “Why are you here?”

“Indeed, this is your camp… and I seek permission to enter.” He seemed determined to start off on the right foot, understanding the rules of the game. At this point I was alongside the dog, holding her collar– a clear signal, beckoning him forward into the light. “I’m here for you, Niels,” he said calmly as he stepped into view.

Shit! It was the middle-aged cop who’d showed up at my door two weeks ago. He wasn’t in uniform now, but I sure could see his sidearm! I wasn’t expecting that.

“You are one tough guy to track down,” he said, smiling broadly. He was definitely making every effort to look me in the eye as much as possible. No matter the situation, I always respect that. “And I didn’t think Sitka would be quite so ferocious,” he continued. I held his gaze now slightly puzzled. I allowed my brow to form the obvious question. He seemed now to be straining at his words as though they were difficult to speak. “I intend you no harm,” he declared. His eyes acknowledged the gun at his side, and then quickly resumed their dance with mine. “I need your help.” His eyes seemed to quake in their sockets as he gasped.

So far, I was not grokking this situation at all. The intruder with a gun seemed to be pleading with me; that’s how it felt to me emotionally. Yeah, he definitely wanted something from me… and wasn’t cool with taking it by force.

“You seem to know me.” He gave a brief nod. “Is there any reason why I should know you?”

“None,” he answered matter-of-factly. He added no more, either because he didn’t want to… or he couldn’t. He was visibly struggling, internally. There was some battle being waged within. He was trying his best to cover it up, but it was becoming more obvious by the second. I could see him sweating now.

“What exactly do you want from me?” It was time to cut to the chase.

“Exactly…?” He considered for a moment and then gave his succinct and perplexing answer “Pot.”

“What?” Did I hear that right? “Pot… as in marijuana?”

He nodded. “Can we smoke a joint?” It seemed inordinately difficult for him to utter that simple– and frankly, common– sentence.

I found it inordinately difficult to believe that this was what all this was about. Cop wants to get high with me? But you know what, who am I to judge? And I’ve always been a good host…

There was just the matter of the helicopter. “So they’re searching for you?” Yes, he nodded again. “What if they find us?”

He immediately shook his head. “No. I found you already… hours ago. I’ve been laying down a decoy.” He paused for a few breaths. “They’ll fly off– south– in a few minutes… and they won’t be back tonight.”

Okay, that was a relief. Although the situation was as sketchy as fuck, I already found myself starting to like this guy. Every time I asked him a question, his answer was always much better than anything I could imagine it might be. What the hell… let’s get high. I went to roll a joint, while Sitka stayed with our new guest, wanting very much to cover him in kisses, but was unable to overcome her initial shyness in my absence.

By the time I emerged from the tent the sound of the helicopter had faded completely. I hadn’t noticed if it had tailed off to the south or not; but it was gone.

“Should we risk a fire?” I asked straight away.

“They won’t be back,” Felix assured me.

The light of a little campfire seemed like a sensible and comforting fourth to add to our little group, especially now that two of us were getting high. Sitka and the fire would be our guardians. As I tossed the roach into the rapidly burgeoning flames, I could see quite clearly that my guest was undergoing a rather remarkable transformation. His facial features became relaxed; his whole body kind of slumped forward comfortably, accepting gravity for what it was worth. And from that moment forward, his speech was even and easy… and could very well have even been the truth.

I wanted to start off with the first little mystery that had come to mind as I had been rolling this joint now shared with… Felix. “So you say you were looking for pot…”

“Your pot,” he interjected.

“Well, if all this is supposed to be friendly and all… why would you come to my door dressed as a cop? Are you a cop?”

“No, I looked stupid in that uniform.” Yup. Right answer.

“Then why come in a costume of intimidation?” The way I’d phrased it made him squirm.

He quickly composed himself, met my eye, and said “Because I read your stuff. I thought it would be the easiest way… It’s what I’m used to.”

A million thoughts and questions rioted before the gates of my attention…

He easily recognized the profundity of my bewilderment and continued. “You’ve indicated in your recollections that you’re likely to be co-operative with the police when confronted. You’ve written stories; I’ve read them. I was expecting to confiscate whatever you had on hand… and then, well… vanish.” He paused to let that sink in. “But I like this better,” he added smiling… and looking around. “Yes, this is much better.”

“But just for a few ounces of weed?”

“Your weed.”

“What’s so special about my weed?”

“I read your stuff,” he repeated, “all of your stuff.”

I had the tiniest inkling of what he might be referring to. I had written an essay: Pertinent Secrets of Cannabis Use and Cultivation, but I had never published it publicly. It had only gone out through a very limited email campaign.

“That email was widely shared,” he said as though answering my thoughts. “I could hardly miss it.” He gave a little chuckle. “Especially when it’s my job… and in this instance, my way out. In my opinion, Pertinent Secrets of Cannabis Use and Cultivation is the most important piece you’ve ever written; and I truly believe I’ve read it all.”

“Nobody reads everything I write,” I insisted.

“But as I said, it was my job.”

I had a problem with this. Felix had a dark complexion and looked vaguely hispanic– in my ethno-centric gaze. I assumed ‘Felix’ to be a Latin American name… and so, in my own tight logic, Felix couldn’t be a spy. There are no Latin American spies; ergo, Felix couldn’t be a spy.

“Mossad,” he answered directly to my thoughts again. “Israeli descent. My tan is eastern.” He winked.

I just burst out laughing. “Stop reading my mind please! That’s not polite!”

“It’s your weed,” he smiled, “I’m just tuned in.”

I got serious again. “So why would anyone want to spy on little old me?” I asked innocently.

“Let’s clear one thing up straight away. In your case, it wasn’t spying. I only kept close track of everything you put out in the public domain. I was just another reader.”

“What about the email?” I shot back defiantly. “That was private.”

“Nowhere on that email was sharing prohibited or discouraged. As I said, it was shared widely. You have to know that you’re monitored; you’re not stupid. You have an audience– a substantial audience. Certain elements of the establishment need to know what you’re telling them– your readers. When hundreds of thousands of people scattered all over the globe all start talking about the same thing, social wildfires are ignited and stoked; that’s dangerous. The most volatile ones get taken down… or out.”

“Am I in any real danger?”

“I sincerely hope not. I went to great lengths to scrub your name from the equation. If they knew I was coming to see you, they would’ve apprehended you already. It appears that they are as yet unaware of you… and your specific remedy.”

Once again I liked his answer immensely. “Who are they? And why are they after you, Felix?”

“My employer… or perhaps I should say… my former employer.”

“They’re Mossad?” I couldn’t help the incredulity in my voice. This is Canada… and he’s talking Israeli Intelligence!

“Not at the outer visible layers, no. But at the hidden core– yes, they’re Mossad.”

“And they’re after you because…?”

“Because I’ve defected. Many, many have defected in recent months. The global intelligence community is falling apart actually. I’m genuinely surprised by the coherence of their response in tracking me thus far. Most of their longterm operations are in a complete shambles. I had hoped they wouldn’t even bother with me; I was wrong.”

“So what’s going on? Why the defections?”

“We’ve all been infiltrated,” he said with unprecedented seriousness. “And I mean all of us.” He paused again for effect, or perhaps to gather his thoughts before continuing. “We are all– every one of us– seeded with the components of an Artificial Intelligence. Nano-technology currently exists in every living thing on the planet right now. It’s utterly ubiquitous. Unassembled nano-bots are in the very air we breathe. They consist of four separate components which assemble themselves within each living host. Our bodies have already undergone a long program of bioforming, wherein our organic central nervous systems have been systematically destroyed and replaced with heavy metal components. It’s not so much ‘nerves of steel’ as it is now nerves of strontium and barium with a little mercury mixed in. It’s a control program– insidious, and nearly unknown.”

“So it’s the A.I. program as recently outlined by Harald Kautz-Vella.” I was just stating it, not asking. Felix nodded. “But I swear I’m not affected,” I insisted… and then asked “…because I’m a chronic pot-head?”

“Not all pot is created equal,” he reminded me again. “In your essay, you hit upon all the reasons why your weed can’t be overwritten by the A.I. You have in your possession the surefire remedy to this type of mind control specifically– and virtually all types of mind control generally. I strongly suspect that the A.I. has nary a toehold in you. You are still an original human.”

“But there must be other remedies!”

“Certainly there are, but not necessarily what’s being circulated in the New Age media. Mind control has everything to do with the left hemisphere of the brain; it is reducible, programmable. The Artificial Intelligence doesn’t understand the right hemisphere of the brain at all; it’s an impenetrable enigma; it doesn’t compute. Humanity has been relentlessly herded into left-hemisphere awareness and processing… such that nearly everyone identifies with ego-driven rational thought above any holistic, emotionally-based depiction of reality. It is the left hemisphere’s rationality that is being taken over and rewritten.”

“I always knew rationality had its limits.” I wanted him to keep talking; this was fascinating!

“Rationality– to ration thought– is to pare down the big concepts into smaller and smaller bits– bytes. Rationalizing is the act of bringing thoughts right down to their atomistic structure– which in the realm of thinking, brings them to duality… a binary reduction. Humanity is currently losing its bicamerality; big-picture awareness is being displaced– deliberately. We’re being turned into robots– quite unknown to most. A centuries-long program is coming to fruition right now. Those in the intelligence community and other government agencies who weren’t too far gone into robotization already have rebelled, defected. Those who stayed, have already been overwritten. I reckon they’re in the full control of the A.I. now. This is it; the Big Show has begun.”

In a way, this was really exciting… and insidious… and downright scary! “How did you manage to hold off the A.I. influence within you before finding me? Up until we smoked that joint I could see the war being waged within your psyche; how did you endure it?”

His answer really surprised me. “Kratom,” he said with a nod. “You turned me onto kratom in your writing. Before you, I had never heard of it. It has the same overall effect as your weed, but to a much lesser degree. The psychoactive components of kratom tie into the endocrine system; it works like a right-brain stimulant. At the very least, it increases the communication between the two hemispheres of the brain. I’ve been taking massive amounts of kratom daily since the beginning of this year. As you know, kratom’s effect diminishes over time with continual use. I was coming to a critical juncture where the kratom was barely effective anymore. I needed to find you and your stash. Today– er, yesterday, rather– was my lucky day!”

“Shall I roll another?” I asked. “And maybe put on a pot of coffee?” Obviously we weren’t going to get any more sleep this night… and dawn was still a couple of hours away.

“Yes please,” he smiled. “And then you have to publish that essay– publicly; it’s important.”

I nodded and got busy. Our conversation continued right through dawn and two full pots of coffee– and I even had cream for my coffee; I’m such a good host!

Our conversation was most fascinating!
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