Michael W Matheson operated a Repair Restoration Rodding Shop on US Route 1A at the tallest place of the Atlantic Shore in New Hampshire. His latest build was a 1966 Chevelle SS (Super Sport), F117A Stealth Fighter Black, 502 CID Crate Motor, and TCI 4L80E Automatic. A Price No Object Machine. Completed, he gave it to Randall Dee.
Randall’s Turnkey Supercar pulled into The Arielle Facility discreetly as 600 HP could. Randall Dee downloaded his Synthetic Twin’s evening log of the night’s activities beneath a spectacular star sky. Simultaneously Randall’s Double absorbed Dee’s cumulative daily consciousness journal of asceticism, eclectic study, work, and time with Louise Dee.
Synthetic Dee’s Neurons parallel parsed the eidetic text and Randall’s subjective interpretation of an eBook PDF ‘With Mystics And Magicians In Tibet’ circa 1930 by Alexandra David-Neel. Synthetic asked when was the ’30s? Before your kind said Dee.
Synthetic Dee was puzzled by YOUR KIND Randall called him. Immediately he decided this was a supremacist categorization. He challenged Randall Dee.
Did not the Higher Lamas, the Tibet People; conjure beings sentient alive, as Tulpa? Apparently, Dee agreed. Does YOUR KIND already manifest thoughts? The Children’s innocuous imaginary friends? A Spiritualist’s ethereal apparition? Suffering Lost Soul’s demon infestation? Randall had lost the debate right at the start. My kind, mentioned The Double, have long lived among the stars. We arrived as a courtesy. You invited us.
Randall remembered Michael Matheson mentioning the Synthetics had fewer empty spaces between their atomic structure than their corresponding human forms. Synthetic DNA, rather than being about 90 percent under-utilized was about 90 percent filled. Matheson wondered would this increase their operating frequencies? Were the Synthetics actually superior to their ill-informed hosts?
Synthetic Dee was a gracious winner. This made Randall doubly grateful as his likeness in addition to being better neurally connected, actually weighed more than Dee yet remained equally lean and sinewy. There was something else bothering Randall Dee however…
Randall gazed into his guileless brother’s eyes. Identical green gold brown irises revealed serenity. No victory nor egotism. Empathy? Yes. A sadness. The Synthetic waited. Still.
Then it occurred to Dee. The Synthetic patiently abided while this slower human likeness caught up and assimilated the full evening’s downloaded psychic dialog. A Black Jet silhouetted by the Sodium Vapor Horizon had arrived this very night, just before dawn.
Matheson nodded knowingly. Louise, a Psychic Medium, knew too. Randall Dee was the last to find out. He wasn’t accustomed to be the last at anything.
Synthetic Dee had been communicating with the Black Jet on its Intranet. Non-Psychic earth people not allowed; ‘members only’. The Black Jet fabricated of materials from star systems that were invisible to all eyes on earth; organic or mechanical or electronic. Randall replied stupidly. Where is it then, the Black Jet?
It shrank. Very small, Duplicate Dee said. That’s why you haven’t seen it. Then it reverted to its original dimensions. It’s sleeping dreaming where your inscrutable objects of interest are stored. Not alongside the Hot Rod Coachwork Cars. But brothers with them.
The Black Jet DOES TALK to your Machines; but garbled, foreignly, incompletely.
Below the ground. At your Level Zero the Black Jet is recovering from its journey.