Visions in a Cold Coffee Cup.

 
Tarka:


Cold coffee belongs to no one, an empty blackness that lives within its cup, 
forgotten by the wondering mind of man.  Its surface was flat with
reflections that played over its surface.  No warmth. No steam.  Just 
the chill reallity of its cold self.
 
I was sat at my desk and watched the coffee within the cold cup.  Every
now and then it would tremble and shiver softly when someone passed by
the desk, so near the hallway that the tread of human feet distured its
cold little soul.  Far, far to much time had passed sense it had been 
warm.  Sense this mornning when I had poored it.
 
The mornning had started out normal.  There had been the routine paperwork
to fill out.  The run of the mill complaints. Easily fixed with a phone 
call to the person complainning. I had gone to get some coffee in the 
middle of the day.  When I returned the file had been on my desk.
 
I wish that I had not opened it. I wish that I had just put it into my 
basket for later. It would never have happened a couple of days from
now. There wouldn't have been the pictures inside.
 
I looked at the pictures again. They seemed to be from one of the new 
digital camras with the SI chips inbeded. They were popular with the 
turests and others this year because you couldn't steal them. There was
no way past their security, for every picture they took where the was not
being held by their owner, his or her image was added to the picture. A 
novel, but effective, security measure.
 
There had been a few problems with them out in the market.  People would
program them wrong and end up with their dog in every picture they took.
Or one of the funniest was when they got two pictures of themselves. It
was all part of the learning curve though. For the most part the public
took to the camra's like fish to water.
 
Only in this one.  The image appearing over and over again within their
photos was a man. Five foot ten. Brown hair. Grey eyes.  I other words, me.
 
At first I thought that it might have been a joke from a fellow employee.
Something fun to do as a joke. So I dug into the photos with my 
computers imaging systems. First to look at a paper someone had open by 
a parkbench. Find out when they got the photo.  Imagine my surprize when
I saw the date. For tomorrow. 
 
I next looked at blowup of peoples watches and computers. In everyone of
the pictures they agreed. The photos had been taken tomorrow. 
 
With a sigh I looked back into my coffee cup.  Still I could not get the
headline of the paper out of my thoughts.
 
 
Dogfire:


A headline from the Seattle Times. Only one word in huge Block letters 
EARTHQUAKE. With the story teaser, a Richtor 9 quake shook the entire Pacific 
Northwest. Triggering landslides, Mt. Rainer had lost part of it's summit to 
the shaking, wreaking havic all the way to Kent.
 
Massive mudflows, estimates that up to 10000 people had lost their lives in 
the Quake.  I looked outside my office window, Mt. Rainer seemed to be it's 
normal snowly peaked self, wreathed in wind swept clouds.  

The room the photos were taken looked like an airport staging area. Obviously 
not Seatac.  Somehow I tried to discount it, a very good joke. But then 
again...

The ripples in my coffee cup began to quiver. Small rings of resonance 
bounding and rebounding and I just watched as the coffee cup tipped to one 
side, just as a large landslide of papers hit the desk...

I must have shouted and stood up, standing next to my work desk was Judy, who 
had just dumped the daily mail on my desk, knocking over my coffee cup. 
 
"Geeze, Bill, you look like you fell asleep there."

She pointed at a package, from the Exertraer Camera company, maker of those 
digitial cameras. "Hey, did you notice you got a free sample from the 
company. Lucky dog." She smiled and walked off, leaving me to stare at the 
package containing the digital camera...


Terrycloth:
 
 
Of course, I still thought it was a joke, the day after tomorrow. After 
cleaning up my desk and staying late to make new copies of several documents 
that had been ruined by the spilled coffee, I took the camera home and opened 
the package.

I followed the instructions and imprinted the camera with my image. Silly 
grin and all. I was so *stupid*... I'd forgotten all about the photos. But 
even if I hadn't... I might still have done that pose, even after seeing it 
in the pictures.

Then, after watching late-night cartoon marathons late into the night, I went 
to sleep. As if the world wasn't going to end.

I woke up in the middle of the night, to darkness and silence. It seemed 
quiet. Too quiet. I pulled myself out of bed and headed for the window, the 
warning from the pictures finally returning to mind. But the city was still 
there, hellish orange lights illuminating the overcast cloud layer, as 
always. Still, something seemed wrong, and I didn't feel like going back to 
sleep. I threw on some clothing, slugged down the dregs of cold coffee from 
that morning, and got in my car, not sure where I was planning to go at 3 in 
the morning.


Everguest:
 
 
The only thing I knew what that I didn't want to be where I was.  An 
insomniac caught in a deathtrap; the pictures my crystal ball into a world I 
didn't want to see.  I sped along I-5 going north in my small Red hatchback 
Civic, aiming to get as far away from Mt Rainer as possible.
 
Speeding along at a good clip, I stopped into an all night gas station/conveni-
ent mart.  The Civic is a tricky devil.  The gas gauge broke years ago and 
even half full might me running on fumes.  Pumping the gas, I realized how 
tired I really was.  Had a hard time getting the nozle into the tank.
 
After gassing up, I went into the convenience store and plunked down a 
Jackson to pay for the gas and asked him where the coffee was.  The attendant 
was an indifferent college student, reading a textbook.  Without looking up, 
he swayed his head towards the corner where a rusty coffee pot was.
 
I poured out some joe into a large cup.  Why was I not surprised when the 
coffee was cold.
 
Rushing out with a renewed sense of urgency, I told the attendant to keep the 
change.


Tarka:
 
 
Meanwhile, deep under the earth, where the rocks rub agaist rocks, feeling 
each other up looking for just the right spot... or the right crack... 
getting ready to let loose with an orgasmic heave agaist each other. Soon... 
so very soon.
 
Back to the world of the living.

I managed to get back onto the I-5 and was about ten minutes away from the 
station when my scanner came to life... "All units... report in..." The rest 
of the radio talk was static.

Now I was left with a delema.... report in for work and keep my job... or 
keep driving.
 
 
Dogfire:


The clouds raced overhead, I could see twighlight glowing over the Cascades 
to my left. I clambered out of the Civic, shivering despite my anorak, 
clutching the faux leather camera case, surprising light for it's size...

I picked the scenic flat overlooking the Sound, ten miles south of Bellingham,-
 no rivervalleys nearby. Or so I thought.  The wind gusted upward and I 
seemed to smell a gassy smell. An earthquake precursor?

I fumbled open the lightweight camera flap and stood, gapping like an idiot, 
under predawn skies and blustery winds near a scenic overlook of Puget Sound 
like a crazed tourist. And I was crazy, in anger..

I fumbled in the front seat of the Civic, crying, "Where did I leave the 
camera!" When it hit me, while pouring coffee at the all night gas station, I 
had taken it out to check the batteries...next to the rusty coffee urn at the 
gas station...

I jumped back in the car and with a spewing of mud and dust, roostertailed my 
way down the service road back to the Interstate, ignoring the strange 
weaving of my Civic. As if I had no shocks.  Thats when the bass rumbling 
began and....
 
 
Terrycloth:
 
 
...and a flight of black darts passed overhead, no more than a few dozen feet 
above me. The backwash which had been throwing off my steering flung me clear 
off the road and down the side of the hill. With an 'OH SHIT!' I stuggled to 
keep the car upright as it slid through the brush and tall grass.

And suddenly... I was back on a road. If it wasn't for the cracked windshield 
and splattered mud I might have been fooled into thinking nothing was 
wrong... there was certainly no sign of the aircraft -- military aircraft, no 
doubt -- that had come so close to killing me. I decided to head back to the 
station after all. The captain might know what the hell was going on.

"Where the hell have YOU been, Peters?" snapped Captain Fremont as I 
staggered in through the door of the briefing chamber. "We've got a SITUATION 
here and we needed you fifteen minutes ago." I didn't bother to try to 
explain, and it wasn't like I was the only one late. Half the team was 
missing, probably still on their way in from the late night call.
 
"We don't have any more time to wait. We've received a bomb threat, and we 
think the bomb was set in the space needle. Now I know what you're asking, 
why are they calling us? It seems that a tactical nuclear device was stolen 
from a secret base near here just a few days ago, and the group calling in 
had classified knowledge of the details of the crime. The possibility that 
nuclear device has been placed in Seattle is... well above zero."
 
"Peters, your team will analyze the recording and try to figure out where the 
bomb is, in case our first guess is wrong. Poulson, you..." I didn't listen 
to the rest, already on the way to the sound lab. But what I was thinking 
was, 'What about the earthquake? Mt. Renier?'


Everguest:
 
 
I hunched over my desk, clasping the headphones tight around my ears 
listening intently to the recording of the bomb threat.  Johnson passed by my 
desk and left a cup of coffee, cold of course.
 
The bombers wanted the usual.  Blah blah blah injustice and persecution.  
Blah blah blah homeland and freedom.  Blah Blah Blah capitalist pig dogs 
release our comrades.
 
Listening to the recording for the umptheinth time, staring at a drained cup 
of coffee, I heard some distinct background noise...something that sounded 
like talking.  My hands numb from sleep dep awoke in a flourish, racing left 
and right over the mixer board.  A little less treble, a little more bass, 
amplify that signal!  Shortly, I isolated the background sounds.  It's what 
they pay me to do after all.
And what I heard made my jaw drop to the floor.
"Where's the coffee machine?  Thanks.  Keep the change."


Tarka:
 
 
I through the captains door open and it crashed into the shaded window, 
smaching it to the floor in a shower of sharp edges. "Captain! I think I know 
where they are."

The Captain looked at the glass that littered the floor. "Was that really 
nesisary?"

I looked at the glass nad put on my best innocent look. "I didn't mean to 
sir." Then again... the truth was that I had been wanting to do that for 
years. "Anyway... I know where they are."

The SWAT team was crowded in the truck ten minutes later as he headed up the 
I-5. They smelled like a pile of socks that just came in from a football 
game. We were on our way to the gas station.
 
 
Dogfire:


I hung on to a bench seat, listening to the commandant brief the team, all I 
could think was that voice in the Terrorist's communique. The same nasal 
tone, glum replies. I've been known for my ability to match voices to people 
and have an acoustic memory second to none. And there was no mistaking the 
voice reciting the demands belonged to the convience store attendant. The 
same store I left my camera behind. And he's probably got my camera, the 
bastard. 

Philip glumly watched an early morning customer pour coffee out of the bin. 
He grinned, he sometimes poured a bit of piss in it just to see if folks 
would notice. The well clothed and fat ones, dripping with money, never did. 
He grinned to himself and remembered his instructions.  Act as point lookout 
and watch for unusual vans or SUVS. He glanced at the sheet identifying 
colors and unmarked police models used by the Seattle police department.

Soon, soon, the Eugene hilltop hellraiser's would be famous. Philip had 
handed the camera over to Felicity who by now was in Salt Lake city...
 
Glancing out the store window, he spied a van...


Terrycloth:
 
 
I hung back as the SWAT team rushed in. There wasn't much gunfire, and it 
didn't seem like the suspects had resisted. "Clear!" "Clear!" came the calls 
from the team members, and I walked into the building to check out the scene.
 
The only person there was the clerk, bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds 
where he'd been taken down as he tried to flee the scene. "Damn it," I said 
to myself, rushing up and kneeling to check his pulse. The bomb wasn't here, 
and if he died we might never find it. I rolled him over onto his back, and 
his bloodstained cap fell off. I gasped with shock.
 
"You're --" I began. He coughed, still alive. "Set it off..." he whispered, 
"There isn't much time... behind... counter..."
 
And even though it was the last request of someone who could have been my 
twin, I didn't do it. "Was there anyone else here?"
"One suspect made it out the back door, but he's dead." "Damn."
 
"I think we've found the triggering mechanism, though. If they were planning 
on setting it off by hand the city should be safe --"
 
Then we were thrown to the ground as the earth shook. Stumbling to the door, 
I saw Mt. Renier crumbling. And *then* the bomb went off.
 
I don't know who planted the pictures and sabotaged the operation, but this 
time I'll be waiting, and the planned detonation to defuse the eruption will 
go off on schedule. And yeah, maybe I won't get shot this time. That's why 
you recruited me, right? I've got nothing to gain by maintaining the status 
quo.