S Ison - Russian Doomsday

I would like to give a special thanks to Dr. Peter Vincent Pry, Executive Director of the EMP Taskforce on National and Homeland Security. Dr. Pry has posted articles and he has written a comprehensive book, POSEIDON: Russia’s New Doomsday Machine. His book brings to light a weapon, a torpedo codenamed POSEIDON, an Artificial Intelligence nuclear weapon to be developed by Russia. He has so graciously allowed me to use some of the information from his book to craft my story. It was from his book that I was inspired to write this fictional book about the Russian’s AI doomsday weapon.

Dr. Pry is one of the many dedicated people who work to protect our country. He ensures that we are well informed about what goes on in our world. My thanks to Dr. Peter Pry and to the men and women of the US military.

Pike Addison, a homegrown Georgia boy, twirled around in his chair, hands clasped on top of his dark head as he chewed on a straw. His brain was hurting, trying to figure out how to market several large sections of commercial land. He needed slogans and desirable catchphrases. None of which were coming to mind. As the low man on the totem pole at the Beal Real Estate Agency, he got the crap jobs.

The properties were zoned for commercial use and, as far as he was concerned, there were very few people or conglomerations in the market for commercial land except developers. It wasn’t as if developers didn’t know where to go to buy land, so why did they have to advertise it? He shook his head, and his brain hurt even worse. He was pretty sure that if there was a fork around, he’d stab himself with it.

It was a tedious task, mind-numbing in fact, and he’d not come up with anything in the last hour. He could only goof around on his computer so much until someone noticed. Yet the concepts he’d hoped for weren’t coming. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the task at hand or his overall dissatisfaction with his job and his life in general. It was certainly a toss-up.

He’d not imagined his life going in this direction. He couldn’t even remember what he’d wanted to do when he graduated high school, yet here he was, years later, in a job he didn’t like. He tried to remember why he’d even gotten into this line of work. It escaped him completely.

He closed his pale blue eyes, trying to drag up something, anything. He didn’t want to just sit here doing nothing. But the harder he thought, the more he failed. It was as if this job was sucking the imagination and life out of him. How could these people do this day in and day out? There was no adventure, only contracts and more contracts, negotiations, and wondering if a client was going to back out at the last second.

“What the hell, Pike, you in La La Land?” Johnny Rush asked, walking over to Pike’s desk. Johnny came up behind and leaned over the desk to look at Pike’s computer. Johnny had been a big football star in high school, and had a big voice and big personality. Loud and pushy, he was perfect for the job. His clients loved him and were in awe of him.

“No, I am just drawing a blank for this stupid marketing land thingy. The land is out there. Why can’t I just say, ‘Here it is, folks, plenty of land to do shit on?’ Besides, only developers want this kind of land. Regular people don’t buy this kind of property unless they want it for an investment. There aren’t many of those kinds of people,” Pike said, still twirling. Johnny’s blunt face came in and out of view as he spun around.

Johnny wore his hair in a 1950s-style crewcut. The men loved him; he made them remember when times were simpler, the old days. Pike’s own hair was on the long side and kept in a neat ponytail. Johnny eyed him, scratching his own scalp.

“He’s just mad ’cause he doesn’t have many listings,” Beverly Norman said, the side of her cheek filled with something and crumbs sticking to her bright fuchsia lipstick. She had on neon blue eyeshadow that was not very becoming, especially for a woman her age: forty-two, to be exact.

She also had this annoying habit of usually being right. Pike shot her a dirty look. He knew she was right, and didn’t like it one bit. But she was Miss Perfect and had a ton of listings.

He’d been calling her Miss Knowitall under his breath for a couple years now and had almost said it to her face once. She’d have probably clobbered him. She let everyone know she had a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration and that was why she got the big bucks.

It wouldn’t be so bad, and it wouldn’t bother him so much, but she found such delight in reminding him that he sucked as a realtor. He’d not found his passion in life yet and felt he was just treading water until something better came along. Only nothing better ever came along.

“Shut up, Bev. This is a lot of responsibility,” Pike shot back at her, his dark brows drawing together, his mouth thinning to a straight line. He didn’t like being reminded how much he didn’t like his job and how much he really sucked at it.

She laughed, her double chin jiggling like jello. “Rightttttttt.”

Pike turned back to his computer with a huff. He typed in a few keystrokes, went to his Facebook page and scrolled around. He’d found some clients and advertised properties on there. Some of his contacts had panned out great, but more often than not they were a total bust. He currently had a whole twelve listings. They were all low-priced crappy run-down houses in even crappier neighborhoods. Homes no one wanted. Which was why he was stuck trying to do some kind of marketing ad for this stupid commercial land crap. He’d rather be outside doing something, anything, but he was stuck doing this.

In the last few months he’d started getting into the survival game, reading books and blogs about living off grid. Now that interested him a lot. Maybe, if he could do something along those lines, he’d be more satisfied. Here, he just felt it was a waste of his time.

An old school friend of his, Margo Tibbs who now lived in Maryville, MO, had been online a short time ago, he noticed. They’d gone to high school in St. Marys, GA. She’d been Margo Plover then, and ahead of him by two grades. They’d hung out with all the geeks at lunch so the jocks wouldn’t pound on them; safety in numbers. He’d had a crush on her for as long as he could remember.

She had broken his heart when she’d gone off and married Bobby Tibbs, a cross-country truck driver, right out of high school. Margo had thought it would be a gas, driving all over the states and living out of a truck like vagabonds or gypsies.

Pike had always promised to go and visit her, but he never had; he’d never worked up the nerve. He knew at heart he was a coward. He was pretty sure she was out of his league. If he were to try, then the fantasy would be over, along with their friendship. That their friendship far more important to him than his pipedreams of romance.

He laughed at the cartoons she’d sent him; old Far Side ones. They suited their sense of humor to a tee. They tended to trade cute videos and frivolous things.

He scrolled down and opened an article she had shared with him. You need to read this! she wrote. It was an article by a Dr. John James Rhy, the Executive Director of the EMP Task Force on National and Homeland Security. The article was talking about an A.I. weapon Russia had developed called POSEIDON. Apparently, Russia wasn’t satisfied with the status quo. Bigger and better destruction . He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and continued to read.