Mark and Courtney exchanged looks and shrugs.
“We’re still deciding,” Mark answered. “What about you?”
“Nah! I think it’s all a lot of hocus-pocus,” the cabbie scoffed. “All that talk about other worlds and the origins of the universe. It makes my head hurt.”
Courtney snickered. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“I’ll say this though,” the cabbie continued, “I think them guys are dangerous.”
“How so?” Mark asked.
“They’re trying to run the whole show. Now they got that thing going at the UN ‘cause they want to be some kind of international spiritual advisors. That’s just wrong. It’s what we got governments for. You may not always agree with politicians, but at least they pretend to be fair.”
“You don’t think the Ravinians are fair?” Mark probed.
“How can it be fair when they only care about the high falutin’?”
“What do you mean?” Courtney asked.
“Hey, I ain’t no dummy, but I couldn’t join them even if I wanted to. They only take you if you’re some kind of egghead. Or you got money. Or a business. I think you gotta have a big fat IQ just to qualify. They don’t want regular workin’ stiffs like me. I don’t know nuthin’ about their plans for the future, but it seems to me, they’re trying to separate the haves from the have-nots. If you’re one of the have-nots, you’re gonna have a lot less, if they have a say. It just ain’t right.”
Mark uttered aloud, “The elite. The strong. The enlightened.”
Courtney added, “It’s like they’re trying to weed out anybody who’s less than perfect.”
“Exactly!” the cabbie agreed. “I can’t get behind that, but a lot of people do. To be honest, it scares me. I’m just a regular guy. It ain’t right I tell ya.”
Neither Mark nor Courtney said another word until they were dropped off in front of Mark’s house in Stony Brook.
“Wait for us,” Courtney said. “Keep the meter running.”
“You bet I will. Hey, you’re not gonna stiff me, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Mark said. He dug into his wallet and took out two fifty-dollar bills for the cabbie. “That’s a down payment. Wait up the block, okay?”
The cabbie tipped his hat happily. “Whatever you say. It’s your dime.”
The cabbie put the car in gear, then gave a final warning. “Remember what I told you. Them people ain’t right.” With that last bit of wisdom, he took off.
“Them people ain’t right,” Courtney repeated. “Kind of sums it all up, doesn’t it.”
“Why did you want him to wait?” Mark asked.
“We won’t be here long. And I didn’t want somebody to wonder why there’s a cab outside your house.”
“Oh. Smart.”
The two circled around toward the back of the house, making sure that nobody saw them. Once inside, they found Patrick right where they had left him, sitting in front of Mark’s computer. The only difference was that he was surrounded by bags of Doritos and cans of Mountain Dew. He looked up at them with wild eyes.
“You okay?” Courtney asked.
“I’m fantastic!” Patrick exclaimed. “This sugary drink is incredible!”
“Swell,” Courtney remarked sarcastically. “He’s wired on Dew.”
“But we have problems,” Patrick continued, ramping down. He took another hit of soda. “There’s a fellow named Naymeer who is the leader of Ravinia.”
He stopped talking long enough to gulp down more Dew. Courtney pulled it away from him.
“Easy,” she scolded. “You don’t want to be up all day.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick asked, perplexed.
“We know all about Naymeer,” Mark interjected.
He went on to explain all that had happened, from being abducted at Courtney’s house to the rally at Madison Square Garden to the meeting with Saint Dane. Patrick listened, wide eyed, while stuffing Doritos into his mouth. When Mark finished, Patrick didn’t say a word. He stared straight ahead, digging back into the Doritos bag. Courtney couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed it away from him.
“You’re making me sick!” she exclaimed.
Patrick barely reacted. He was too busy processing the information. “Traveler from Second Earth,” he muttered. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Courtney said with mock patience. “I’d say that’s really bad. What did you find out about Naymeer?”
Patrick snapped back into focus and grabbed a stack of papers he had printed out.
“It wasn’t difficult,” he explained. “This thing you call the Internet is crude, but there’s plenty of information about Naymeer.”
He handed some printouts to Mark and Courtney.
“His full name is Alexander Naymeer. He’s originally from England. An orphan. Apparently, when he was young, he was knocking on death’s door, and then he suddenly had a miraculous recovery. The doctors couldn’t explain it. The nurses called it a miracle. Whatever it was, from that moment on, the guy started telling stories about other worlds and forces larger than anyone could envision. At first people chalked it up to youthful imagination…until he started sharing his visions. Literally. He showed people images of unique people and strange animals and places that didn’t exist anywhere on Earth. They would have locked him up except for the fact that nobody could explain how he did it.”
“We know how,” Mark interrupted.
“He started acting like some kind of prophet, telling of the potential for future glory, and how this world and all others could reach a kind of nirvana, as long as the right path was followed.” Patrick dug through the pages, looking for a particular sheet. He found it and said, “Here, this is a quote: ‘We must reward excellence and condemn those whose only contribution to society is to burden.’ He said that when he was nine years old.”
Courtney held up one of the pages and made a sour face. “Disgusting. You’ve got Dorito fingerprints all over these.”
“Stop!” Mark snapped at Courtney. “This is serious.”
“Like I don’t know that?”
“Patrick, what year was he born?”
Patrick dug through some papers. “They don’t know for sure, because he was abandoned at a foundling home, but the best guess is 1930.”
“And what year did he nearly die?”
Patrick scanned the pages. “That one’s definite: 1937.”
“First Earth,” Courtney said softly.
“In England,” Mark added. “It happened when we were there. That’s when Nevva gave him my ring. It saved his life, and started a revolution.”
Patrick said, “‘Revolution’ is the right word. He’s created a cult of excellence. Its members are all special people in one way or another. They’re leaders, scientists, athletes, successful business people, brilliant students, military leaders, mathematicians. All races. All nationalities. The one thing they have in common is that in some way, they are exceptional.”
“They’re flawless,” Courtney said, echoing Saint Dane’s words.
Mark stood and paced. “It’s like he’s trying to create a superclass of people to be the new leaders of Earth, and Halla.”
“What about everybody else?” Courtney asked. “You know, the regular people?”
Patrick answered, “He never comes out and says it, but from all that I’ve read, he thinks that the people he considers to be inferior have been the cause of all the world’s ills. According to his vision, they’ll be marginalized.”
“What the heck does that mean?” Courtney asked.
“I think it means that according to Ravinia, they’re irrelevant and shouldn’t be given the same rights as others,” Patrick answered.
“Yikes” was Courtney’s response.
