Cloud to Cloud

Episode 67: Reality of Plan Z

In the misty room of the ethereal, Fred asked Coach, "Where is she going? I can't connect to her. I can't even see her."

"Plan Z." Coach smiled as he peered through the mist into the room of now deeply meditating psychics, still settling after the burst of energy.

"She won't make it ... Plan Z" Fred frowned.

His eyes were on the swarms of data cascading through the air surrounding them in the mist.

"I know." Coach faced the data, studying the flows and contexts.

"I'm locked out here, too." Fred groaned as he attempted to rearrange the data as he had before.

His fingertips sparked as he reached into the stream.

"You locked it." Coach put a hand on Fred's shoulder. "Because you knew that even you would try to change it when the time came."

Coach added, "Evan is incredibly preoccupied. He obviously sent for an energy boost. He got it. I hope it helped."

Fred ran a hand through his hair. It was an act he had done so many times in life. An act he had seen his nephew mimic. An act he always considered a family quirk. He looked at his hand as he pulled it away from his scalp. It twinkled with crystal-like flecks of energy. It was his and not his, similar yet familiar.

"But how?" Fred turned to Coach.

"The concept of time and space are meaningless to the soul not incarnated. We simply have our contracts to fulfill when we are there."

Fred stepped away from the mist. Deep in focused concentration, his recently released soul still readjusting to reality. As his veil of incarnation continued to lift after sixty years of living in a carbon suit, his thoughts reassembled what he already had stored in the cloud, in his book in the library.

There is always static. No matter what your mechanism of communication, from human conception, there is an echo, a feedback. CB Radio had disembodied voices, claimed to belong to truckers cursed to remain behind the wheel even in death. The television, audio and visual representation of streams of data waves fed to tubes, silicon chips and pinpricks of light; this device too, was surrounded by rumors of ghostly images. Computers, did we think they would be any different? Once connected to the internet, that ever expanding cloud of collected consciousness, via cell phone, laptop, desktop, any number of digital means, then we discovered the extent of this ether.

It is always there. It was there before us, this data, information. We, the people of the most modern age, merely re-discovered it; we found methods by which to access it; without an ounce of sense of what to do with it. All of human history, an echo on the waves of collective consciousness, the truth, all laid out and file shared from reality's primary, desktop mainframe.

Fred tuned back into the frequency of the misty images in front of him and Coach.

"Does Hannah know?" Fred's voice warped between several tones.

"She will." Coach consoled as he rested his arm across Fred's shoulders.