The Phone Call

I had checked and rechecked all my calculations, filling pages with the scribbles; there was only one possible conclusion. The President walked and talked like a 50-year-old man - but I wasn't buying it. The Kirlian photographs looked very different from anything I'd seen among my neighbors, and the gnostic numerology confirmed it. I sighed and adjusted my tinfoil hat.

I activated my portable radio, cursing the primitive electronics I'd had to rig it from. The Justiciars had said not to call unless something extraordinary happened, and this counted.

"We have a problem," I said, slipping easily back into Rigellian.