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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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The
Traveler by John Twelve Hawks |
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Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Gridless I was prepared
to dislike The
Traveler, written by an unidentified author using the pseudonym, John
Twelve Hawks. The author claims to want to live outside the grid, hiding his
identity even from his agent and editor. I expected either too much fantasy
or political posturing, or too little connection to human nature and values.
Instead, I found The
Traveler to be a well written exploration of good and evil, free will and
determinism, and the struggle for control over society. I enjoyed that aspect
of the book so much that I could overlook alternate dimensions and other
fantasy elements. Here’s an excerpt, all of Chapter 31, pp. 230-239: Michael
was being kept in a windowless suite of four rooms. Occasionally he heard
muffled noises and the sound of water going through pipes, so he assumed that
there were other people in the building. There was a bathroom, a bedroom, a
living room, and an outer guardroom where two silent men wearing navy blue
blazers blocked him from leaving. He wasn’t sure if he was in The
only person who talked to him was Lawrence Takawa,
a young Japanese American man who always wore a white shirt and a black
necktie. From
that first day, Michael started asking questions. Where am I? Why are you
keeping me here? Michael
knew he was a prisoner and they were the enemy But Lawrence and the two
guards spent most of their time making sure he was comfortable. The living
room had an expensive television and a rack of DVDs. Cooks were on duty
twenty-four hours a day in the building, and they would prepare whatever he
wanted to eat. When Michael first got out of bed, He
asked for exercise equipment. A treadmill and a set of free weights appeared
in the living room. If he wanted to read a certain book or magazine, he gave
his request to Late
one afternoon, after Michael took a shower, he left the bathroom and
discovered that someone had picked out his clothes and placed them on the
bed. Shoes and socks. Gray wool pleated pants and a black knit shirt that fit
perfectly. He went into the next room in the suite and found “How
are you, Michael? Sleep well?” “Okay.” “Any
dreams?” Michael
had dreamed that he was flying over an ocean, but there was no reason to
describe what had happened. He didn’t want them to know what was going on in
his mind. “No dreams. Or, at least, I don’t remember them.” “This
is what you’ve been waiting for. In a few minutes, you’re going to meet
Kennard Nash. Do you know who he is?” Michael
recalled a face from a news program on television. “Didn’t he used to be in
the government?” “He
was a brigadier general. Since leaving the army, he’s worked for two American
presidents. Everyone respects him. Right now, he’s executive director of the
Evergreen Foundation.” “For
all generations,” Michael said, quoting the slogan the foundation used when
it sponsored programs on television. Their logo was very distinct. There was
a film clip of two children, a boy and a girl, bending over a pine seedling,
and then everything morphed into a stylized symbol of a tree. “It’s
about six o’clock in the evening. You’re in the administrative building of
the foundation’s national research center. The building is in Westchester
Country—about a forty-five-minute drive from “So
why did you bring me here?” The
two security men were waiting for them in the guardroom. Without saying a
word, they escorted Michael and Lawrence out of the room and down a hallway
to a row of elevators. There was a window a few feet away from where they
were standing, and Michael realized it was night. When the elevator came, “Listen
carefully to General Nash, Michael. He’s a very knowledgeable man.” The
elevator opened directly onto a private office. It was a large room that had
been decorated to resemble the library of a British men’s club. Oak shelves
holding sets of leather-bound books lined the walls, and there were easy
chairs and little green reading lamps. The only unusual detail was that three
surveillance cameras were mounted on the ceiling. The cameras moved slowly
back and forth, monitoring the entire room. They’re watching me, Michael
thought. Someone is always watching. He
stepped around the furniture and lamps, trying not to touch anything. In one
corner of the room, pinpoint spotlights illuminated an architectural model
set on a wooden pedestal. There were two parts to the miniature building: a
central tower surrounded by a ring-shaped building. The outer structure was
divided into small identical rooms, each with one barred window on the
outside wall and another window set in the top half of the entrance door. It
looked as if the tower was a solid monolith, but when Michael moved to the
other side of the pedestal, he saw a cross section
of the building. It was a maze of doorways and staircases. Strips of balsa
wood covered the windows like Venetian blinds. Michael
heard a door squeak open and saw Kennard Nash enter the room. Bald head.
Wide shoulders. When Nash smiled, Michael remembered the various times he had
seen the general on television talk shows. “Good
evening, Michael. I’m Kennard Nash.” General
Nash walked quickly across the room and shook Michael’s hand. One of the
surveillance cameras turned slightly as if to take in the scene. “I
see you’ve found the Panopticon.” Nash approached
the architectural model. “What
is it? A hospital?” “I
suppose it could be a hospital or even an office building, but it’s a prison
designed by the eighteenth-century philosopher Jeremy Bentham.
Although he sent his plans to everyone in the British government, it was
never actually constructed. The model is based on Bentham’s
drawings.” Nash
stepped closer to the model and studied it carefully. “Each room is a cell
with thick enough walls so there can’t be communication between the
prisoners. Light comes from the outside so the prisoner is always backlit and
visible.” “And
the guards are in the tower?” “Bentham called it an inspection lodge.” “Looks
like a maze.” “That’s
the cleverness of the Panopticon. It’s designed so
that you can never see the face of your guard or hear him moving about. Think
of the implications, Michael. There can be twenty guards in the tower or one
guard or no guards at all. It doesn’t make a difference. The prisoner must
assume that he’s being watched all the time. After a while, that realization
becomes part of the prisoner’s consciousness. When the system is working
perfectly the guards can leave the tower for lunch—or a three-day weekend. It
doesn’t make a difference. The prisoners have accepted their condition.” General
Nash walked over to a bookcase. He opened a false wall of books, revealing a
bar stocked with glasses, an ice bucket, and bottles of liquor. “It’s six
thirty. I usually have a glass of scotch around this time. We’ve got bourbon,
whiskey, vodka, and wine. Or I can order you something more elaborate.” “I’ll
have malt whiskey with a little bit of water.” “Excellent.
Good choice.” Nash began pulling corks out of bottles. “I’m part of a group
called the Brethren. We’ve been around for quite a long time, but for
hundreds of years we were just reacting to events, trying to reduce the
chaos. The Panopticon was a revelation to our
members. It changed our way of thinking. “Even
the most casual student of history realizes that human beings are greedy,
impulsive, and cruel. But Bentham’s prison showed
us that social control was possible with the right sort of technology. There
was no need to have a policeman standing on every corner. All you need is a
Virtual Panopticon that monitors your population.
You aren’t required to literally watch them all the time, but the masses have
to accept that possibility and the inevitability of punishment. You need the
structure, the system, the implicit threat that becomes a fact of life. When people
discard their notions of privacy, they permit a peaceful society” The
general carried two glasses over to a couch and some chairs clustered around
a low wood table. He placed Michael’s drink on the table and the men sat
opposite each other. “So
here’s to the Panopticon.” Nash raised his glass to
the model on the pedestal. “It was a failed invention, but a great insight.” Michael
sipped some of the whiskey. It didn’t taste like it was drugged, but he
couldn’t be sure. “You lecture about philosophy if you want,” he said, “but I
don’t really care. All I know is that I’m a prisoner.” “Actually,
you know a good deal more than that. Your family lived under an assumed name
for several years until a group of armed men attacked your home in “You
killed my father.” “Did
we?” Kennard Nash raised his eyebrows. “Our staff searched what was left of
the house, but we never found his body” The
casual tone of Nash’s voice was infuriating. You bastard, Michael thought.
How can you sit there and smile? A wave of anger surged through his body and
he thought about flinging himself across the table and grabbing Nash by the
throat. Finally there would be payback for the destruction of his family General
Nash didn’t seem to realize that he was on the verge of being attacked. When
his cell phone rang, he put down his drink and pulled the phone out of his
suit-coat pocket. “I asked not to be disturbed,” he told the caller. “Yes. Is
that so? How very interesting. Well, why don’t I just ask him?” Nash
lowered the phone and frowned at Michael. He resembled a bank official who
had just found a small problem in a loan application. “Lawrence Takawa is on the phone. He says that you’re either going
to attack me or try to escape.” Michael
stopped breathing for a few seconds while his hands gripped the edge of his
chair. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. ‘Please,
Michael, don’t waste your time being deceitful. Right now you’re being
monitored by an infrared scanner. “Just
tell me why you wanted to kill my father.” Nash
studied Michael’s face, and then decided to continue the conversation. “Don’t
worry,” he said to Takawa. “I think we’re making
progress here.” The general switched off the cell phone and dropped it back
into his pocket. “Was
my father a criminal?” Michael asked. “Did he steal something?” “Remember
the Panopticon? The model works perfectly if all
humanity lives inside the building. It doesn’t work if one individual can
open a door and stand outside the system.” “And
my father could do that?” “Yes.
He’s what we call a ‘Traveler.’ Your father was able to project his neural
energy out of his body and travel to other realities. Our world is the Fourth
Realm. There are fixed barriers one must pass through to enter the other
realms. We don’t know if your father explored all of them.” Nash stared
directly at Michael. “The ability to leave this world appears to have a
genetic origin. Perhaps you could do it, Michael. You and Gabriel might have
the power.” “And
you’re the Tabula?” “That
name is used by our enemies. As I told you, we call ourselves the Brethren.
The Evergreen Foundation is our public institution.” Michael
stared down at his drink while he tried to figure out a strategy He was still
alive because they wanted something. Perhaps you could do it, Michael. Yes.
That was it. His father had disappeared and they needed a Traveler. “All
I know about your foundation is the commercials I’ve seen on public
television.” Nash
stood up and walked over to the window. “The Brethren are true idealists. We
want what is best for everyone: peace and prosperity for all. The only way to
achieve this goal is to establish social and political stability.” “So
you put everyone in a giant prison?” “Don’t
you understand, Michael? These days people are
frightened of the world around them, and that fear is easily encouraged and
maintained. People want to be in our Virtual Panopticon.
We’ll watch over them like good shepherds. They’ll be monitored, controlled,
protected from the unknown. “Besides,
they rarely recognize the prison. There’s always some distraction. A war in
the “Meanwhile
you’re killing Travelers.” “As
I said, that’s an outdated strategy. In the past, we responded like a healthy
body rejecting different viruses. All the basic laws have been written down,
in a multitude of languages. The rules are clear. Mankind just has to learn
how to obey. But whenever a society was close to some degree of stability, a
Traveler came along with new ideas and a desire to change everything. While
the wealthy and the wise were trying to build a vast cathedral, the Travelers
kept undermining the foundation—causing trouble.” “So
what’s changed?” Michael asked. “Why haven’t you killed me?” “Our
scientists started working on something called a quantum computer and
received unexpected results. I’m not going to give you the details this
evening, Michael. All you need to know is that a Traveler can help us achieve
an incredible breakthrough in technology. If the Crossover Project works,
history will be changed forever.” “And
you want me to become a Traveler?” “Yes.
Exactly” Michael
got up from the couch and approached General Nash. By now he had recovered
from his reaction to the infrared scanner. Perhaps these people could read
his heart rate and skin temperature, but that wasn’t going to change
anything. “A
few minutes ago you said that your organization attacked my family’s house.” “I
had nothing to do with that, Michael. It was a regrettable incident.” “Even
if I agreed to forget about the past and help you, that doesn’t mean that
it’s possible. I don’t know how to ‘travel’ anywhere. My father didn’t teach
us anything but sword fighting with bamboo sticks.” “Yes,
I’m aware of that. Have you seen our research center?” Nash motioned with his
hand and Michael looked out the window. Security lights illuminated the
guarded compound. Nash’s office was on the top floor of a modern office
building connected to three other buildings by covered walkways. In the
middle of the quadrangle was a fifth building that looked like a white cube. The marble walls of the cube were thin enough so
that the interior light made the building glow from within. “If
you have the potential to be a Traveler, then we have the staff and
technology necessary to help you achieve this power. In the past, Travelers
have been instructed by heretical priests, dissenting ministers, and rabbis
trapped in the ghetto. The whole process was dominated by religious faith and
mysticism. Sometimes it didn’t work. As you can see, there’s nothing
disorganized about our operation.” “Okay
It’s clear that you’ve got some big buildings and a lot of money. That still
doesn’t mean I’m a Traveler.” “If
you succeed, you’ll help us change history. Even if you fail, we’ll set you
up in a comfortable environment. You’ll never have to work again.” “And
what if I refuse to cooperate?” “I
don’t think that’s going to happen. Don’t forget, I know all about you,
Michael. Our staff has been investigating you for several weeks. Unlike your
brother, you’re the ambitious one.” “Leave
Gabriel out of this,” Michael said sharply. “I don’t want anybody looking for
him.” “We
don’t need Gabriel. We have you. And now I’m offering you a great
opportunity. You’re the future, Michael. You’re going to be the Traveler who
will truly bring peace to the world.” “People
will still keep fighting.” “Remember
what I told you? It’s all just fear and distraction. Fear will get people
into our Virtual Panopticon and then we’ll keep
them happy People will be free to take antidepressant drugs, go into debt,
and stare at their television sets. Society might seem disorganized, but it
will be very stable. Every few years we’ll pick a different mannequin to
give speeches from the White House Rose Garden.” “But
who’s really in control?” “The
Brethren, of course. And you’ll be part of our family guiding us forward.” Nash
put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. It was a friendly gesture as if he were
a kind uncle or a new stepfather. Guide us forward, Michael thought. Part
of our family. He stared out the window at the white building. General
Nash turned away from him and walked over to the bar. “Let me pour you
another drink. We’ll order dinner—sirloin or sushi, whatever you wish. And
then we’ll talk. Most people go through life never knowing the truth about
the major events of their time. They’re watching a farce performed at the
edge of the stage while the real drama is going on behind the curtain. “Tonight
I’ll raise the curtain and we’ll walk backstage and see how the props work
and what’s behind the set and how the actors behave in the dressing room.
Half the things you’ve been taught in school are just convenient fictions.
History is a puppet show for childish minds.” Billed as the first novel in a trilogy titled
The Fourth Realm, The
Traveler provided me with reasons enough to want to read the next
installments. Steve Hopkins,
September 25, 2005 |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the October 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The
Traveler.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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