Meeting of the Minds

The card was heavy. I turned it over and back again, the iridescent coating hypnotic. The image of freshly made malt balls rolling down a conveyer came solidly into form. I’m hungry.

I turned the card over again. A zebra, a mother, slows her pace so that the lion would take her instead of her foal, her baby. The lion sinks his fangs into the back of her neck and she buckles into the dirt. Gruesome.

I turned the card one last time. It's an old man, not too old. Early seventies? He's in a warm-lit room facing away. Now I see, he's painting. It's a handmade bird house. That's a nice hobby. I need a better hobby. I should have taken up swimming when I was younger, but I hated the feeling of swallowing pool water.

The card shimmered blue, green, and pink, the colors of the Bubocan flag. Blue and green stripes, behind three pink men running rightwards with linked hand. Like paper dolls, they were featureless and rounded. Do they have zebras in Buboca? The call sign is supposed to be personal memories. To witness a mother giving her life like that...

I remembered I'm in the middle of a busy street, people moving around me like water. Some even look like the pink men of the Bubocan flag. The cobblestone street lined with cafes and restaurants was loud, I don't know how I tuned it out or how I was going to again.

I flipped the card over once more and a new image appeared in my mind's eye. Cafe au lait, baguette et confiture de saison, plateau de fromages. It was a simple cafe menu, ornate blue border, yellowed coffee stain on the top right. I could go for a coffee. Do they do cappuccinos in France?

The cafe wasn't hard to find, only three on the street had ornate blue borders and only one named gruyere in their cheese platter. I grabbed a seat outside, avoiding contact with the hostess. The less contact the smoother this goes.

Nobody sitting outside was looking at me, but someone outside was waiting for me. The image of the menu came back into my mind. The light was striking the menu from the right, so they should be facing towards me. The less contact the smoother though. They wouldn't have brought me in if they wanted physical contact.

A waitress came up and uttered something French. I tuned her out and focused inward on the mind's eye. Malt balls, zebra mother, bird house. Rolling, falling, painting. The rolling malt balls flatten into spots blanketed across the savannah. The zebra and her baby weave through them as the lion pursues. The mother falls, and the world is engulfed in stripes. In between the stripes the man paints the bird house as it grows and grows until it swallows him whole. I'm swallowed by the bird house too, and now I wish I'd ordered the cappuccino when that waitress came by.

The call sign worked, in my mind's eyes I was in an infinite blue void. It was alien, not a part of me. I'd connected to whoever was waiting for me at the cafe. The representative of Buboca standing a few feet away from me was featureless, like the pink men on the flag, but the figure standing before me was transparent, blurry, taking on the blue of the void.

The figure gestured to a table and chairs that were always there, identical to the cafe's. I took a seat, the Bubocan agent did the same, the back of the chair showing through the blurry avatar. The figure looked male from the little I could make out. I wonder how I looked to him.

He raised his hand up and then with the palm down, waved it across the table, a map appeared of Buboca and our allies in the Atlantic, Jatribar. It had been three days since the island of Jistern was taken by Bubocan pirates.

They’re not pirates. The crossed my mind, but it wasn't mine. They’re not pirates, the thought rang again. Okay. I get it.

The Bubocan agent was advanced, my handler wasn't kidding when he said Buboca was littered with psychics. Littered? Interesting word choice. It felt like an icey knife grazing my brain when he did that.

No matter, we're trained in languages for many reasons. Bucoca was colonized by the French, and they're still a close ally, hence our meeting here. French is off the table. There's Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin, Hindi, Russian. The figure didn't move, no thoguhts implanted. He speaks all of them, and he's waiting for me to pick.

Listen, we need to respect each others' boundaries. We're here to resolve a conflict. The Bubocan ships off the coast of the island of Jistern. I waved my hand over the map, and the image of ships appeared.

I drew a line. Are these not pirates? They're encroaching on the territorial sea of our allies.

They're not pirates. The island of Jistern has historic ties to the Bubocan people. It's our birthplace, it belongs to us.

Is this military action, an invasion of our allies?

No. He waves hand over the map again. The boundaries of Buboca appear and encapsulate Jistern. Fifty years ago, Jistern was a part of Buboca. Did you respect boundaries back then?

I wasn't alive then. Neither was I. Let me finish. I'm here representing the interests of my country and its allies. Invaders. Regardless of what I think of events of the past, I'm here to prevent our military and others from getting involved.

And what would you say to your handler if I told you to get involved? I don't think I could go back. It's not a concern friend. We're not invading.

Then why are you there?

The blue void around us turned into open sea. I couldn't let him see... Do we have to visualize the ocean for this?

Why not? It will make this explanation easier. Three ships rise up from the water, surrounding us. When we were invaded by your ally fifty years ago, we lost a ship in the conflict. It's only now that we learned that it sank, and its whereabouts.

Why didn't your government commuicate this to anyone else? Why didn't yours?

It was a US-Jatribar vessel that detected the ship to begin with. Someone on your end leaked it to us. A spy? No, an activist, we think. Not one of ours.

What's so important about this ship? I'm afraid I shouldn't say.

I think it's the contents of that sunken ship that have brought you here, and why we're not meant to utter a word. What? If word got out, you'd have a lot more ships surrounding your ally.

I've got no clue what you mean.

The Bubocan people's claim to what you call Jistern is ancient. There are things there that are ancient. What was on that ship? I only know the stories we're told, but I can show you a take from an old Bubocan film.

The water around us shakes and begins to rise. No! Don't!

You don't like water? It's not real, we're in your head.

No we're in yours, I followed your call sign. I went through the bird house.

I'm afraid to say, there are no zebras in Buboca. But you're in Africa. Yes, but there not in Buboca, I've never seen one.

So... our meeting's been intercepted. Who would do that? Anyone curious about the contents of the sunken ship. Who gave you the call sign?

It was in an envelope outside my room this morning. Same with me, the easy answer is the French were alerted to this meeting and wanted to know.

But they're your ally. I wouldn't be so sure. Your precious Jatribard may turn on you for what's on this ship.

What's on that ship?!

The water in the void begins shaking again and rising around my ankles.

I think we're about to find out.

No. I was frozen to my seat. I put my hands at the edge of the cafe table to push up, but as the water rose, my body became stiff. No, no, please. The figure across from me sat motionless. Stop this!

It's not my doing. Liar! The water went over our heads. I held my breath as we sank into the darkness.

You know we're about to face what sank with that ship.

Bullshit! Water rushes down my throat, I can't breath. We reach the sea floor, and old wooden war ship lay shattered around us. Let me go! I was dying. Something moved from behind the broken bow of the ship, a shadow. I was paralyzed.

The shadow expanded to be bigger than the bow as it creeped toward us. With the last of the air in my lungs a let out a scream and pushed myself back from the table. The dark ocean bled out of my vision as fell back. The world of the Parisian café returned as I hit my head on the gravel.

I sprung up, looking across the cafe. Where was the Bubocan? I had to save him. I ran to each table and ripped the menus from each person's hand. No coffee stain, no coffee stain. People were calling out for help.

Everyone was out of their seat now, some were pointing, but not at me. There was a woman floating out of her chair several feet. She kept rising, her head tilted back.

There was no doubt this was the agent, trapped in hell in that ocean. I had to wake her. I grabbed her by her ankles and forced her back to the earth, catching her in my arms.

Her eyes opened and fell upon me. It was a lost, empty look.

In an instant, with a dull pop, I was covered in what was left of her skull and brains. The crowd was screaming and all I could think was if I was next.