Next Door Data Read online

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  He awoke in a sweat. The sounds were pounding all around, a louder one closer and right overhead. The booming noise jack-hammered right through his being. Almost like helicopters! He caught his breath, careful not to arouse the others. A distant loon call resonated across the lake, helping bring him back. He checked the time—2AM.

  Calvin sat up. Goddamit.

  The sounds that had taken over until midnight had been teenagers’ voices playing hide and seek. The full moon evening had enhanced their game. That party had come to an end, but this bigger party had to end too. People could no longer be dumping carbon like empty candy wrappers and drink cans into the atmosphere. They had to make a change to keep a clean house planet as a viable life support. The global teenager had to grow up. The party had to end.

  Generator thoughts returned. A shotgun blast through each machine flashed. He shuttered, struggling to slow his mixed up heartbeat. Think rationally. There was no shotgun, no shells, and no, no explosives. Yet pots and pans banging at their doorstep jumped out of the lineup next, early in the morning when he first arose. That should be as disquieting as their generator noise. God, now he was thinking like a teenager. A sign plastered on their window. A noticeable written warning. Pay attention to your children’s future he would write.

  He rested his chin on his knees.

  He had tried writing warnings through his research, the science was clear and he had published what he knew. Just that nobody took notice, except other interested research scientists. Social science told him the average person did not act on rational information anyway or even good information. They decided in a large part based on the guy next door. And modern consumers were so filled with an almost drugged dependence and disjointed belief system. Someone else would take care of the big problems, the politicians or God. A hope built on by the billboards, showing them the monster trucks along with happy faces, their faces. That Spirit of the Wild trailer beside a splashy water scene, a summer dreamtime come true. Like living the pioneering life yet in aristocratic comfort. Pioneering truly was now only for the final frontier. Those astronauts preparing for the Mars mission grabbed the attention of the all the reality shows. There was little pioneering left to be accomplished on a fully occupied planet. Anyway people only paid attention to certain items. Space heroes, plane crashes ... or crime.

  He raised his head, listening.

  Now would be the time to act, under cover of darkness. A huge spray bomb screaming shotgun blast. Shit—he had to get out. He crawled from his bag, fumbling with the tent door zipper and walked stiffly off towards the washroom. The moon hung bright above, bringing an awesome middle of the night tranquility. The loons called again. As he scuffled along the trail to the washroom, he stared at those trailers half hidden by moon shadows. He could write a letter to the Minister of Parks, that would be a rational action. But, he realized, that Minister would be with the established government that was doing so close to nothing. And the generator noise wasn’t the real problem anyway; the true issue was the lifestyle it symbolized.

  What to do. What to do? He entered the tent again, crawling back into his sleeping bag and nodding off.