"head" A Novel By Jeffrey Sass - Sample

HEAD A novel by Jeffrey W. Sass © Jeffrey W. Sass, All Rights Reserved

"The future is the past..." PROLOGUE…. Save the earth! Save the earth! Everyone is screaming save the earth. But the earth doesn't need saving. Face it; the earth is not going anywhere. How old is the earth? A billion years? Billions of years? Or, as the late Dr. Carl Sagan would have said, "billions and billions" of years? The earth does not need saving. The earth is a survivor. It survived the dinosaurs. It survived the ice age. It Survived the Romans, the Inquisition... Survived volcanoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, the holocaust, Hiroshima... Hell, the earth even survived the sixties! The notion that man is capable of destroying the earth is absurd. Man's entire existence, from the first caveperson (or Adam and Eve, if you prefer) to today is barely a moment, barely a blink, a single breath in the lifetime of the earth. To think that we, human beings, are strong enough or significant enough to wipe out that which has survived, even thrived, for so long without us harkens back to the days when astronomers believed that man was the center of the universe. Well, we are not the center of the universe. We never were and we never will be. The so-called "environmentalists" have it all wrong. Their passionate cries should not be to "save the earth", but rather, to "save the people!" or "save the humans!" for we are the ones at risk. In truth, there should be no "environmentalists." Instead, there should be "humanists," dedicated to the preservation of the human race. The pollution, waste, crime, hate, carcinogens, terrorism and civil unrest that plague our modern lives do not put us on a course that will destroy the planet. They do put us on the path to imminent self-destruction. The earth needs no savior. The earth will be here long after every trace of man's very existence is gone... For all we know, it has happened before (history is doomed to repeat itself, is it not?) For all we know, our species of Homo sapiens is not the first to inhabit this planet we call Earth... Perhaps we are not the first examples of intelligent life, but rather, the second, or even third attempt. Perhaps we are only one of many creatures who, like the Jurassic aged dinosaurs before us, inhabited this planet, thrived upon it, and then faced extinction. Perhaps...

CHAPTER 1 - DIG IT. Sand. The individual grains glitter against the soft glowing rays of the morning sun. A light breeze exhales its warm breath delicately across the surface, choreographing a flowing dance of dust and specs of sparkling rock. As if on cue, a scorpion slides into the scene, seeming to glide gracefully across the wisps of sand smoke. The insect pauses, flexing and then curling its tail, a thick bead of deadly venom sweats from the tip. Rumbling. The ground beneath begins to vibrate, gently at first, but then quick and violent. The scorpion stiffens, ready to move, but it is not quick enough. Splat. The thick steel bucket of a backhoe obliterates the desert bug, at the same time tearing a gaping hole, a monstrous bite of sand, which reveals the multicolored layers of stone and dirt beneath the once pristine surface. The backhoe is just one of many pieces of heavy equipment that have roared to life with the first signs of a new day. This once tranquil desert oasis, undisturbed by man or machine since the days of the Pharaohs, is now the epicenter of a growing quake of activity. Six gaping wounds have already been sliced open in the earth, and our friend the scorpion was martyred by the opening of the seventh. The largest site is already nearly one mile deep. The drilling in this hole has ceased. Now a makeshift frame elevator shaft has been lowered into place, allowing access to the depths of the excavation. A mechanical pulley system controls the lowering and raising of the small open-air elevator car, like a square frame painter's scaffold that disappears into the ground. The place is swarming with technicians, buzzing busily around the area. Dressed in eerie looking full radiation suits they resemble spacemen on Earth rather than highly skilled archaeologists and geologists. The center of attention is the scaffold and the elevator shaft, where an elaborate coil of coaxial cable and copper wires are being unspooled down into the hole, along with the platform and a crew of three. On the surface, where the wires and cables originate, a small crowd is gathered before a nylon lean-to, housing a bank of electronics. Scopes, gauges, meters, video and computer monitors, remote Geiger counters and other hardware, all feeding off information gathered at the other end of the cables, in the bottom of the pit. The muffled sounds of the earth divers on the elevator squawk out of a small all-weather speaker hanging from the pole of the lean-to tent. "We're almost at the bottom. How's the signal?" The thin voice comes through the speaker decorated with bursts of static and interference. Like a voice from Mission Control in Houston, a hooded technician leans forward, pressing his clear plastic faceplate against a desktop microphone. His voice is also broadcast, much clearer, from the speaker, for all to hear. "The radiation level is very high, almost peaking... The device appears to be directly below you." The technician pokes a gloved finger on the sonogram monitor, tapping on the blip for emphasis. "What is it? Have they reached it yet?" Heads turn as a tall, lean, man enters and pushes his way to the front of the activity. Broadcast through a wireless microphone inside his suit, the man's

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“HEAD” – A novel (sample pages) © Jeffrey W. Sass All Rights Reserved

voice is projected by the speaker, loud and clear. Through the wide window of his radiation helmet, his long silver hair, slicked back and pulled taught by a short pony tail, makes him appear somewhat older than his 46 years. "What's taking so goddamned long?" His aggressive tone pierces the barrier of his facemask, making the amplification of the speaker unnecessary to those in the vicinity. "Eight fucking days! When I brought you here you said you'd reach it in three!" He is Warren Stone, and this is his excavation. Even in his bulky radiation robe, Stone exudes an air of confidence and success. On him, the silvery metallic overall might just as well be a twelve hundred dollar Armani suit. Clothes become him, any clothes, and it has always caused him to stand out in a crowd, even wearing the nameless industrial garb of an archeologist. He had "the look", and it was part of his gift. It caused others to treat him special, to look up to him as an authority, as a success. The gift of the look became a self-fulfilling prophecy, and, treated as a success, he became one. Born Warren Stonitsky, to Russian Jewish immigrants, he grew up in Queens, New York. His father, Morris, was the proprietor of a card, gift and stationary store on Queens Boulevard, not far from the Midway Theater. Even as a child, Warren had it. The gift of "the look" followed him through grade school where even the simple clothes his parents could afford, looked perfect on his lean, athletic body. "The spectrograph analysis confirms it, sir -- the 'device' appears to be made from some high density metal alloy -- clearly a manufactured substance and not something formed by nature." The technician looks up at Stone, a dutiful child, waiting for approval. "Remarkable..." Stone gazes at the computer screen and gently grazes his gloved hand along the reams of banner like printouts as the techie continues. "Based on its location in the dig, it has to be over seventy million years old! Given the metallic composition and the high levels of radiation in the area, the only reasonable explanation is that the device is not of this earth!" "Fucking remarkable!" Stone blurts out. There is a tense excitement in the air. Clearly, everyone believes they are on the verge of a major discovery. A young female assistant, her long brown hair visible inside the rad helmet, speaks up excitedly. "We should contact NASA." The technician agrees with her. "Certainly the Government authorities should be notified..." Stone whips around and snaps at them. "No! We tell no one!" Everyone pauses and looks at Stone. "That's right, we tell no one! You don't think I just spent nine hundred thousand dollars of my own money so some shithead fifty thousand dollar a year research scientist in Washington can take credit for the most important discovery of modern time? This is my show! I own it, and I own everything we dig out of here... including the device -- whatever it is and wherever it's from... If any of you doubt that, just remember who brought you here, and bought you all your expensive toys, and remember who is paying your obscene salaries... I'm not just paying you for your expertise, I'm paying you for your loyalty."

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“HEAD” – A novel (sample pages) © Jeffrey W. Sass All Rights Reserved

Standing next to Stone is a gun-toting, muscle bound brute -- a local mercenary who will do anything for Stone. As if rehearsed, the soldier shifts his grip on the automatic weapon he holds, accenting Stone's speech with the sound of gunmetal. "Don't worry," Stone continues. "If I'm right about this site and the device, there will be plenty of money -- If you stick by me, I'll stick by you... If the Feds step in, they will bury the project under a veil of secrecy... This is too important for that!" He pauses to glare at each of them. From the expressions on their faces, it is apparent that Stone's staff is sworn to secrecy. "Good." His gaze returns to the computers.

CHAPTER 2 - DUST TO DUST. Time has passed. Judging from information fed to "mission control" the "elevator" continues its slow descent into the hole as the "blip" on the computer screen grows larger and louder. As they descend, the closer they get to the device, the higher the radiation levels appear to be. Back on the surface, local workers without the benefit of full radiation gear are sick, even vomiting. One thin and weary looking man, with long, stringy hair and sickly blotches on his face collapses. One of the technicians moves away from the control console to assist the fallen worker, but Stone stops him, and forcibly shoves the technician back to his post. "Leave him. We're too close to stop now. Turn on the video." The technician hesitates. Stone barks. "I said, turn on the video!" A large video monitor pops to life in the control center. Someone adjusts a canvas flap above it, to block the sun. Stone watches the screen intently. A circular beam of bright light moves around awkwardly, revealing the scene before it, revealing the dig site, a thousand feet below. They have reached the area where the device is located. It is a strange and bizarre sight, the site. There are dusty, decrepit pieces of high-tech shrapnel amidst the bones and skull fragments typical of such an expedition. Seeing it on the TV-like color monitor, the scene seems unreal, almost fake, special effects for a movie or TV show. But this is not Indiana Jones And The Temple of Doom, this is for real. Stone watches the readings from the Geiger counters go absolutely haywire as on the television before them the "device" is uncovered. The camerawork is unsteady and even amateurish, but the object is clearly visible. It is a two-foot by two-foot square box. It appears to be dusty, and worn, but still intact. Stone bellows into a microphone, "Zoom in on it. I can't see, damn it. Zoom in!" The image on the TV screen gets larger, revealing more. The low light creates a soft and grainy image, adding an eerie cast to the already strange picture. There are several small cylindrical canisters attached to the box, with thin metallic tubes feeding into the box from the canisters. The box itself is a strange sight, an odd combination of old and new. Several of the canisters seem to be covered with a thin layer of frost, yet the rest of the box is blanketed with the thick dust of a million years.

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“HEAD” – A novel (sample pages) © Jeffrey W. Sass All Rights Reserved

"Don't touch a thing, I'm coming down!" Stone pushes off from the control center and heads for the gaping entry to the hole. He grabs a leather strap seat attached to a pulley system and swings it out over the gap. Two workers rush over to assist him. Without missing a beat, Stone hops onto the seat, his legs dangling playfully over the vertical tunnel to nowhere. "Lower me!" The men release the latch of a large winch, and start cranking the handles. Notch by notch, Stone begins lurching his way down into the ground. A guiding light shines up from below, casting strange and eerie shadows against the jagged dirt walls as Stone swings and bounces his way down into the murky throat of the dig. Finally, he arrives at the site and joins the three who had descended earlier. They stand on a makeshift plank floor, designed to push the dirt aside and hold the base of the dig apart. The lights now illuminate the main area of the excavation for Stone and the camera. Stone is off the swing. He steps forward and kneels to examine the fruits of their labor. He stares at the box in awe, fascinated by the juxtaposition of the frost and dust. He takes a shiny, stainless steel tool in his gloved hand and delicately scrapes a thin strip of frost off of one of the canisters and pours the resulting liquid into a plastic baggie, sealing it. He hands the baggie to one of the others, "I want a breakdown of this immediately. Stay up all night if you have to!" He then flips the tool over to the dry side, takes out another baggie, and uses the tool to scrape away some of the dust from the face of the box. When he scrapes it away, he reveals that there is a window-like panel on the box, allowing the contents to be visible. He has scraped away just enough of the dust to reveal a human eye, staring right at him from within! Stone is so startled he drops the tool. Both frightened and excited, he forgets about protocols and uses his gloved hand to wipe away the rest of the dust from the window. When he does, he sees that inside the box is... a human head!

© 1992, 2009 Jeffrey W. Sass, All Rights Reserved

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“HEAD” – A novel (sample pages) © Jeffrey W. Sass All Rights Reserved

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“HEAD” – A novel (sample pages) © Jeffrey W. Sass All Rights Reserved