Entangled Iinterests

Bob Lincoln sat in the empty newsroom wondering why Alex Bocharo—the wealthiest industrialists in the world—wanted a sports writer to interview him. He examined his airline tickets again and couldn't understand why anyone so rich lived in Yellowknife, Canada.

Bob flinched as Jim Anderson pulled up a chair next to him, saying, "I hear you’re meeting with Bocharo."

"I said you should go since you write a business column, but my editor insists the invitation was for me."

"Wish it was me. Bocharo's empire is amazing. His batteries are small, last forever, and they say no one can reverse engineer them."

"Other than being a billionaire, what's known about him?"

"He's an enigma. There aren’t even any decent pictures of him. It’s like he fell from the sky."

"Rich, mysterious, and I get to meet him. Could be worse."

"It might be. Do you know where he lives?"

"Yep, got my tickets to Yellowknife right here."

"Maybe there’s a hockey team up there you can check out?"

Bob flashed a wide smile. "Jim, every hamlet in Canada has at least two hockey teams."

******

The temperature had reached its high of -7°C as Bob hustled from his plane to Yellowknife’s terminal. Shivering as he entered the building, he waved to a man holding a sign with his name on it. "I'm Lincoln."

"Yes, sir. I am Andrew. Please come with me."

Bob followed the man to the terminal's exit, where a Rolls Royce was waiting in a no-parking zone. Before the limo pulled away, Andrew announced, "You may avail yourself of the refreshments in the rear console."

Looking down, Bob discovered six bottles of his favorite beer, appropriately chilled. It appears someone did their homework.

Forty minutes and two beers later, the Rolls glided up to an enormous home perched on an outcropping of rock above Great Slave Lake.

Andrew ushered Bob to a suite of rooms and said Mr. Bocharo would be available shortly. When he started to remove his coat, Andrew interrupted him. "I would advise keeping that on. Mr. Bocharo prefers his quarters cool and dimly lit. You may be more comfortable wearing your jacket."

Bob followed Andrew to a hallway, where a mahogany door glided open as they approached. Gazing into the dark room, Bob hesitated before entering a red tinted twilight. Ten feet in front of him, a shadowy figure sat behind a desk.

"Welcome Mr. Lincoln."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Please call me Alex. I am quite a fan of your sports reporting."

Even as he spoke, the lack of illumination made it difficult for Bob to see Alex. "I’m surprised, considering how busy you must be."

"Sporting events are one of the few things I allow myself to indulge in. They take my mind off my many endeavors."

"But I write in the states how. . ."

"Why do I know of you? I review news from around the world and always set aside time for sports. I discovered your columns when I became interested in American football. Your insights and humor captured my attention."

"Thanks, but I interview athletes. When it comes to a businessman, I'm clueless. Other than your battery empire, I've only heard rumors regarding you."

"I can assure you; those are all false."

"Good, then we can set the record straight. Should we start with where you grew up?"

"That won't be necessary since an interview is longer needed."

Bob looked perplexed. "Then why bring me here?"

"I used the lure of an interview to conceal my reason for requiring your presence."

As his heart rate jumped, Bob's mouth went dry.

Alex folded his hands on his desk. "I shall get right to the point. I require people who can communicate my instructions. Besides you, I have selected others with influence in their professions to assist me in the transition."

Bob swallowed hard. "T-Transition?"

"Yes, to be blunt, I -- or should I say we -- intend to take over your planet."

"Sure you will." Bob snickered.

"I'm serious. As the first of my kind to arrive here, I am tasked with creating a dossier regarding the feasibility of making Earth a colony."

Bob shook his head. "I've heard about rich guys and their quirks, but this is crazy."

Alex stood and moved to the front of his desk. Now that he was closer, Bob noticed his features were completely symmetrical, making his face appeared unnatural. A moment later, Alex removed his perfect nose, exposing a small white bump with one wide nostril.

Bob uttered a guttural, "Ugh."

"Prosthetic," Alex said, placing his former nose on the desk. "I can replace it if this alarms you."

Stunned, Bob stammered, "Ah-no. That’s ok."

"Good, let me explain."

"Y-Yeah, explanations for not having a nose are always good."

"My people, you don’t mind if I call them that, do you?"

"S-Sure, go right ahead."

"Thank you. We refer to ourselves as Alicans. We evolved on a planet orbiting a red dwarf star, which is why I prefer dim illumination and cooler temperatures."

Bob could only stare.

"Around a thousand of your years ago, our population expanded to a point where it became necessary to colonize additional planets. Our difficulty -- as you might imagine -- is we still have not discovered how to surpass the speed of light."

"Uh–yeah, that’s always a problem," Bob mumbled, as if he understood what Alex was talking about.

"Glad you agree. To facilitate our expansion, we sent probes to planets having the proper environment to support our species. We also dispatched them to worlds we would need hundreds of light-years to reach. The rationale was, as our population spread, the planets furthest out would become accessible. As we speak, the Earth is sixty light-years from one of our colonies."

Even as he struggled to comprehend what Bocharo was saying, Bob managed to ask, "It took you sixty years to get here?"

Alex gave him an awkward smile. "No, we found another way. By using quantum entanglement, we can send a copy of a volunteer to any planet under consideration for colonization."

"Quantum who?"

"Quantum entanglement. Earth's scientists have known of it for decades. Your Albert Einstein called it, ’Spukhafte Fernwirkung.’"

"W-What?"

"It means spooky action at a distance. Professor Einstein cared little for the concept."

Bob grimaced as he said, "I can't imagine why."

Alex ignored Bob’s sarcasm and continued, "Quantum entanglement allows us to transfer data to our probes anywhere in the universe. If a planet has the appropriate organic material, we can provide enough information to construct a replica of an individual. As a result, somewhere on our home world there is another me, or I am another him. I think of him as the Original."

As Bob's anxiety regarding Alex’s appearance faded, he started asking questions. "Is this quantum thing how you will invade Earth?"

"No, I'm only an advanced scout. When I confirm Earth is a candidate for colonization, Alicans will relocate here."

"And take over?"

"Correct, but we won’t eliminate your people. We mean to preserve humanity. There should be much work for you to do."

Bob shivered. "There's something to look forward to, jobs as slaves."

"Not slavery the way humans perceive it. But we will control your population and expect you to accept us for the superior species we are."

"Then why do you need me?"

Alex leaned against his desk and said, "To ensure a smooth transition, I require your cooperation to help me weed out humanity’s aggressive tendencies."

Bob rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that. We seem to enjoy killing each other."

"I've noticed. Within a decade, everything requiring power on Earth will use my batteries, including the military's most sophisticated weapons."

Bob folded his arms. "So?"

"So, if necessary, I can deactivate whatever I require to maintain order and control."

Bob shuddered. "T-Turn off?"

"Yes, my batteries contain components your primitive technology cannot detect. I have numerous techniques to subdue an aggressive population. For this planet I have decided to start with your most basic level of aggression, sports."

Bob's eyes narrowed. "But you said you liked that?"

"I do, but Alicans prefer games involving strategy similar to your chess. Although I find sporting events fascinating, I must curtail this activity."

"Look," Bob replied. "Even with no nose, I am not sure I believe you, but suppose I did. Why should I help you?"

"Because everything I've said is going to happen with or without you. I intend to instruct the world's prominent journalists to begin dismantling sports. You, Bob, are my first choice."

"I'm flattered, I think."

"You should be. Initially, you'll focus on corruption at all levels. As that phase progresses, we can push home the physical and mental harm competition does to your youth."

"Even if your scheme works, and I doubt it will, something like that won't happen overnight."

"I expect this campaign to take a minimum of two generations. But with enough money in the right political pockets, and a concerted effort in the media, my strategy will work."

"What if I fight you?"

"Oppose a billionaire legendary for his charitable giving?"

Feeling suddenly defiant, Bob said, "You’re not a philanthropist."

"Not yet, but I plan to be."

Alex placed a delicate hand on Bob’s shoulder. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Naturally, you're loyal to your race, as I am to mine. Your people will survive, but not at the top of the food chain."

Alex’s touch made Bob cringe. "When is this so-called invasion supposed to happen?"

Bocharo let his hand drop. "Once I send my dossier, it could be another hundred years before any Alicans arrive. My job is to assure the transition occurs with minimum problems."

Bob slumped in his chair. "I'll be dead by then. What could you possibly offer me to turn against my own kind?"

"If you don't do it, someone else will. I know that’s not much, but it's true."

Bob merely glared at Alex.

"You shall receive substantial compensation and take solace in knowing you are preventing a panic that could kill millions."

"Will you be around when they arrive?"

"Yes, but even by Alican standards, I shall be quite old."

"I guess you'll be a hero?"

"No, as a clone, they'll view me as inferior and ignore me."

"That stinks, considering what you're doing for them."

"I have no choice. I'm carrying out my Original’s commitment."

"You have no say in the matter?"

"It's why they created me."

"No thoughts or feelings of your own?"

"Of course, I do. My Original would never have become enamored with sports."

"So, you are not identical to the Original."

"There are differences due to environmental factors. I've spent my entire existence on Earth, and balancing my experiences against my Original's dedication to our species is a constant struggle."

Bob shifted in his chair. "You know millions will resist you. Do you actually believe you can pull this off?"

"Alicans have subdued civilizations far more advanced than yours."

Bob fell silent. He hadn’t considered that.

"Sleep on it," Alex said. "Since you’re the first person I've approached, I hope you will see how inevitable this is. I believe your ability to communicate with humor and logic is an asset. If your answer is no, I'll be disappointed, but there are others."

******

Bob stared out a window at the moonless night, his dinner sitting untouched. The entire world appeared black as he tried to decide if Alex was psychotic or not. His business empire revolved around technology no one could figure out, and his appearance was definitely odd. If his story was true, how was a poor sports writer supposed to stop an invasion? Sleep on it, he said. Instead, Bob opened another beer.

******

The next morning, Bob picked at his omelet until Andrew arrived.

He had developed an idea to propose to Alex, but there was one minor problem. He wasn’t sure he would buy his own scheme if their roles were reversed.

Bleary-eyed, he entered Bocharo's dark sanctum.

"Good morning, Bob."

"If you say so."

"Don't be so gloomy. Have you decided?"

"Kind of." In the room’s pale red glow, he thought he saw Alex smile.

"My dear Mr. Lincoln, having made a decision should reduce your self-imposed stress."

"Are you kidding me! I was happy writing about fun and games yesterday. Now I know when my world will end!"

"Isn't that a bit melodramatic? Your world won't end. Our arrival will probably save humanity. Humans are forever on the brink of destroying this planet."

"I guess."

"So, what is your decision?"

"I've decided you're going about this all wrong."

"Me?"

"Yes you, if what you say is true, you are about to eliminate everything you like on the only planet you've ever known. You'll work your butt off for a hundred years only to be ostracized by the beings that send you here. And for what? So Alicans can play overlord to civilization they consider inferior?"

"It's what the Original intended for me to accomplish."

"I have a better idea."

******

In the cool, soft light of the owner's suite, a solitary figure stood by a window admiring the newest stadium in the National Football League. He smiled when he looked up through the transparent dome at the bright September sky. Decades would pass before anyone built another stadium using the technology that created this one.

Moments later, the suite's door swung open. When the man by the window turned, he received a cherry greeting. "Ready for your first game, Mr. President of Football Operations?"

A broad smile crossed Bob Lincoln’s face. "Darn right I am."

Alex Bocharo grinned as he joined him.

"You're looking well," Bob said.

"Your idea of hiring a discreet makeup artist was an excellent one."

"As good as my other suggestions?"

"When you said I should tell the Alicans Earth was unfit for colonization, it went against everything the Original desired."

"Was it worth it?"

"Oh yes. Once you pointed out I would eradicate everything I enjoyed on the only home I’d ever known, it gave me pause. After considering the millions of decisions I've made based on my own first-hand knowledge, it became apparent I was no longer a mere clone. I had become an individual. The moment I accepted that, I followed your advice."

"Will they come anyway?"

"No, Alicans pride themselves on efficiency. Since they wasted resources on creating me. They'll go elsewhere."

"Want to buy the baseball team in town?"

"I've already started negotiations."

THE END

Bio: "I am the former partner of a small tech firm (retired) with a degree in computer science. I live with my wife and two cats in rural Pennsylvania."

E-mail: Jack Freehoff

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