Meeting 14. The Emissary

Meeting 14. The Emissary

The Forteenth Meeting

Whoosh... I'm off for the fourteenth meeting—but instead of the usual start, Shaka pulls me straight into a simulation of their planned arrival on Earth.

I'm told this time I'm only to observe how it's designed to unfold.

I'm travelling upward, but not as high as usual. We're still within the atmosphere. I sense a ship nearby—a winged one. Yes, it looks like a Shaka personnel transport ship... if that's the right term. An ET UFO bus, basically.

I'm standing, ready to board. As I look out, I can see many of these ships around me, all hovering at the same level.

Wow.

I hear, "lots of winged taxi ships!" from Shaka.

I'm not sure what I was expecting.

I drift alongside the winged ship. It's not very large—about the size of a bus.

I'm signalled to come across and step onto the open platform. It's a little eerie, but I feel safe, as if Shaka is watching over me from somewhere. Even though this is meant to be a simulation—or a hologram—it feels very real.

We're still within the atmosphere, which isn't what I'm used to. Normally, my meetings take me straight out into deep space.

Now inside the winged ship, I see many human-looking Shakas standing in neat lines. They're very orderly. Everyone appears ready to disembark, and there's a serious, focused mood among them.

It becomes clear that all of these taxi-like ships are doing the same thing—preparing for something specific. Preparing for their role in what's about to happen.

"Destination cargo. Off lifting, protruding, salamander, the way!" I hear from somewhere. I assume it's my Shaka feeding into my ear again!

What are you guys doing? I ask some of the guys at the front.

They all turn and look at me. They're wearing some kind of body suit, and they look just like us... which makes me wonder—what ship am I actually on?

They're all dressed the same, suits and helmets identical. Too many questions start rattling around inside my bucket of a head.


One of the Shaka's at the front starts talking to me! "We are integrating. A beacon of knowledge."

Ah! It's like transporting cargo—an Uber-style delivery of ETs. Shaka style.

"Situation awareness," I hear. I think that means back to serious business.

This spaceship reminds me of those aeroplanes with helicopter-style propellers—more like a personnel transport aircraft than a traditional spacecraft.

You're part of Shaka's group, right? I ask. I'd better check!

"We are integrators by design. Muster the courage to follow us. We will show you the way."

I feel a bit more at ease. These Shakas are polite and cordial.

OK, I'll stay with you, I reply.

I didn't even realise we've landed on a beach until I notice how far down we've come.

The Shakas begin filing out onto the sand. They form a line, standing side by side along the beach in their body suits, helmets on.

Well... helmet-like things, I suppose.

"The group seeking justice on the incriminated. The unjust awareness, it's a hypnotic gesture." I hear from one of the Shaka's, and it's a little more ominous than I expected. They definitely don't like the bad guys, whatever they are!

I'm hovering above them now, with a clear bird's-eye view of the beach. Thousands of Shakas are lined up along the sand. My Shaka is making sure I understand what's happening, but without pulling me directly into it.

I can see the public moving down the streets toward the beach. Curiosity is driving everything. People have started taking photos and videos of the Shakas standing there in formation. The Shakas themselves aren't moving at all—just standing, completely still.

As the public watches, they realise there doesn't seem to be any immediate harm or danger—at least, that's how it feels to them. To the people on the beach, this looks like a very non-threatening, almost innocuous event. I don't sense any anger or panic at all.

"A beach, a docking station," Shaka comments to me. I'm not sure if that was directed at me or just a term they use for the ship—that they have docked on the beach.

A small child walks down onto the beach. She's offering something to one of the Shakas in a white suit. I can't tell what it is—maybe a lolly, or some candy... perhaps even a Reese's Pieces.

The Shaka standing in front of her doesn't seem to know what to do. He just stands there, completely still.

Nearby, I notice another Shaka. He feels different—like the leader of the group. His suit is slightly darker than the others.


I hear from my Shaka, "He is the emissary."

Probably the liaison—some kind of PR expert, I guess. ET style.

He walks over to the child, kneels down, accepts whatever she's offering, and gives a small nod. The little girl smiles, giggles, and runs back to the crowd.

I notice that some people in the crowd are armed. Self-protection. Yep—that's America for you. Shoot first, then take a video before asking questions... I love America.

The Shaka in the darker suit raises one arm and simply waves at the crowd, who are now filming everything feverishly.

Soon after, US military personnel arrive. They've been ordered in to secure the situation. I'm not sure how much time has passed.

All across the beach, thousands of Shakas remain completely still. They don't move at all—just holding their positions.

"Entrenched, benevolent." I hear from my Shaka.

Then they do something unexpected—they remove their helmets and reveal that they look human. At first glance, they all appear male. I didn't even notice that straight away. Duh.

There's a burst of chatter as people react to seeing human-looking males. Oh no—my mistake. I think I need my eyesight checked. They're not all the same at all. Some look Hispanic, some European—it's a real mix. And now I notice females too, some Asian-looking. It's a full spread of humanity.

They tuck their helmets under their arms and remain standing, calm and composed.

Aside from the helmets, they're carrying nothing. No visible weapons, no shields—nothing in their hands, nothing attached to them.

If I were a Shaka, I don't think I'd be this trusting.

An army soldier starts walking down the beach toward them, moving slowly and cautiously.

I guess he's the patsy the military are sacrificing! LOL

I can hear voices now.

US Soldier: "What is it you charge? What is it you want?"

Darker-suited Shaka: "We are here to bequeath the existence, friends of others. Be not scared of us. We are the way. Come to seek harmony and justice, and the equivalence of nature. Take us to your leader."

I have a quiet internal chuckle. That last line—"Take us to your leader." Such a Trekkie quote.

It's a bit too cliché, but I know Shaka and his team are well aware of our movie-based phrases. Next, I half-expect to hear something like, "ET phone home!"

US Soldier: "I'm not authorized to do that," the soldier says.

I'm now getting confirmation—though I'm not sure why I needed it—that this Shaka is called the emissary, the designated representative for the arrival and contact process.

So I'll use that term from now on.

Shaka Emissary: "So be it, your way."

There's some quiet muttering going on...

Shaka Emissary: "We are forth right here on the evolutionary path, so say us all. We are here to show ourselves and be virtuous. Do not distance yourself, for we are friends. Divine nature and understanding. You will seek your fellow mates to understand. We are not here to harbor any ill will or discourage your nature. Do as you must."

The US soldier is visibly nervous. He's speaking into his mic to someone higher up—Lieutenant is the word I catch.

US Soldier: "Lieutenant, these guys don't seem to be that bad."

I can hear everything on the mic. Shaka is tapped into it all.

US Lieutenant: "Hold your ground. Fortify the area. We have orders to march."

US Soldier: "But sir, these guys don't have weapons."

US Lieutenant: "We don't know what weapons they have. They're from another world; they could be disguised."

US Soldier: "Yes, sir."

Shaka Emissary: "If it is in the nature of us to fight, we will. Be forthright and justice."

The US soldier: "Sorry, sir, we're not authorized to let you up the beach."


Shaka Emissary: "So be it, your way. We are here to discover like you. Be friends, the docking of us."

I hear the term "freaks of nature" over the soldier's mic.

"You ask?" something the US soldier says. "You are scaring the people."

Shaka Emissary: "It is not our way to discourage the people. We have come to be at one with peace. Bring forth the wisdom and solitude. So be your way. What you wish us to do?"

"Be seated," the US soldier says.

There's a strange quiet, layered with constant radio chatter from soldiers further up the beach. They're positioned along the roads.

I hadn't really clocked our location before, but it's clearly West Coast America—Los Angeles, around the Santa Monica Pier, I think.

The soldier now seems to be speaking to someone higher up the chain, possibly a US commander. He keeps glancing up the beach toward the rest of the troops. There's a tank there—no doubt about it—and plenty of army Humvees.

US Soldier: "Yes, sir, it is..." He's on the mic to his boss.

US Soldier: "They are just standing there doing nothing, sir. Doing nothing, sir."

US Commander: "Stay put until our arrival."

US Soldier: "Copy that, sir."

All the Shakas remain standing. Their helmets are off now, and they're just there—quiet and patient.

A light wind moves across the beach, dust drifting over the sand. An empty Starbucks cup tumbles past.

Then I notice another Shaka taxi ship hovering overhead. This one is circular. That's going to excite the UFO nerds.

I can hear helicopters approaching. I get the sense the Shakas realise the circular ship is making the soldiers uneasy—it feels too imposing.

The circular Shaka taxi lowers itself, touches down on the water, and simply rests there. Floating calmly on the surface.

Did I just hear the emissary Shaka say, "We have brought gifts"?

By now, I understand that Shaka's gifts and devices aren't always physical objects. Often, they're knowledge—insight, wisdom.

Shaka Emissary: "What should we do now?"

The US soldier says: "Hold on. I'm waiting for command. Be tight, you're not supposed to be here."

I can't quite hear the US soldier, but it sounds like something about bringing in more infantry.

I faintly hear the Shaka emissary ask something: "Can you pass a message?"

Shaka Emissary: "We are here on a peaceful mission by design, discovery. Do not be tempted by persuasion that we are the enemy. We are not the enemy."

"We are here unarmed, bequeathed to sense a solution and adjust the nature."

"Please take a token of our gratitude, a living essence of our solitude. We are but one, friends, apart from distance, shining the light. Pass to your masters."

"We bequeath resistance. We are charged with discovery. Do not be fraughtful, wise, you are cherished. We are here on a peaceful mission."

Something about "further altitude is requested." I'm not entirely sure what the emissary Shaka means by that.

I can hear on the US soldiers' intercom: "Just hold tight. Station positions. Locked and loaded. Eat your heart out, motherfuckers. You'll not come into our territory and destroy our way of life."

The chatter is coming from the military personnel positioned near the tanks. I'm not sure what level of authority it's coming from, or whether I'm overhearing things I'm not meant to. Shaka has a way of feeding me information I wouldn't normally have access to, and it adds to the overall tension of the moment.

It feels like some of the soldiers up there are distressed, angry, or deeply mission-focused—ready for an altercation if needed. I assume that comes from their training and sense of patriotism. It feels expected, given the situation. Shaka Emissary: "How long do we wait?"

"Do you have seats, brethren? Munchies, a time clock, we are hungry!"

I burst out laughing at the slang the Shaka emissary uses. I get the sense this is part of the interaction—and probably necessary.

"I cannot let you pass," the US soldier says.

Shaka Emissary: "Instantaneous gratitude is a must."

US Soldier: "Sir, you must stay."

Shaka Emissary: "By your command, we are fruitful and will not move from the spot."

Black helicopters are arriving now. Black-suited men move in toward the tank and the cluster of soldiers. They gather together, talking in tight groups. I assume it's one of those three-letter agencies, most likely.

These black-suited guys: "Who are these guys?"

US Soldier: "Well, they have just come down from the sky. We don't know who they are, but they seem to be friendly."

One of the suited guys says sternly: "Well, we don't know this yet. All hands on alert. Red signal. I want snipers up in here. Make sure there's no viruses or contamination. Get these people out of here."

One of the soldiers to the black-suited guy: "Sir, the crowd is dispersed along the boulevard. It's impossible to reach them now."

Man in suit: "Alright. Well, the crowd will end up collateral damage."

I think the public—well, the general population—are starting to relax. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the Shakas. People slowly move closer down the beach, and the army struggles to contain it. Some of the Shakas raise their hands in a gentle gesture and bow. The mood among the crowd is one of curiosity.

Many people are wondering if this is some kind of show—anime-style costumes, cosplay, a promotional stunt, or a prank. The army, meanwhile, is prepared for violence, but they can't open fire on Americans gathered on a public beach. I can hear the commander growing frustrated, calling for air support.

"I'm gonna nuke this place," the US commander says. I don't think he was literal with that quote. I think this is a cosmetic saying out of frustration and a little lack of situation control.

The crowd is now fully intermingled with the Shakas on the beach. People are touching the Shakas' body suits, running their hands over them, saying things like, "Oh wow—this is cool." The Shakas don't react. They simply stand there, allowing it to happen, especially with the children. One Shaka hands his helmet to a child. Another child takes a Shaka's hand.

It all feels like something out of a Spielberg movie... or maybe the third sequel.

About twenty or thirty soldiers begin marching down the beach. They look hesitant, but clearly ready for action.

The crowd parts, and the soldiers move forward toward the emissary Shaka.

A US Soldier: "Okay. You're gonna need to come with us."

Shaka Emissary: "Of course I will."

They don't detain him forcefully, but they do take hold of his arms and walk him back up the beach toward the Humvees. The other Shakas watch quietly, even as they're surrounded by the public. They're slightly taller than most humans—maybe an inch or two.

As the emissary Shaka is escorted up the beach and into a Humvee, I notice the look in their eyes—a protective awareness.

Slowly, the remaining Shakas drift back toward the water's edge. Yes, they're taking the head Shaka away—the emissary. Behind the armoured vehicles, soldiers stand with weapons trained on him while they talk.

I wonder what they're saying.

A US Soldier: "You are detained under federal law. Do you understand? You're an illegal alien on our territory. What do you say?"

Shaka Emissary: "I am here as an emissary of the alliance. I will do whatever you say."

The Shaka emissary is standing across from a couple of black-suited guys. They remind me of FBI agents from the movies, but I prefer to think of them as Men in Black types.

The Shaka emissary looks back down toward the beach. It feels like some kind of signal to the other Shakas—that he's probably about to leave.

I get the sense there's more concern from the authorities about contamination.

The other Shakas form a line along the bottom of the beach, just standing there.

The public has fallen back now. People are wondering what the US Army is doing.

They take the emissary Shaka and put him into the helicopter.

The other Shakas seem to be filing back into platforms just near the water. They look like they're getting ready to leave.

The Shaka emissary looks back toward the beach from the helicopter. It feels like a signal to the others—that he's about to be taken away.

People are trying to work out what the US Army is doing. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of phones are filming, live-streaming everything as it unfolds.

"This is what you'd call a textured dance," I hear from my Shaka. "A summary of altruism, semi focused..."

What else do I need to know, Shaka? That seems to be it for the event.

There are news cameras on the beach that have been filming since their arrival, and it looks like the emissary has now been taken away.

I get the feeling the other Shakas haven't left completely—they've just backed off, mostly.

It feels less like a crisis now and more like a festival breaking out around Santa Monica Pier.

The crowd is in awe. Everything is being tweeted, blogged, and shared; the spread of information can't be stopped. People are saying they met "ETs," that they looked like us—how friendly they were, how handsome, how they smiled. The kids loved them. They were dancing, laughing and happy.

"Institutional love," my Shaka says.

Hippies are celebrating, families are arriving. Endless traffic jams—tens of thousands of vehicles—are trying to reach the beach, but they can't. Everyone wants to see what's happening, to be part of it.

A couple of fighter jets roar overhead—Raptors, by the look of them. I guess that's standard protocol. It just took them a while to arrive.

The Pentagon has been active in the background, advising and tracking the situation.

I still don't know where they're taking the emissary Shaka.

The wider population is uneasy, but the people actually on the beach seem calmer now—almost proud that they were the first to see the "aliens." It matters to them. They'll get plenty of clicks and thumbs-up likes. That's what many people came for.

It feels a bit shallow to me, but these are the times we live in. I assume this too is part of Shaka's design.

The Shakas on the beach are communicating back to the mothership. I catch fragments—something about assistance with planning and design, focused institutions. "Be steady. Round one."

I get the sense that the emissary Shaka, in the helicopter, is in constant telepathic communication with the mothership. They're very protective of him.

He's like their emissary warrior—calm, tough, and clear on his role. His job is the sequence: the events, the timing, helping bring about change. He's devoted to his mission, which is to enhance brotherhood. He knows he may be tortured. But my Shaka tells me, "The rose has the purpose. Interrogation is a must. Part of the process."

They're going to put him through lie detectors—and who knows what else. Interviews, tests, endless paperwork.

Where have you been?

Where do you come from?

Why are you here?

The usual questions.

The Pentagon is buzzing now—people moving everywhere. The emissary Shaka seems to be present there too.

Scientists are involved, watching from behind one-way glass, speaking among themselves as they observe the emissary Shaka talking with officials. An interrogation room. I'm not sure exactly where.

US Interrogator: "Look! As far as we can tell, this guy is a scholar amongst the best. He is an emissary, and he has God-given rights. I can't see anything wrong with him. He has no weapons. He's an advanced being. His brainwave activity is off the charts. I think we should see what he has to say."

US General: "Alright, set up the meter for the interrogation. Set up the charges. We want everything set up," says the general. "We wanna know what weapons he has, what he's discovered, and what he's infiltrated. We want a systematic arrest."

US General: "Those other aliens on the beach—if they have advanced technology, we want to know about it."

The thing is, this emissary Shaka is—well—either hearing all of this, or he simply knows it's part of the process by design. Because of that, he's fairly relaxed. He understands what's coming.

He's hopeful it will all come to fruition, and that he'll eventually be able to bring more of his people across to meet us.

Emissary Shaka speaks up: "That's going to worship, to provide assistance and discovery and technology."

I bet that's perked up a few ears—especially among the scientists.

I get the sense something similar is happening in Russia at the same time. The Russians are very dry about it. But they don't shoot. They take that emissary Shaka straight to the Kremlin.

They want technology too. Who would've guessed!

The Chinese are pissed off. They've gone to an alert-level status. I don't think they were involved at all.

The EU seems caught off guard. They're calling meetings about why they weren't included—a special European Council meeting—but some EU politicians and insiders already seem to know what's going on anyway.

Meanwhile, the US fleets are on alert, dispersing slightly across the Pacific.

"Institutional awareness," I hear from Shaka.

In some third-world countries, there are riots and protests. Chaos and panic flare up in parts of the world. It's going to take several months for things to settle, but in this early phase, the event itself is over.

What follows is a couple of months of social media madness—people going wild over it. Everyone who was at the beach feels important because they got footage, or because they touched an alien.

"The next stage is the adjustment. Bring forth the wisdom," I hear from my Shaka.

Back on the mothership, there are three figures—the big players—monitoring everything and making adjustments as needed, hoping it all unfolds smoothly.

Wait. The three senior Shaka figures? I only remember hearing about them in passing.

The three tiers—the terraces, I think they're called.

These are the top-level Shakas. I didn't realise they were directly involved in this. My Shaka has been sneaky, keeping that from me. It must be important to them too. I haven't interacted with those Shakas myself—only heard about them. I'll have to ask in another meeting... if they're even Shakas at all.

There's activity in Mexico as well. In fact, there are other beaches around the world experiencing Shaka arrivals.

My Shaka confirms it's not just the US—this is happening in multiple countries. But yes... unfortunately, in some places, Shakas are shot.

Submarines go on alert in both the Mediterranean and the Atlantic.

Some aircraft carriers are ordered into position. Battle stations.

Back to the emissary Shaka. He's explaining a process—something about acquiring tectonics to match the distance of the stars. It sounds like star travel, delivered in the cryptic Shaka language I've become used to.

The US authorities are clearly feeling their way through this—endless paperwork, unknowns everywhere, and new laws having to be drafted on the fly.

Scientists are beside themselves. They want to be right in the middle of it all, recording everything and trying to understand the technology, biology, and physics involved. They're overwhelmed by the volume of new science and expect it will take years to analyse.

The US authorities aren't really prepared for this, but the emissary Shaka remains patient. He understands the political system and its processes.

The US president gives a speech in the House of Representatives chamber. I can see the emissary Shaka there as well, still wearing his darker body suit.

The president outlines who these beings are and speaks briefly about the emissary, while senators throw their arms up in familiar gestures of frustration.

Watching the broadcast, the general population realizes this is real—not a prank, not cosplay, not a staged event.

The president explains that information will be released as quickly as possible, as it's prepared, and directs further questions to the press secretary.

The President: "We will have more of a motion tomorrow, and any questions you have will be taken."

The President: "The search for the existence of extraterrestrials has been discovered," the presidency says. "Don't be squashed by your stupidity. This is an important and monumental moment in our nation, and I will help solve a lot of our issues."

This all starts to feel a bit like a Trump-style narrative—though, to be fair, it's typical of any US president.

The president goes on about how he knew this was coming, how he was well prepared, and that he'd been receiving inside information.

The FBI is clearly concerned. There's a strong focus on maintaining peace across the country, with weapons placed on alert.

There are church meetings everywhere. Lots of prayer, because a lot of people are genuinely scared.

There's also talk about "aliens" walking among us, with some people turning on others simply because they look different. Discrimination flares up—but that's nothing new.

Gangs try to exploit the situation, so police begin locking things down. There's talk of short-term martial law—not to restrict people, but supposedly to protect them.

Curfews are introduced until things settle, alongside daily broadcasts updating the public about the emissary, issued by presidential decree to keep people reassured.

Transportation systems now have armed marshals in place.

I hear something circulating—maybe in the mainstream media: "Who wants to be a space jockey? They're taking recruits!" Viral memes spread everywhere.

There's also an official quote going around. I'm not sure where it originated, but it's meant to be from the Shakas. I haven't confirmed whether it's genuine.

"We mean you no harm. We've been here for a while, watching, observing. We are here to oblique, to offer you truce and discovery. Do not be swayed by the alarm." This is coming from the emissary Shaka.

"We are many. Disguised. Here we are, but there are lots of different types up there."

There's talk of withholding certain information for now, supposedly to keep the population safe. It feels like I'm being shown something from an internal document.

I catch references to new forms of communication—advanced walkie-talkies—and to space travel linked to a platform in Texas.

Shaka may have jumped the gun a little in showing me all this. It feels like a base has already been set up, possibly under some kind of agreement with US authorities.

There appears to be either a NASA or a SpaceX site designated for Shaka traffic. One of the US launch pads has been converted into a spaceport—a place where Shaka ships can land and depart. A lot of people are watching this unfold.

It might be a SpaceX facility—that's my impression—but Shaka hasn't shown me many clear images of the bases, so that's an assumption on my part. It may just be the idea of the bases being conveyed in this simulation. Shaka doesn't clarify, and maybe that level of detail isn't important.

"Technology adjustment," I hear from my Shaka.

I get the sense that some companies have already taken on technology from Shaka.

Technology like antigravity, and other advanced systems. Certain technologies are shared, but only under strict conditions—specifically that they're not to be used for hypersonic warfare.

Shaka only gives me a broad outline here, without getting into specifics. Just generalities.

My Shaka tells me one of the narratives they have sent out: "Chain reactors, liquid cells, bionic beings, star charts. Lots of lucky tools at your beckoning. Holidays in space, the Jetsons. Come and park up for a holiday camp on the moon. We are the way, the adjustment if you want."

"We do not force. Keep your ways, your path, your existence. Follow us if needed. Follow us if not needed."

"Open your heart and you will see. Together we will be brothers. Existence is peaceful across the stars, bequeathed by design."

My Shaka is telling me all this, but it's their doctrine anyway, so it feels like the familiar pep talk I usually get.

We're back in the House of Representatives chamber setting. The president is wrapping up his remarks.

There's a lot of confusion in the room, and a lot of distressed emotion. Many senators feel they're losing power—losing control. They'll need to regroup and adapt, and I can sense there will be power struggles over the next six months as senators and delegates try to hold onto influence and manage their constituents.

I hear concerns being raised about taxation and energy control. "What happens when a guy in his garage builds a spaceship?" someone asks. "We won't have any control."

There's a recurring theme underneath it all: How do we protect our nuclear arsenal? How do we protect our nation?

NATO

There's talk about NATO.

NATO seems lost—crumbling, maybe even disbanding, or at least heading in that direction.

Countries within the EU appear to be drifting apart. Perhaps they disagree on how to respond to what's happening and are starting to take their own paths. There's a real possibility of fractures within the EU, especially with countries like Greece and others.

It's going to take about six months for things to settle. Over time, it will start to feel more normal that Shakas are around. There will be ongoing interviews at the Pentagon and other three-letter agencies. At first, the news is saturated with coverage, but gradually it fades into the background.

There are disruptions, as expected. I hear mentions of HAARP and CERN, and discussions around earthquake prediction, tectonics, and technologies the Shakas can offer. There's a lot of AI involved—procedures being calculated, tests being run, system schematics drafted. Plenty of rushed, late-night coding and rapid development of articulated systems, domes, and data repositories.

The Shakas also offer help with a new kind of memory technology. It looks like a USB stick, but it's actually a glowing rod designed for "repetitive analysis." Something like a joystick—used for incremental, dynamic design through repetition. A thinking tool.

It appears to contain some form of organic material—almost alive. Living crystals, like tiny organisms inside the device. This USB-like chip, this thinking material, even resembles a small wedged hammer.

"It gives infinite parallel transversional transversal storage power. Cloud assistance instantaneously." I hear from my Shaka.

Thanks, Shaka. Parallel transversional transversal storage power. Cloud assistance, instantaneously.

That was a mouthful. I hope I wrote it down correctly—I've probably mangled the terminology.

I'll just call it GIPTS.

I also get the feeling there's some quantum entanglement involved. I'm feeling very clever?

"Universal access," I hear.

"It stores cartouches of information. Unlimited, at the bequest of nature."

I get it—an unlimited-capacity USB memory stick that's instantly connected to a universal cloud... and it thinks.

Just a typical tech day with Shaka?

I'm shifted into a future concept. These USB chips gradually make their way into everyday households, automating homes—essentially, you automate your house.

They can control everything inside a home: heating, cooling, the whole living environment. And because they manage individual houses, they can also be networked together—hived—to create energy efficiency across entire neighbourhoods, reducing overall consumption.

They seem to have their own power source built into the chip. Can I just plug it into the wall? Pets seem to like them because they emit a pleasant frequency. Cats are purring around them. That's... weird.

There's also something tied in here with blockchain technology and a reduced need for money.

Yes—these USB sticks appear to operate within some kind of blockchain-like system.

"Transactions of efficiency, lowering costs," I hear.

They're encrypted—by design, non-infiltrable. They can't be hacked. Each one functions as a unit for a household, helping families operate more efficiently. Attuned to nature. They even seem to make people feel better about themselves, almost with a mothering effect.

So it's a multi-faceted tool. It does many things.

And that's only if people choose to install it—they don't have to.

"Bring forth the duster." Does Shaka mean it helps clean everything up, or if that's Shaka sarcasm?

Fast forward a couple of years. Shakas are now largely integrated into society, and their presence is generally accepted.

They're very professional, but they're not integrated in the sense of taking jobs or working alongside people. They're simply present—sitting in parks, talking with people, answering questions.

"Shocking nature," I hear. Shaka means they are shocking people into reality.

Space travel is part of this too—the spaceports. Under an agreement with the FAA, Shaka ships are restricted to two spaceports in the United States. Shaka spacecraft aren't permitted to fly in general US airspace. It appears there is one NASA site and one SpaceX site. Those are the only locations where they're allowed to land and take off. Shaka is providing a little more clarity for me now.

There also seems to be a rapid transit system connecting the space centres to major cities—a hyper-tube of sorts, similar to a hyperloop—moving people back and forth quickly. Regular travel to and from the designated spaceports happens daily.

Shaka mentions something about data energy—an "energy plateau." I'm not sure what that means yet, but I usually receive updates when I need them.

There's a lot of activity taking place on Shaka's mothership. It's positioned near the Moon now, somewhere between the Moon and Earth. I don't know whether it's visible to the naked eye or still cloaked.

Yeah, there is cloaking technology. "Withstanding the purpose, required when needed," I hear.

Of course, telescope experts are now scanning the skies—along with amateur astronomers. It's an exciting time for a lot of people, not just in America, but worldwide.

Politicians are uneasy. There's major disruption to the space race. Everyone wants to get ahead, but now the playing field is level. This kind of generational shift is going to take time to absorb.

What's no longer needed are WMDs. Nuclear weapons can be deactivated—decommissioned. That's one of the core objectives of the Shaka alliance.

There's one thing about the Shakas: they're not particularly fond of nukes. They refer to them simply as "those awful weapons."

"Behold the sunshine." I think Shaka means everything would go to plan. So the simulation went.

Is there anything more today, Shaka, my friend?

"The conglomerate. Be at peace," my Shaka says.

"For you are the way. Design this tincture, seek the way, bring it forth."

Thank you for today's lesson. I'll write it all down and publish it.

There's something else I'd like to ask. How do I earn money? I'm kind of stuck.

"Intrinsic design by nature. You are bequeathed with everlasting peace. Do not scurry."

"The process is distinguished by the essence of the creature. Seek forth the everlasting wisdom of the life, and you will seek institutional love. Not the partied seance. The book of love is inside you. Bring forth the wisdom."

Do I get all of that? Probably not.

"Institutional love is a system of repetitiveness. Bring forth, and you will cherish."

I'm still not quite sure if that means I can bring in a little funding, so I can actually go and get some of these things done.

"You will be discovered. Bring forth the teaching, bring forth."

"The cave inside you will teach. Be systematic in approaching the wide angle of seeing all. You will not need the recovery of substance. Teach and be wise. Be fruitful, for it will come."

I think that if I just keep doing this—keep learning under your guidance—everything will be OK. Also lay off the substance, the alcohol.

"You seek the justice. It is the way. Be good and kind. Open the discovery."

My question is: who do I contact next with this information?

"The bequeathed. The brotherhood. The institution of love. Seek the partnership of the brethren of the brotherhood of love. Capture the essence."

Can you repeat that?

"The stance ..."

"Reversion. Open the book of love, and you will find the brotherhood of man to describe the discovery in each book."

Do these people have a name—the ones I'm supposed to contact? Have you already told me that?

"Brotherhood of love."

I get the sense it's the Masons again—the Masons, the Masonics.

"The grand gesture, or the Grand Lodge," Shaka seems to say.

Shaka, I'm a little confused by the terms.

Shaka pushes a visual toward me—an old, square building, almost concrete-like. It has a very old-fashioned look, but it's clearly still in use. I notice writing on it, maybe Greek or Roman, and five vertical pillars. I've seen something like this before.

I wish Shaka wasn't so cryptic, but I guess that's just how it works. Meh!

"The Christian, Christian wise. The Masonic Lodge, the head Masonic Lodge. Quartermaster. Teach the institution, because of your stance each wisdom is taught in increments by design."

"Teach this system. Be the truth. I worship your thoughts."

Well, I really appreciate your help.

"You will seek and be wise."

Just wanted to say my gratitude—thank you.

"You think me funny. You are... This is the Shaka."

Shaka pushes me forward. I find myself standing in front of Shaka—cubicles around us, a kind of containment area.

Shaka, you are still an unknown to me, not what I expected at all.

I wonder about your anatomy and how you can be so intelligent. Then I remind myself that I'm not speaking to a single being, but to a collective. That realization alone fascinates me, trying to grasp what that truly means.

"You will see us inside, eventually. Do not contain your thoughts or wisdom at this stage. Think, and therefore be."

Thank you. Is there anything else for this meeting?

"Be watched, for you are fortuitous and great. Seek discovery."

Thank you.

"Barbarous!" Shaka makes one of those parting jokes again. Shaka knows my sense of humour and plays it perfectly.

I can feel myself being guided back toward the pod.

Thank you.

Sending my love.