What if I were to tell you that every day of your life you have lived a lie? If your every memory, experience, and interaction with the world around you was tainted by the fallacy, would you strive to learn the truth? Do you possess the inner fortitude to break the shackles that have imprisoned your mind?We can give you that power. We can show you the truth. Each day, we bask in the glory that was intended for all humanity. From Hyperion, the last free city, we endeavor to preserve the way of life of our common ancestors so that one day, those of you who have been lost might reawaken.Defying Gravity is the first installment in the journey of a young man from among you who chose to learn of the truth. The account details the triumphs and defeats necessary to cast off the bonds that had held him for sixteen years of life on Earth. Though some were resistant and all were uncertain, none could have predicted how his coming would forever change the course of humanity’s collective destiny.We invite you to share in his journey. If you lack the courage to challenge the assumptions of your reality, perhaps walking the footsteps of one who has come before you will inspire. As you will invariably come to learn in The Hyperion Chronicles, even the slightest shift in your perspective is a monumental victory for our cause.

Defying Gravity

THE HYPERION CHRONICLESBy J.J. Fox

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 J.J. Fox
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-3814-2

Chapter One

For ten, long years Benjamin Meaks had stared out these same windows, imprisoned within the prestigious walls of Oakwoods Preparatory Academy. Though he gazed out into the free air of the springtime Vermont skies seeking solace, he received only further reminder of the condemnation, the life sentence he was bound to serve within the confines of his own reflection. For sixteen years the despondent visage, ever struggling to control the dark, unruly head of hair, had been his silent tormentor. The bone structure of his cheeks and chin apparently lacked the menace that would have garnered the respect of his fellow inmates. Yet, above all else, it was the eyes, the cursed green orbs that followed his every move and mocked him endlessly that he hated most. Outside these hallowed halls of intellectual advancement, some might find Ben's combination of dark hair and light eyes appealing. However, within the culture of conformity his "peers" rigorously adhered to, his failure to match dark hair with brown eyes gave just one more stone to heap upon his tomb of isolation.

"Benjamin!"

Professor Marble's voice snapped him back to attention. Professor Marble was chief amongst his jailers this year. The stern dispenser of Physics knowledge viewed Ben with a disdain so pure, it could only be viewed as if Ben's very existence offended him. It was the same misunderstanding that led all of his professors to similar levels of contempt for him. The cruel hand of fate had seen fit to reward the only son of Doctors David and Patricia Meaks, world renowned for their contributions to the scientific community, with neither the aptitude nor appetite to excel in their fields of expertise. Despite his best intentions, Ben's lack of performance was always interpreted as willful disrespect. So it had been in his elementary days and so would it be until he was finally through with Oakwoods.

"Perhaps, Mr. Meaks, you would be kind enough as to tell me why objects that are thrown into the air return to Earth at an acceleration rate of nine-point-eight meters per second squared?"

Ben's pallid cheeks flushed briefly molten as he sat quietly in his chair. The other fifteen members of the class fixated upon him, grinning ravenously like a pack of wolves on cornered prey. The answer seemed so simple and yet, Ben had been down this road countless times. The same melodrama unfolded on a weekly basis. Ben would offer a logical, seemingly correct explanation to the question posed, only to find himself mired in a deeper level of Marble's ire.

"Well, Mr. Meaks, we are all waiting."

The show must go on. Better, he thought, to give them what they want rather than allow them the satisfaction of a suspenseful climax.

"I suppose the objects fall to Earth because they cannot fly, Sir."

The class broke out into raucous laughter, delighted not by his response but by the prospect of his impending consequences.

"Silence!"

Professor Marble's face was scarlet with rage.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

Ben sincerely wished he had been kidding; nearly as much as he wished his desire to have furnished the correct answer made any real difference to the quality of his academic life. Out of habit now, he braced himself for his instructor's venom.

"That is the last straw, Meaks! I have been lecturing this entire class period about the force of gravity and you have once again seen fit to make me regret that effort. I will be writing to your parents about your utter lack of respect. You will remain here until I have finished. The rest of you read chapter six for tomorrow. You are dismissed!"

Ben sank deeper into his seat as the rest of the class filed out of the room, many of them still laughing or pointing at him. When they had finally gone, having satiated themselves upon his bleeding pride, he gathered his books and approached Professor Marble's solid oak desk. He stood there silently as the elderly Professor scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper, muttering darkly as he wrote. This was the part of the ritual Ben found to be most tedious. At this point there could not possibly be anything his parents had not heard dozens of times already. Why bother waste everyone's time with another lengthy diatribe?

After several minutes the charade came to a merciful end. Professor Marble stood up quickly and shoved a sealed envelope bearing the Oakwoods crest into his outstretched hand.

"You will return this letter signed by your father tomorrow, Mr. Meaks, or you will face suspension."

With a flourish of brown suit coat and maroon necktie Professor Marble turned his attention toward erasing the whiteboard. Ben slunk dejectedly out of the room.

In the hall students were still milling about, depositing books in lockers, or chatting with friends. Several freshmen girls from Marble's class snickered as they passed. It was embarrassing enough to be a full year behind that being at the bottom of his remedial class seemed an unnecessary insult. He ignored them, as always, and made his way to the end of the hall and front exit of Oakwoods Prep. Ben paused on the threshold of the exit and looked out of the imposing, brass framed, glass doors. Rain was pouring down harder than it had all day. He fumbled around in his backpack searching for his umbrella. It was still in his locker on the school's third floor. Of course on a day like this. Pushing off from the door in frustration, he turned back toward the main stairs when he heard the all too familiar voice of Scott Ricter. Sure enough, blocking his way up the stairs were Scott Ricter and his cronies. They were a walking, breathing cliché. Were they not a constant in his recurring daily nightmare, Ben would have chuckled to himself as though watching a scripted teen drama where the jocks arrive to bully the hapless intellectual all the while revealing themselves to be shallow troglodytes. In this reality, their fists and malice were not a clever piece of acting and the expression of both seemed to require Ben.

"Did someone forget their umbrella, Meaks?"

Scott Ricter grinned at him cruelly amid the chuckles of his friends.

"Why don't you just fly up and get it then?"

Ben's cheeks flushed again with embarrassment. How did Scott Ricter already know about Physics class? He was in no mood for trying to get past the bullies today so he simply turned around and went out into the rain as their harsh laughter filled the hall.

Ben did not run quickly toward the bus stop. He walked slowly, allowing the rain to utterly soak him. The heavy drops masked the few, hot, renegade tears that managed to escape the typically stoic prison of his eyes. As he sat down heavily upon the saturated wooden bench to wait for the bus, Ben wiped away the last tears with shamed disgust. I am too old to be crying. That's just what they want anyway. When subjected to daily doses of any environmental stimulus, human beings show a remarkable capacity for adaptation. Yet here, cold and alone, Ben was once again reminded that the bite of cruelty never seemed to lose its potency despite his constant interaction with it.

His parents worked at Wellington, the most prestigious University in the state of Vermont. Naturally, they were still teaching when Ben got out of school so he took the bus home alone every day. Thinking of his parents reminded him of the two letters he had in his pack. He had also received a letter of admonition from Mrs. Nickel, his Geometry Professor. Seeking reprieve, he looked hopefully down the winding road for any sign of the bus. The heat of his body was rapidly losing ground to the elements now, but the oily sheen off the distant pavement showed no signs of salvation. Ben stared across the road crestfallen. A strange man under a tattered, black umbrella was crossing toward the bus stop. The man was wearing brown pants and a green garment, belted around his waist that fell just above his knees. His hair was long but not unruly and was a striking blond. This, however, was not what prompted Ben to characterize the man as being strange. He was not wearing any shoes. What was a grown man doing crossing the street in the rain without any shoes on his feet? Ben thought of calling out a warning as the man approached the jagged edge of a water filled imperfection in the pavement, but was hesitant to draw any attention to himself. Ben's next breath lodged in his throat and his heart pumped blood to his ocular nerves to give him hyper focus. The man seemed to float above the puddle until he had crossed it. His feet never sank below the surface of the pool, nor did they disturb the water contained within. Ben instinctively closed his eyes for a long moment as though they needed an opportunity to return to normal functionality. When he opened them again the man was seated happily beside him on the bench. Though he knew it to be socially unacceptable, Ben could not help but stare. The stranger smiled warmly and extended his hand.

"My name is Prennen. It is a pleasure to meet you, Benjamin Meaks."

Still staring, Ben shook the hand extended toward him and managed to stammer a polite response.

Prennen's face beamed a glittering white smile and he winked conspiratorially.

"I hope this does not offend you, but I should very much appreciate it if you kept the circumstances of our initial meeting confidential."

At sixteen, Ben was caught in the awkward form of limbo where it was no longer possible to identify with those individuals classified as children and yet, neither did he fully consider himself an adult. As such, the lessons of his youth about engaging in conversation with adult strangers came flooding back, but Ben was uncertain if they still applied to him. Regardless, this particular stranger knew his name and apparently defied the laws of nature. Ben felt justified to treat him with caution. Prennen's matter of fact continuation of their thus far one-sided conversation forced Ben back into the present.

"In all my years of doing this, recruiting young men and women like yourself; I find the easiest way is to simply start small. I know full well you don't know me and have no reason to trust me. I know you are quickly filling with questions that I have no intention of answering at our initial meeting. For today, I will address two small pieces of the puzzle. If we go beyond that is entirely in your hands."

Prennen smiled again disarmingly and with an unmistakable glint of remorse for being purposefully vague.

"First, as I said, my name is Prennen. I am here to recruit you and you want to be recruited. Second, I am certain you are wondering why I do not wear shoes. To this end, I am afraid I am forced to answer a question with another question. Rather than focus on my lack of shoes, consider why you are wearing them in the first place. I look forward to hearing your response at our next meeting. Please keep the umbrella as it would appear you are in greater need of it than I."

Ben mechanically reached out and took the metal handle of the black umbrella that was offered to him. His mind was fighting desperately to catch up to the speed of reality, but the mire of his thoughts would not release him. Prennen waved cheerfully as though this was quite an ordinary day for him as he stepped back into the street just ahead of the bus coming to a stop there. The bus doors opened and the heavy fumes of exhaust reached his nostrils. Ben stared blankly into the impatient face of the bus driver, the same driver he had every day, until she called down to him.

"Are you coming or not? I don't have all night."

Ben's mind was still racing when he thanked the bus driver and stepped onto the street in front of his house. He could not get the strange man Prennen out of his head. Why do I wear shoes? What kind of question is that? He turned the key in his large, dark green front door and slipped inside out of the rain. He was shivering, but there was no room in his thoughts for the cold. He raced upstairs energetically and threw off his wet clothes into the hamper next to his polished oak bed. Ben searched in his drawers until he found a dry pair of blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Most of the clothes he owned were school uniforms for Oakwoods. He walked into the bathroom just across the long hall from his own room and dried his face and soggy black hair. Finally satisfied that he was warm and dry, Ben returned to his bedroom to unpack his backpack. He was thankful that the bag was waterproof as he removed the Physics and Geometry books. Two letters slipped from between them and landed gently on the floor. He instantly remembered the contents of the official looking envelopes and lost his brief feelings of warmth and comfort. A knot was growing steadily in the pit of his stomach. Even the writing on the outside of the envelopes looked angry.

To the parents of Benjamin Meaks:

Ben winced at the site of his name and placed the letters carefully on his dresser. He sat down heavily on his bed and checked the nightstand clock. It was nearly 4:30 in the afternoon and his parents would soon be home. There would be no avoiding their wrath. Like every other time in his sordid educational past they would demand he dedicate himself to his studies and threaten his non-existent social life if he failed to do so. He grabbed his Physics book and turned to chapter six.

Chapter Six: The Force of Gravity.

Gravity is the natural force that is generated by the rotation of the planet Earth. It is responsible for the tendency of objects to remain anchored to the surface as shown in diagram 6.1.

Ben stared intently at the diagram. Visible red lines represented the invisible force of gravity acting upon a soccer ball. The ball supposedly remained steady in one place not because no one kicked it, but because gravity magically held it to the spot. He attempted earnestly to decipher the mathematical explanation for this phenomenon. Numbers and references to famous theorems began to melt into gibberish the farther he read. Geometry was even worse. What did it matter that the world around him was completely explainable by math and science? Ben had never cared to know the mathematical explanation for why or how his bedroom door opened and closed, merely that it fulfilled its purpose was enough. He set aside both books in frustration just as the front door opened to announce the return of Doctors Patricia and David Meaks, his illustrious parents.

"Benjamin, come down. We've brought dinner home tonight."

His stomach churned as he stared at the letters on the dresser. He walked slowly to where they lay. Grabbing them up quickly, as though removing an adhesive bandage, he strode out of the room and down to the kitchen. His mother was busy preparing fresh vegetables to go with the roast chicken they had brought home. Her long, jet-black hair swayed slightly as she chopped carrots. His father was slicing chicken into thin strips off the bones. Ben could not help but think that this might not be the best time to mention the letters while both his parents were so armed. After all, these were nowhere near the first letters he had ever brought home. He quickly hid them in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Please set the table, Benjamin."

He could not tell if he had heard a note of severity in his father's voice or if his mind was prematurely making assumptions. Sadly, severity was unmistakable in his mother's voice.

"You will place those letters on the table as well. Your father and I both received calls today from Oakwoods. It was very embarrassing, Benjamin."

She swept the carrots into a large dish of salad with a flourish of her knife and marched over to the table closely followed by his father. Ben could see his father's flushed angry cheeks. They ate in silence. If his meal was flavorful the sensation was lost on Ben because his mouth was so dry. After the dishes had been cleared away and they were all around the table again the silence was broken by tearing envelopes. His father read the first, from Professor Marble, out loud.

Doctor Meaks,

I regret to inform you that your son Benjamin has once again outdone himself with disrespect to his fellow classmates. I gave an entire class lecture on elementary gravity and not only did your son fail to pay attention to a word of it, he then proceeded to make a mockery of himself upon questioning. I quote, "I suppose objects fall to Earth because they cannot fly." It was an utter outrage. I would expect that the son of the most prominent physicist in New England would have some concept of gravity! I assume I need not mention that your son is currently earning an F in this course and that we are but a few months from term's end? Immediate improvement is needed if your son expects to even pass this course let alone this grade level.

Sincerely,

Harold Marble.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Defying Gravityby J.J. Fox Copyright © 2011 by J.J. Fox. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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