A sample of Seismic Sedition: The Heinous Crimes of Professor Terry Joyner, by D.T.E. Madden

Meet Terry Joyner, a university seismologist barely hanging onto his job. He’s tracking something amiss beneath the earth’s surface when a sudden explosion destroys the old steel district in Chicago, ripping through the South Side.

Hundreds are dead or missing.

Obsessively self-conscious and analytical, Joyner may have cracked the case of the explosion with one of his booze-fueled theories. But his investigation goes off the rails when he gets drawn into attending a “Blue Ribbon Panel” of academic experts that have gathered to solve the mystery behind the explosion – or so he thinks.

Seismic Sedition:

Associate Professor Terry Joyner bounded to his garage and saddled his black and tan Triumph Bonneville T120 motorcycle as he waited for his automatic garage door to do its work. As the door slid upward, he fired up his engine and gave it a healthy rev with the transmission sitting in neutral. But just as he threw his transmission into first gear and jolted up his kickstand off its pad, two sunglassed figures in long coats blocked his path.

“Sir, are you the occupant of this residence?” One of the figures shouted over the roar of the Triumph’s 1.2-liter engine as she held out some sort of badge.

“Huh?” Joyner responded as he cut his engine, feeling a tremor of anxiety in his hands as he did the task.

“Are you the occupant of this residence?” she repeated as the thunder of the engine subsided.

“I am. And who are you two?”

“My name is Captain Vandeventer and this is Sergeant Eichelberger,” she said with a nod to her companion. “We’re with the ISP,” she said as she flashed her badge and handed Joyner an official-looking business card. She took off her sunglasses and looked Joyner in the eye. “Are you Terrance Joyner?”

Joyner smiled nervously, then shifted his eyes away from Vandeventer to examine the business card. This Vandeventer was fairly young to be a police captain, and she had pretty eyes for a cop. This had a compounding effect on Joyner’s nerves when he looked back up to make eye contact. “Ummm, State Police? What is this all about?”

“We need ya to come wit us,” Sergeant Eichelberger chimed in as he pulled a photo out of his coat pocket and compared it with Joyner. “There’s been an incident.”

“I don’t know what I’ve been accused of, officers. But I can assure you I am innocent.”

Vandeventer held up her palms in a calming gesture. “No, no, no. It’s not like that at all, Mister Joyner. You are Professor Terrance Joyner? Are you not?”

“Well,” Joyner said with a gulp. “Yes ma’am, I am.”

Vandeventer continued, “The same Professor Terrance Joyner who tweeted a few days ago about some seismic readings indicating – what was it?” Vandeventer paused as she pulled out a notepad and read her notes.

Joyner sheepishly filled in the gaps. “It was about distorted seismic readings indicating unnatural, perhaps human-made, anomalies echoing within the earth. And I may have theorized,” he paused and scratched his head, “that they are indicative of rifts in space-time.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Vandeventer smiled. “We need you to come with us. The governor has asked for you by name to be part of his Blue Ribbon Panel of Academic Experts.”

Eichelberger added, “It’s sorta a brain trust of da smartest people in da state to inform da response to da incident at da old steel site. Ya seen da news in da last forty minutes?”

“I have, and I am happy to help, I just need to get to my lab at the University first. I need to compare readings before and after the event.” Joyner nodded toward the east.

“No time for that, Professor.” Vandeventer held her arm out, gesturing to an unmarked, grey, late model Ford Taurus police cruiser idling nearby. “We need to get to the Governor’s Forward Ops Center in Calumet Heights now.”

Sergeant Eichelberger added, “We’re settin’ up in da old railyard, by da Little Caesar’s pizza and da White Castle in case ya get hungry.”

Captain Vandeventer nodded with approval. “The Blue Ribbon Panel is kicking off in about fifteen minutes and we’re likely to be late, even with our grill lights flashing. Now, one more thing. Full media blackout on this, so leave your phone, leave your tablet here. No twittering, no facebooking. The governor is going to need one hundred percent of your concentration. Got it?”

“Got it,” Joyner said as he put his bike back on its kickstand and hopped off. He then pulled his phone and tablet from his case, leaving them on the workbench that sat covered with tools, wires, and gadgets on the side of the garage. He shut the garage door and followed Vandeventer and Eichelberger to their police cruiser.

****

As Sergeant Eichelberger drove on the highway shoulder to avoid the snarled traffic that defined Chicago even on a good day, Joyner sat in the backseat and felt an excitement take hold of him. There he was, pulled into a blue-ribbon panel of his fellow scientists, about to help in cracking the mystery of one of the strangest incidents in recent memory.

His thoughts turned into a vivid daydream. He’d be able to make his academic bones on this excursion. Solving this riddle would be enough to keep him published for the next 40 years. There would be public speaking events, guest lectures, and tenure at the institution of his choosing. As Joyner’s daydreams meandered in the direction of whether he could use his influence to save lives, stop global warming, and change Pluto back into a planet, a shout dragged him back to reality.

“Dang it!” Eichelberger shouted. “We’re one exit away, wit one more toll booth in between us and da H.Q. And I’m outta change. Got any change, Cap?”

“I never carry change.” Vandeventer smirked. “That’s why I never take the highway when we’re in an unmarked cruiser. Can’t blow past the booths without triggering a toll-runner alert. How much is the toll?”

Eichelberger squinted through the windshield, “Sign says,” he paused. “Seventeen cents.”

“You sure you’re reading that right?” Vandeventer asked.

“Yep. I got pilot vision, Cap. Sign says seventeen cents. And there’s an exact change line wit’ no waitin’. Say, Professor Joyner?” Eichelberger turned to the backseat. “You got seventeen cents?”

Joyner rummaged through his coat pockets. “Sure, I’ve got two dimes,” he said while he handed the coins forward.

“Fine,” Eichelberger said as he snatched the dimes from his hands. “Just fine. But just so ya know, if you use twenny cents in da exact change line on a seventeen-cent toll, they don’t give ya no change back. You gotta fill out a form TB-20 for that. We’ll getchya a pen.”

****

A few minutes later, they had arrived at the forward headquarters. Eichelberger drove their Taurus up to a security checkpoint guarding the entrance to the railyards, and as they pulled into the yard, Joyner could see hundreds of armed personnel milling about in a tent city taking shape alongside a network of shipping containers equipped with electrical cables, satellite dishes, and antennas. Joyner could see a few specially marked Federal Emergency Management Agency vehicles around, but most of the boots on the ground within the complex belonged to state and local police as well as the Illinois National Guard.

About a minute after they pulled into the railyard, Eichelberger stopped the cruiser right next to an old two-story brick building. “The old depot building. Dat’s your stop, Professor,” he said.

“Your group is through the main entrance,” Vandeventer added. “I’ll walk you in.”

Joyner thanked Eichelberger for the ride and followed Vandeventer through the front door of the old depot building. Creaky floors, dim light, and the scent of ammonia cutting through the miasma of stale air were the first things Joyner noticed about the place. But the old depot building was in decent enough shape for a blue-ribbon panel of scientists, Joyner thought to himself. He walked with Vandeventer to a reception desk.

“Bringing in Professor Terrance Joyner,” Vandeventer said to a National Guard soldier behind the reception desk. “We cleared him. He’s clean.”

“Welcome, Professor.” The soldier responded. “They are already underway, but you can take a seat at the table where your nameplate is. I think you’re on the left as you walk in. Maybe the right.”

“Well, this is where I leave you, Professor.” Vandeventer said with a grin. “Thank you for the service you are about to do your country.”

“Thank you, Captain Vandeventer. I’ll see you around?”

“See you when we inevitably retreat,” Vandeventer said with a wink.

As Professor Joyner walked through the door into the meeting room, his adrenaline surged. He took everything in. Three small tables sat in a semi-circle – seven intelligent-looking individuals sat at them. In the middle of the semi-circle stood a well-dressed woman in her mid-to-late-40s, addressing the group.

“And that’s where we, the Blue Ribbon Panel of Academic Experts come in – Oh welcome! Mister?”

“Joyner,” Joyner said with a smile. “Professor Joyner, Department of Seismology.”

“Welcome, Professor! I am Theresa Tholozan, Special Assistant to the Governor. And you’re just in time. Please take your seat.” She pointed to his chair at the center table.

Theresa resumed her remarks. “And that is where we, the Blue Ribbon Panel of the brightest minds in Illinois academia, come in. Like the Lieutenant Governor just said a few minutes ago, you are the brain trust that will help shape our official response to the situation in the Steel District,” she said with a smile as she pulled a creaking stool into the center of the tables. “Who wants to go first? Just shout out some ideas,” she said as she sat on her stool.

A balding man on the edge of the semi-circle spoke up from behind his nameplate that read Jerry Gravois, Professor of Communications. “I agree we have to get in front of this. And to me, this seems like a clear case.” Most of the people in the room nodded in agreement. Joyner found himself nodding reflexively. “It’s a clear case of intersectionality. Intersectionality of a number of problematic things. So it would behoove us to sketch out all of the causes intersecting, right at this moment, that caused this situation.”

Oh crap. This is starting off like one of our interdepartmental meetings, Joyner grumbled to himself.

“I don’t disagree with you, Professor Gravois,” a bespectacled woman spoke up from behind her Eleanor Pestalozzi, Professor of Critical Postmodernist Philosophy nameplate. “But I think it’s important that we stay within the confines of our mandate here. And that is to zero in on causation with laser focus, but what you are describing involves fanning out – fanning out too broadly when time is short.”

“Yes indeed,” a baritone voice spoke up. His nameplate read Trevor Cote Brilliante, Professor of Linguistics. “I might suggest that what you are proposing might run afoul of what we’re supposed to do here, and that’s to focus on a singular cause. But you seem to want to broaden our scope when we don’t really have the time for it.”

“That is what Professor Pestalozzi just said, Professor Cote Brilliante,” said a grey-haired woman in an ornate blue hat, her head shaking, her eyes squinted. Her nameplate read Rebecca Fyler, Professor of Critical Critical-Theory Theory.

“Excuse me?” Professor Cote Brilliante asked, with an incredulous shake of his head.

“She just said that,” Professor Fyler said. “You literally just repeated what Professor Pestalozzi said.”

“I don’t think I did that. I was merely elaborating on her point. I agreed with her,” Professor Cote Brilliante responded meekly.

“You marginalized her,” Professor Fyler scowled. “You took away her voice.”

“It’s okay, Professor Fyler,” Eleanor Pestalozzi spoke up. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“He took away your voice. Now, wait patiently while I stand up for you, Professor Pestalozzi,” Professor Fyler said with a quick shake of her head.

How am I going to get a word in? Joyner asked himself.

Professor Gravois rejoined the conversation. “Listen, I move that we form a subcommittee of this group to verify and determine whether or not Professor Cote Brilliante took away Professor Pestalozzi’s voice so that we can go about the business of dissecting the incident at the old steel site via the principle of intersectionality.”

Joyner had been watching and listening in silence, but he decided to speak up, “Hey folks, I know I’m the new guy here, but I just think we should analyze the available data–”

“Everybody, stop.” A new voice broke into the discussion in the form of Professor Oleatha, a man Joyner recognized from the University, but had only seen in passing up until this point. His nameplate indicated he held the title of Professor of Transhumanism. “Can we just take a step back and evaluate what we’re trying to accomplish here?”

“It’s pretty clear,” Professor Gravois responded. “As Lieutenant Governor Morganford said, we need to intersectionally evaluate all the root causes of this incident and distill that into a working theory.”

“He did not say that,” Professor Pestalozzi reaffirmed her earlier position.

“Agreed,” Professor Cote Brilliante nodded his head. “He did not articulate that position.”

“There you go again, Cote Brilliante!” Professor Fyler raised her voice. “You took away Professor Pestalozzi’s voice!”

“He really didn’t,” Professor Pestalozzi said with a sheepish grin. “Can we just focus–”

“He most certainly did take away your voice! I heard it, you heard it,” Professor Fyler said with a nod to Special Assistant Tholozan. “You heard it,” she said with a nod toward Joyner. “The whole damn room heard it. He stole your voice!”

“I’m going to hit the pause button here,” Special Assistant Tholozan interjected as she slowly walked closer to the tables.

Thank God, Joyner thought to himself quietly.

Special Assistant Tholozan continued, “We’re having a great conversation, a spirited conversation. Great progress here, one and all. But let me bring the Lieutenant Governor back in to settle this particular issue.” Tholozan turned and walked out through a wall of black curtains hanging at the back of the room, opposite from where Joyner had entered.

“Excellent,” Professor Fyler said while staring at Professor Pestalozzi. “Now, we will finally get some resolution on whether Professor Cote Brilliante stole your voice.”

“I think,” Professor Cote Brilliante spoke up, “that Lieutenant Governor Morganford was going to settle the issue of whether we were supposed to take a broad approach or a narrow approach.”

“Agreed, and he will tell us to take the intersectional approach.” Professor Gravois reaffirmed himself, his arms folded.

A moment of brooding silence fell over the room. Joyner spotted his opportunity to say his piece. “Perhaps an empirical, evidence-based approach is in order here, everyone. Why just the other day, I was analyzing seismograph readings, you know, vibration readings of what’s going on within the earth, at the seismology lab. And I identified several anomalies indicative of repeating vibrations deep within the earth beneath Chicago – the sort you do not find in nature. They were almost mechanical. At first, I thought my sensors were broken. But it’s almost as if the vibrations were occurring in the same place in the earth’s crust, but at different points in time, so to speak. So I think we may have a disturbance that has formed deep beneath our city and we really need to–”

“What’s this I hear about discord on our Blue Ribbon Panel of Academic Experts?” A loud voice barged in from the back of the room. Joyner recognized the portly man as Lieutenant Governor Morganford from his campaign commercials from the previous fall – only the man always looked polished and wore a suit in his commercials. Today, he looked rather sweaty in his blue jeans and an orange Chicago Bears sweatshirt.

“Thank you for coming back, Lieutenant Governor,” Professor Fyler said with a tip of her hat. “We were hoping you could settle the matter of whether Professor Cote Brilliante stole the voice of–”

“Yes, yes. I heard, Professors,” Morganford grunted as he adjusted his waistband. “Broad approach or narrow approach? I got the gist of the problem from Tholozan here,” he nodded to her quickly.

“Let me give you the long story short,” Morganford continued. “The president is scheduled to call the governor in,” he paused while checking his wristwatch, “thirty or forty minutes. And the governor and I, we need to throw the president a bone. A big fat honkin’ bone.”

Morganford elaborated with his arms folded. “As you know, we got a lot ridin’ on federal funding in the state of Illinois right now. Pending federal funds, mind you. We got a two-hunderred million-dollar grant for a new football stadium for Western Illinois University on the line. We got a matching five- hunderred million-dollar grant for a Soldier Field re-renovation on the line. We got three-hunderred million on the line for a University of Illinois football stadium expansion. And we got another four-hunderred and fifty million dollars in federal funding for a new fantasy football stadium on the North Side of Chicago on the line. There’s a lot riding on this phone call, people!”

The Lieutenant Governor paused as he put his hands on his hips for dramatic effect before bellowing, “We will not go down in history! Go down in history as the Got-damn administration that failed the great sport of football in Illinois! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” the professors meekly chorused from their chairs.

Lieutenant Governor Morganford scowled. “Then good. So get me a Got-damn narrative pronto!” Then with a stomp of his foot, he barged out the same way he had barged in.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Special Assistant Tholozan sighed. “We need a narrative and we need it now. Let’s throw out ideas and see what sticks.”

“Patriarchy,” Professor Gravois spoke up.

“Good!” Special Assistant Tholozan smiled as she began to write down the ideas on a whiteboard. “What else?”

“White privilege!” Professor Pestalozzi shouted.

“Good!” Special Assistant Tholozan said as she wrote white privilege on the whiteboard.

Most of the professors in the room nodded in approval.

“I think we just did white privilege though,” Professor Cote Brilliante said forlornly. “Remember the fishing trawler that ran aground by Navy Pier last fall? That was white privilege.”

“Oh, yeah.” Professor Pestalozzi nodded as she pondered. “Damn.”

“We could do white privilege again, though,” Professor Itaska from the Department of Participatory Economics spoke up for the first time. “White privilege is always a good one.”

“But we all know the president hates white privilege,” Professor Fyler added as her blue hat slouched down her forehead.

“Hates white privilege in a good way?” Professor Itaska asked. “Or a bad way?”

“The worst way.” Professor Fyler slumped in her chair.

“I’ve written ‘white privilege’ down on the whiteboard everyone,” Special Assistant Tholozan chimed in. “Let’s not get too stuck on one item just yet. Any other ideas, Professor Itaska?”

Itaska paused a moment before adding, “Climate change,” with a smile.

“Oh good one!” Professor Fyler clapped her hands, her posture improving. “How about patriarchy?”

“I already said ‘patriarchy,’ Professor,” Professor Gravois said with a sinister tone. “Stop trying to steal my voice.”

“I did not steal your voice!” Professor Fyler was indignant. “What a terrible thing to say to a person!”

“American decline!” Professor Neosho from the Department of Post-Modern Modernism shouted out. It was his first contribution to the meeting, a contribution that gave Joyner some pause, but was ignored by everyone else in the room as the voice-stealing debate continued unimpeded.

Taking a step back in the conversation, Professor Cote Brilliante barked a question toward Professor Fyler. “Sort of like you did when you said ‘you stole Professor Pestalozzi’s voice’ to me?” he said with a tone of challenge in his throat.

“That was completely different. You really did steal her voice,” Fyler said with a wag of a bony finger.

“He really didn’t,” Professor Pestalozzi said with a calming tone in her voice.

“Oh be quiet!” Fyler said as she slapped both hands on the table in front of her. “We’re settled then? It’s patriarchy, right?”

“Seems as evolved of an option as any,” Professor Oleatha from the Department of Transhumanism said.

A series of nods waved through the room as Special Assistant Tholozan circled patriarchy on her whiteboard.

Joyner was trying to mentally keep track of what was going on and felt dumbstruck. He had to speak up before his ideas would go unheard.

“Everyone, before we go too far down this road ... err … or this path, I must insist on sharing a bit of information, a bit of evidence you may not know yet,” Joyner spoke up, measuring his words carefully so as to not cause an inadvertent offense that could derail his entire argument.

“Well, what is it, Professor Joyner? We haven’t got all day.” Professor Fyler cocked her hat and folded her arms.

“Well, I’m a seismologist, and I monitor sensors all over the Upper Midwest. And recently, I’ve been getting environmental readings of a highly unusual nature that seem to be emanating from beneath Chicago … and well … I just think we would be doing ourselves an injustice if we did not explore this angle. We’d be doing the environment an injustice if we didn’t identify what exactly is coming out of that smoldering crater. Because once I can get in my lab and confirm my findings, I think we’ll have a plausible theory for what happened.”

“I’m intrigued,” Professor Pestalozzi said thoughtfully.

“As am I,” Professor Cote Brilliante said.

“Check your privilege, ass-hat!” Professor Fyler rose from her chair as if it were on fire. “Can we get the Lieutenant Governor back in here to decide once and for all if Professor Cote Brilliante is stealing Professor Pestalozzi’s voice by incessantly agreeing with her? Would somebody please get the Lieutenant Governor?”

“If we could hold off on bringing the Lieutenant Governor back in for just a little bit,” Joyner interjected with a soothing wave of his hand, “I think I can make it worth your while, Professor Fyler. Would you hear me out?”

As Professor Fyler reluctantly lowered herself back into her chair and refolded her arms, Joyner continued. “Does anyone remember the mysterious potholes in Siberia? Those very mysterious, deep craters that appeared without anyone noticing in the Siberian permafrost?” Several heads in the room nodded.

“Well,” Joyner continued, “what if what happened at the old steel site is related to what really caused those mystery craters? What if there was underground mining activity in Siberia that caused their formation? And what if something similar happened here, but with explosive results? The main difference we need to account for is that those craters happened in desolate, remote areas and no one witnessed their formation or the immediate aftermath except for people who caused them, plus a few reindeer herders,” he said with a chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Professor Gravois asked with a sense of incredulity as he and several other professors leaned forward at their tables, clearly agitated.

“Umm, which part? What’s what supposed to mean?” Joyner asked.

“I don’t answer questions when they are questions in response to a question.” Professor Gravois responded.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Joyner said.

“What do you mean by calling the witnesses ‘reindeer herders’? Is that some kind of racial or ethnic slur?” Professor Itaska joined in.

“Yeah,” Professor Fyler joined in. “What kind of thing is that to call a person?” She frowned at Joyner. Joyner could now sense piercing stares hitting his head from all sides, as though everyone in the room scowled at him.

“Well, I mean, they … they herd reindeer for a living. It’s how they feed and clothe themselves. It’s what many people do to survive in Siberia,” Joyner said, trying to recover enough momentum to continue elaborating on his theory.

“Well, Professor Joyner,” Professor Cote Brilliante said, his deep voice echoing off the wooden floor and exposed brick walls, “it is inappropriate to label these Siberian Americans as you have done. At the Department of Linguistics, we espouse the value of never reverse-anthropomorphizing people into the things that they do. So, we all would appreciate if you referred to these people as ‘Siberian Americans engaged in the herding of reindeer.’”

“Agreed,” was the chorus in the room.

“Well, first of all,” Joyner tried to recover, “they are not Siberian Americans. They are just Siberians, because they do not live in America.”

“You are only digging yourself in deeper, Professor Joyner,” Professor Pestalozzi said, her enunciation echoing aghast in the room.

“Sorry, everyone. I meant no offense,” Joyner said, trying to recover enough control of the conversation to finish elaborating on his theory. He swallowed and took a breath, about to continue when Professor Fyler jumped in.

“We forgive you, and we are willing to overlook your slight against the Siberian American community, Professor Joyner, forgoing our right to compel you to self-criticize,” Professor Fyler said with a wry smile. “After all, I think you gave us the narrative we so badly need.”

Joyner found himself at a loss for words. “But, but, I’ve not really finished explaining how flammable gases trapped within the earth may have very well been released via a chain reaction caused by–”

“No need, Professor Joyner.” Professor Gravois reaffirmed. “You said all that needed to be said in your opening remarks. And we all think you hit the nail on the head.”

“Indeed,” Professor Pestalozzi said with an approving smile.

Joyner could see all the professors in the room were nodding approvingly at him, the horror of moments ago dissipating into an enlightened calm.

“You cracked the case, Professor Joyner,” Professor Oleatha said, his hand pointing toward the whiteboard. “You’ve done our University proud. You said the words yourself.”

Joyner looked up in time to see Special Assistant Tholozan circling the words on the whiteboard: environmental injustice.

Tholozan finished drawing her circle and turned to the group. “Congratulations,” she said. “You have done it. You have given us the narrative we so desperately needed. I hereby declare this Blue Ribbon Panel of Academic Experts concluded. Please see yourselves to the front of the building where the desk sergeant will arrange for your rides home.”

Dumbfounded, Joyner found himself almost sleepwalking back to the entrance. Was this really it? Would this be his only contribution to the Steel District Disaster?

He was the first to reach the exit. He slowly opened the door and stepped across the threshold. One more step and he’d be fully out of the room.

Suddenly, a twinge of hope erupted in Joyner’s heart when Special Assistant Tholozan called out again, halting him elatedly mid-step. “Oh, I am sorry, everyone. Please wait. We are not done here.”

Joyner turned around with a smile on his face, propping the door open with his shoulder.

Special Assistant Tholozan continued, “Professors Pestalozzi, Gravois, Fyler, Neosho, Itaska, Oleatha, and Cote Brilliante, please remain behind for a Special Blue Ribbon Sub Panel on suitable hashtags to further our environmental injustice narrative. The fate of football in the great state of Illinois depends on you.”

Joyner took a forlorn step toward the building’s exit, and the door to the Blue Ribbon Panel of Academic Experts swung closed behind him.

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