The Beatles—Future Perfect, Part 9

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Heading West

The sequestered lounge on the upper tier of Xample Global HQ sat far above the weather, wrapped in curved smart-glass that adjusted silently against the glare of the late-day sun. Xap, Julian, Dr. Kiran, and the four members of Future Perfect had gathered.

CCE Subscriber retention had broken every historical record—not merely holding steady after Madeira, but surging. Yet alongside the tide of adoration there was sharp, persistent friction. Politicians, legacy media, and some religious communities had begun raising alarms. They argued that conscious intervention crossed an existential line—especially after four hundred million people had watched George Harrison's quiet realization on the balcony of the Teatro Municipal.

They were a minority, but a vocal one. The vast majority of subscribers, however, had simply been moved beyond words. George had become the absolute magnet for subscriber focus—an anchor point around which the entire collective consciousness seemed to orbit.

Xap leaned back, turning an empty glass between his hands.

"We started this as the ultimate entertainment escape," he said softly, looking around the circle. "An immersive jaunt into the musical past. We never imagined it could—or would—evolve into a magnet for higher-dimensional consciousness. This is far beyond our original intent. And now we also have real ethical considerations if we simply shift our subscribers to something new and abandon what's happening down there."

He turned to Dr. Kiran. "Kiran, give us your thoughts."

Dr. Kiran sat with his hands folded in his lap, his expression carrying the serene, unhurried depth of a man used to observing long cycles.

"On the one hand," Kiran began, his voice calm and measured, "if we were to shift the network, and remove the attraction for higher-dimensional consciousness, they would likely just move on. Natural disasters happen on Earth; we adjust and move on. That is what human beings do—we move on. Moreover, that's probably too dramatic, they may well see this merely as a game, an interesting diversion. George is our best indicator, he recognizes he is only a "sliver" of his true self, and accepts it—much in the same way as we accept our lives.

On the other hand, in human terms we have created something exceptional. Xap, you said it correctly: we are attracting higher consciousness. Thankfully base consciousness does not seem attracted, or perhaps lacks the resonance necessary to enter. Have you noticed how civil it feels down there compared to our actual timeline?"

He looked toward Maya and Chloe, then back to Xap. "In our timeline, that civility is likely what is attracting subscribers. They escape into an ideal version of reality. Time will tell, but I would postulate that this altered space is actually having a measurable, positive impact on our own societies."

Kyle leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. "And then there's the music. Who could have imagined the Beatles making the music they're making now? Playing on stage with us and Bob Marley—and George said it himself in Madeira, John and Paul are happier than they've been in years. And we're just beginning. Now that George has 'joined us' and knows what's going on, who knows where we can take this?"

Chloe chimed in, a subtle, bright spark in her eyes. "And other musicians are starting to show up in the timeline, too. It's bleeding through. This could get very interesting."

Maya shook her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the table as her mind worked through the musical possibilities. "We need to submerge George in music," she said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "John and Paul have always had each other to bounce ideas off of. Historically, George had to fight just to get a single song on an album. We're going to write with him. We're going to be his voice, show him chord inversions and voicings that will expand his possibilities, and help him refine his playing. And above all, we're going to have fun making music. Our eclectic tastes are going to influence an entire generation down there. Music is only going to get better."

Zack, who had been sitting quietly in his chair, gently cleared his throat. "I have a way to really boost George's mood and stature," he said.

The room went still. Everyone turned to him, surprised but expectant.

Zack smiled, leaning into the light. "Think about it. Now he knows we're from the future. We won't share that the Beatles eventually broke up, but we share some of his absolute best future songs with him now. Songs that, by the way, will work brilliantly in an acoustic set. And then we take them to the next level on top of that."

Maya leaned in, intrigued. "Which ones?"

"'My Sweet Lord,' of course," Zack said, counting on his fingers. "And 'From Behind That Locked Door.'"

A collective warmth spread across the table. Maya's face lit up, and Chloe smiled broadly. But, Kyle added, "You know... after he hears us perform them, he might experience the Burt Bacharach effect."

Chloe turned her head, squinting slightly. "What's that?"

"Recognizing that a songwriter isn't necessarily the best singer for his own song," Kyle explained. "Burt Bacharach learned that early on in his career. Perhaps after one of us sings George's own song back to him, he'll understand. He seems to have his ego completely in check—I bet he'll figure it out."

Zack grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I can't wait to see his face when we play a killer version and then reveal, 'You wrote that!'"

Julian, who had been quietly listening from the edge of the console, let out a low laugh and stood up, smoothing down his jacket.

"I'm all in," Julian said. "To be able to do this and still live our normal lives back here—what an incredible gift. I see it as a total win-win. So, Xap... what's your call? Where to next?"

Xample looked around the room at his team—four brilliant musicians, a visionary scientist, and his sharpest producer—and felt the quiet, steady alignment settle over him. A slow, decisive grin spread across his face.

"Everyone's already dressed for it," Xap declared, standing up. "We're headin' West! Julian and I will scout locations out West, while you four work on an acoustic set for Future Perfect and the Beatles."

It was counterintuitive, but Xap and Julian went to Beverly Hills to rent a remote estate through a high-end Los Angeles brokerage and bypassed local chatter entirely until the band actually arrived.

Passing himself off as an entertainment attorney representing a British corporate executive retreat, Xap made an aggressive, cash-upfront offer on a private double-estate along the West Shore of Lake Tahoe, California. Located in the densely timbered pine corridor near Homewood, the property featured two adjoining mid-century timber-and-stone compounds—a sprawling main lodge perched fifty feet from the water with floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the Sierra Nevadas, and a detached cedar guest residence right beside it. When the estate's owner initially balked at a short-term lease, Xap nearly doubled the offer and put down a substantial damage deposit. The owner signed before the ink on the check was even dry.

The logistics for bringing the group in were airtight. A private charter jet brought the band silently into the newly opened Sacramento Metropolitan Airport, tucked far out in the Central Valley farmland, the plane taxied straight into a private corporate hangar. Without ever setting foot in a public terminal, the group transferred directly from the tarmac into a pair of blacked-out limousines.

Leaving the ninety-degree valley heat behind, they climbed Interstate 80 up through Truckee before winding down Highway 89 along the river. In under two hours, the elevation reached a manageable 6,200 feet—high enough to yield crisp alpine air and total seclusion, but low enough to avoid altitude sickness or strain on fragile vocal cords. The limos slipped through the heavy iron gates off the main road, completely hidden from prying eyes behind sugar pines and granite boulders. House A would serve as the Beatles' creative sanctuary, while House B housed Future Perfect, Xample, Julian, and Kiran. Support staff were scattered nearby in local hotels.

To top off the retreat, Xap again enlisted Bay Area filmmaker George Lucas to shoot the event documentary-style. He knew the city's hidden architectural corners and quietly arranged for the session to take place at the Bayview Opera House. Tucked away from the city's main drag, the hidden 1888 Victorian gem had been designated an official landmark just months earlier in late '68. Its intimate 300-seat hall featured a vaulted wooden ceiling, horseshoe balconies, and natural proscenium acoustics that made unamplified instruments bloom.

Using Lucas's indie-film connections, renting the hall for an "experimental midnight movie shoot" raised zero local suspicion. A high-end mobile recording truck—fitted with state-of-the-art 16-track tape machines—would be parked discreetly in the rear alley, running heavy snake cables through the back stage doors.

Under the cover of darkness, two hundred hand-picked guests, local art students, and trusted friends would be quietly bused in for what they were told was a private film screening, completely unaware of who was taking the stage. With no massive PA stacks—just ambient studio mics, pristine wooden acoustics, Lucas's lean crew moving through the aisles with handheld 16mm cinéma vérité cameras, and an audience sworn to secrecy—they were set to execute a legendary "Unplugged" concert over a decade before the world had a name for it.

To Be Continued...