I hate Hub City. I grew up here and I remember it being a better city then. But that is because I didn't know what I know now. My father was Vince Carlucci. I didn't know what he did for a living but we lived well and I never wanted for anything. I found out when I was a teenager, my father was a member of a criminal organization. But he always told me I could be anything I wanted and I wanted more than anything to be a cop. He laughed. Told me I would grow out of it. 

My phone rings. It's about eight. "Carlucci." 

"We need you downtown. It's him." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Forensics is gathering evidence, but it is pretty much a done deal. There was a witness." 

"I will be right there. Give me the address." 

I get out of bed. My loft is lit by the morning sun and I shield my eyes. The skylight is open and I tap it closed on the way to the bathroom. My bathroom has no mirrors. I turn on the shower and step into the scalding stream. My bathtub runs red. I don't look at it. I wash up cleaning up and emptying my mind of all thoughts. 

I never outgrew my urge to become a cop. I think it was the uniform. I graduated the Police Academy at twenty. My father and I stopped speaking moments after my graduation. He, of course, came to it. He had a reputation as an honest businessman to maintain. He was gracious that way. I found out later he and the Police Chief were friendly. They talked more than we did after that. 

I did my job, and he did his. Our paths rarely crossed, and to be honest, I preferred it that way. Until I made Detective, I never had anything to do with my father's business or his work. I now knew what he was. Scum. He and his friends moved drugs into Hub City and had a finger in every kind of vice the city had to offer. In the twelve years I was a cop, I watched the jewel of the Midwest, a burgeoning technology center slowly drown in illegal deals, both private and corporate, rotting the city from the inside out. 

From the outside, Hub City was still clean and beautiful, a city with millions of people living lives varying from wealth and opulence if you lived on the Northside, to squalor and filth if you lived on the Westside. It was very nice squalor and filth, relatively speaking, in comparison to some of the older cities like New York or Chicago, but it did not take away from the overall hidden menace our beloved Hub City held to its breast. We believed in our city. We believed it could be better. We were wrong. 

I drove through the city, on autopilot, and found myself knowing, without knowing where I was headed. When I got there I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A car, literally ripped in half. Bodies torn to shreds, pulped like hamburger. And one of them, I recognized. The son of a rival crime family. Dodonavich. The only part of him left intact was his head. The rest had been dragged across forty feet of concrete. 

"Nasty bit of work here." Peters was eating a donut. He had a flair for understatement. I could never understand how he could eat at crime scenes. 

"Is that Dodonavich?" Peter pointed with his donut. 

"Yes. This cannot get out. You know his father will go ballistic. Blood will run in the streets." 

"What about the witness? We can't keep him. We might be able to work up a minor drug charge but nothing that will hold him more than a week." He was reaching but I knew we needed some time. If this got out, it could escalate. 

"We have all the photo work done. We have all the samples. Do you need anything else, Peters? Sean White was the forensic head, and while he was talking to Peters, he was looking at me. Peters looked at me. 

"Give me ten minutes, and then you can cart all this stuff down to the station for a further workup." 

"Carlucci." The one voice I didn't want to hear and the one person who knew how to push all of my buttons. My former boss. 

"Yes, Captain." 

"Do I still pay you?" The same introductory joke when I haven't seen him for a couple of weeks. 

"Yes, and less every time you make that joke. Sir." 

"Any leads?" 

After I became a Detective, we opened a Special Crimes Division. Crime in Hub City had grown darker, scarier, more dangerous. We assumed it was just a tone, something that had rippled from the older cities and had made its way to the Hub. We started seeing experimental drugs, strange technology we couldn't easily identify, weapons we had never seen before. Our task force was created to investigate, understand and handle these kinds of crimes. We were good, my partners and I, there were eight of us, at first. At the end of two years, there were fourteen. In two more, there were twenty. Special Crimes was nearly one third of the budget of the Sixteenth Precinct. 

"I haven't had a chance to talk to the witness, but from reading the statement, he said it was done by a man. And this is the third incident in as many months, but the first with a witness. He said the man called himself Hyde." 

"Hide?" What kind of name is that? What is he doing 'hiding' from the police? Not the brightest light, I think he became Captain because of his connections. 

"No, Captain. I think he means Hyde as in 'Jekyll and Hyde.' 

"So our perps were killed by a bedtime story?" 

"I can't say, but I will poke around and I am sure we will be able to get something from the scene. We haven't been able to lift a print but its only a matter of time." 

"Well, keep me informed. Peters, you have the duty. Carry on." The duty meant being my police liaison and watcher while I conducted my investigation. 

I lost my badge in my fourteenth year. Excessive force. That was the story. It wasn't true. By that time, I was the second in command of Special Crimes. But they could not bury this story. It had been made public by no less than my father and his goons. I was let go. They did what they could for me, so I was able to not be completely disgraced. I did that to myself. I had to push the issue and investigated the people who framed me. Instead of vindicating myself, I was played and nearly implicated in a murder. My rep was nearly done. From super crime buster to nearly lunatic, Hub City's finest avoided me like the plague. 

So I became a private detective. Hub City had lots of crimes and I was the best detective money could buy. I had a knack for Special Crimes and eventually I got a call from Hub City's finest. Its been three years, since I left the force. My own investigations outside of the Hub City Police taught me things were even worse than I knew. When I recovered, I was being hired by the Sixteenth as a paid consultant. Same work, slightly worse pay. My paychecks just come signed differently now. I work for the same people, in the same department, making the same calls. Except I work in my own office and drink my own coffee. Much better that that swill at the station house. 

Its better this way. 

So those mornings I come in late, no one questions, much. They ignore the rumpled suits and the dark sunglasses. They assume I am just having a good time and forget how to come home at night. If I don't answer my phone, they figure I must be getting some, because strangely enough, I am more popular with women now than ever. I don't understand it. Half the times, I can't even remember their names. 

I circle through the wreckage, amazed at the catastrophic level of damage. They need a forklift to dig the engine out of the ground. The car looks as if it were torn apart by a bulldozer, shards of sharp metal are everywhere.  As I stand over Dodanovich's body, I am struck by a memory. 

"Wait, man, you don't want to do this. I got money, I will pay you whatever you want." 

I have had enough. "Peters, let's get to the hospital and talk to this guy. There is nothing left to learn here except for why this happened. 

Man, is this about the hookers? They were just hookers, man. 

"Peters, were there any other bodies?" 

"No, everyone in the car was accounted for, two shot out the car when he stopped it. The survivor said he didn't draw down on him so maybe that is why he was alive. The others tried to shoot him and he went wild." 

"The question is why?" 

"See if you can pull some traffic feeds and see if you can figure out where this car was coming from." 

"We got a call off one of the phones so we know about what time it got here." 

"Its a start. I'll meet you at the hospital." 

I miss the honesty. I miss being able to tell them what I really do at the end of the day. I miss being able to tell them how much I want to keep fighting the good fight with them. I do my part during the day, investigate those things I can help them with, and then when we go home, I wait. If He saw something, He comes. I can't stop him and I don't even try anymore. I tried once, when it first happened. I don't remember what he did, but when I came to, I was sleeping on the side of a lake about eighty miles outside of town next to the remnants of a deer. I did not drive there. More than half of the animal was consumed, bones and all. I had never seen anything like it. But I remember the feeling and I never tried it again. He talked to me, a sympathetic vibration, I could feel in my inner ear. 

He said, "Stop me again, and I will eat one of your friends, just like this. You cannot enforce justice in your city. There isn't enough fear. Stay out of my way." 

I called him Hyde. He liked it. We are going to come to blows. Its only a matter of time.

Hyde © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm] 

If you commit a crime in Hub City, it's said the wind will carry your sin to him. Pray the police find you, before He does.

I was a policeman in another life. I can't say I was the best, but I certainly wasn't the worst. In Hub City, it was a brutal life, violent and often meaningless. I was bound by the law and told I would have to obey it to punish the guilty.

I watched the guilty escape more often than not. They laughed, they were bold. They were fearless. I had enough of that. Fate changed that for me. Now I am Hyde. And the guilty no longer get to pretend they are fearless. They fear me. And it is good.

I run, tireless, through the night. I can see them fleeing from the scene of their crime. A brutal thing; rape and murder of young coeds whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I found their prey dying in an alley, too far gone to save. I could smell their attackers all over them. I could see their scent in the air. They were high, a variety of toxins. That does not matter. Nothing can excuse them and nothing will save them.

I can feel my body changing, muscles growing, changing, growing faster. Bones hardening, leaping further and faster. I can see the fender of their car growing closer, I can see their excitement, they are smoking and drinking. They do not see me yet. My footprints tear into the hot tar of the night, my weight nearly three times that of a normal man, my muscle density nearly five times that. My skin is like iron, hard, hot, with a strange chemical stink, like oxidizing metal.

I leap, this time with the intent to stop their car. I land on the hood, from my high arc and drive their engine block into the ground. Their car folds up around me and the two in the front seat, shoot pass me through the windshield, showering me in shards of glass and steaming metal. I consider stopping them. I could have. I don't.

The three in the back seat slam against the front seats. The one riding in the center flies into the front seat and his head lands outside the windshield region. He lies there in shock. I can smell his fear. I can smell the guns in the back seat being drawn, the fumbling, the shock, the terror. I can see it, I can see the faces of the young women these monsters killed. I can feel their terror, smell it on their clothing. I can taste the tang of the blood of the women, still on their clothing.

I hear their guns being cocked. I stride forward, ripping the car in half, the tearing sound of metal drowns out the screams of the monster whose head is slashed apart by the car being shred beneath him. 

The two in the back seat mean to shoot their weapons. Their intent was initially clear, but as I tear through the car, they hesitate. Their hesitation is based partially in their belief of the futility of their action. The other is pure fear. They are unable to push their way through the fear which they are usually used to delivering not having.

In another two seconds, it no longer matters. I grab the muzzles of their guns and crush them around their hands. Bones crumble like tissue and their screams rub my nerves wrong, worse than nails on a chalkboard. I want them to stop. Stop screaming, stop, stop, stop.

They stop as I pound them into raw hunks of meat, bloody meat flying everywhere.

The third rider in the backseat was howling and clutching his wounds and bleeding profusely from his face as he sat outside the broken hull of the car. Once he saw me pound his friends into hamburger, he stopped screaming and whimpered quietly as I kick the door off the vehicle and exit. I walk past him toward the two leaders who were flung free. I pick up one. His head lolled to one side at an odd angle.

Dead. Broken neck.

The other, larger, stronger landed, rolled and had a terrible road rash. He got up. One of his hands was a bloody mess. It had been underneath him as he slid. The entire hand was gone, scrapped away as he slid. He reached for his firearm, but it was more than he could manage as I dropped his friend and walked toward him.

He said something, but I don't listen to dead men. There was nothing he could tell me.

I could see the lingering scent of all of the women on him. His hands reeked of violence, the smell of their blood, the oils of their flesh, their fluids were all over him. He lingered, he took his time.

I grabbed him, smacking his gun away. He swung weakly, striking me, but in my current rage, there was nothing he could do to me. I pick him up, raising him over my head and slam him into the ground. I hear his ribs snap. I put my hands on his back and press down. I then drag him across the ground, pressing him harder until a red smear begins to flow behind him. He screams and screams until his lungs were a smear on the ground behind him.

The last one sat in horror. Wiping the blood from his one swollen eye that still worked, he looked at me but realized I had no pity in me. He defiantly raised his chin to me.

I laughed and slapped him in the face, like the young woman he had planned to rape but lost his nerve. His nose was broken, like hers, his facebones shattered, like hers. His eye destroyed, like hers.

I bend over him, whispering. "Tell them. Tell them, these are my streets now. Tell them Hyde is coming."

Hyde © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

 Chapter Four - The Gentle Art

Sitting in his personal tower, the Rex looked out over his wife's domain and for a moment, smiled. A smile filled with sharp teeth and massive jaws, his wife's favorite feature. The scent of wild life was rich and abundant and for a moment, he felt the urge to leap from the tower and stalk a wild surbuck, just for the thrill of it. 

He turned his back from the open window hesitantly, regretfully before making his way into the keep. Smelling the hyper-oxygenated air of Galtan II, one of the twenty Gaian super-moons of the Toranor System, the sting of bitter ozone reminded him, while this was where he now resides, it was not home.

It was the primary enclave of the Pan-humanity and Sjurani governments. It is also home-world to the Beteans, a plant and animal symbiosis, strange even by galactic standards. On this world of forests, whose great trees rivaled the skyscrapers of modern worlds, both in  size and complexity, the ambassador to the Imperium contemplated leaving home again under less than ideal conditions. 

While not exactly family-oriented, he had promised the Queen-mother once he had been awarded his genetic viability rating, he would have children to help perpetuate his beleaguered species. Entering deeply into the lair of the duchess, the hot air was still and smoky. This, of course, was the desired effect. One's home should reflect the nature of the revered Homeworld's beautiful tropical forest. 

Insect life flew abundantly through the air and were fed upon by the various primitive house lizards, which occasionally became a snack for one of the children in the middle of the night if there were no adults nearby. The Rex moved though the household, which had the appearance of an old-world Sjurani castle estate made with the most modern equipment. And while it looked primitive, the security systems of the building were state of the art. The Rex marveled at how well organized the household appeared to be; almost military in its precision. 

The lights of the audience chamber were kept at a low level allowing the eyes of the Family to maintain their hunting sharpness at night. The air was redolent with musks and other scents from dangerous animals of the local forest near the ducal estate of Shishe and the House Su-xing-qu. The Duchess insisted the surrounding countryside retain some of its wild nature and forced her hunt squads to travel deep into the nearby forest for prey. 

She sat amid a variety of cushions covered of various silks from the Qiandong Human province on the continent of Chen. The silks from the region were some of the finest in the quadrant and even though mechanically created silks seemed as good in quality, all Sjurani preferred the organic nature of true silk to anything created by machine. The claim was an awareness of the true nature of silk to their enhanced senses. The silk trade was one of the great businesses of the the House of Su-xian-qu. 

The walls were covered with a variety of wooden reliefs painstakingly carved from the dense hardwoods of distant forests and each window was shuttered with doors of exotic corals from the deep seas. The house was arranged with an artist's eye, with each element enhancing everything around it. A perfect balance of space, dimension, color, and art. The eye of the Duchess ensured the natural energies of her estate flowed freely enhancing reproductive fecundity. The household boasted three clutches in fifteen years, an extraordinary number considering the state of Sjurani reproductive politics. 

There was a quiet hum of activity until Essver entered the chamber and stood awaiting the attention of the Duchess. As he strode into the room, the lesser males quieted the children they were attending and retreated backward into the room. As he approached, Duchess Su-xian-qu spoke and the room grew silent. "Greeting beloved, I understand you are making plans to depart the system. But I say to you, nay I implore you to reconsider your plans. Your duties lie here, my mate. Your clutch is barely three standard years of age. They need thy strong influence for them to imprint properly. Thoomas can take care of himself. Your days of constantly gating all over the galaxy are over. I regret being the one to say these things to you. I know you value your freedom and I have done all I can to allow it." 

With a smile on his face and a light tone, Essver looked at the duchess, deeply into her terrible green eyes. "I say to you, dear Duchess, these tiny hellions can take care of themselves. The Nine Devils pray daily none die before they are able to evacuate the Seven Hells for these beasts to roam free in. Imprint on me? They are more likely to feast on me whilst I slept." 

Undeterred by his commentary on the strength and beauty of his children, she continued, "We have a duty, Dream-Singer, our people have been devastated by plague, war and now a pestilence of our own devising. Your genome is strong and produces healthy and viable offspring. There are too few Rex remaining who are able to do that in these days. The Gene Council has begun to consider taking samples of our clutches for gene bank profiles. The time for saving the galaxy one world at a time is over. You must save our people too." When she finishes her statement, one of the second husbands brings a youngster to the Duchess and she gives the child some meat from a nearby platter. The child, beautifully formed with scales of a glittering greenish gold, hungrily stuffs the food into his mouth and chews noisily. 

Essver watching this bonding ritual is only mildly repulsed and continues, "This is not about Thoomas, my lady, this is about our contractual obligations to the Imperium. We would be poor citizens if we did not employ our capabilities to the benefit our families as well as the Triune Council. My Queen-mother, three starred general, though departed, would be unhappy to know her son turned completely away from the Gentle Art before his two hundredth birthday. Would you be the cause of such personal shame for me?" Essver paused for a second, before making the next pronouncement. "I will consider turning fully toward the First Trade upon the completion of this assignment." Essver was actually very good in the First Trade, and had made several fortunes even as he performed his work in the Gentle Art, or working with Thomas Wilks and his human interpretation of the Gentle Art. 

A look of deep sorrow crossed the reptilian face of the Duchess and looked as if she wanted to say something that would sooth her mighty Rex but knew no words for what must come next. The Duchess raised her arm and several distant doors opened and some shadowed forms had begun to move into the room. Their scent and their movement indicated their youth. The glinting of their scales reinforced that supposition. 

Strong forms in a variety of colors, golden, red, green and teal scales approached him and he recognized them as they came into the light. They are all dressed in ceremonial armor and weapons. Essver knew this was his first clutch with the duchess. These were the survivors. Of the original twelve, seven survived to adulthood, the others lost to disease, weakness, carelessness or put down by the Duchess herself, if they were unfit. 

They were approximately fifteen cycles and ready for their final adulthood rites. Several of the middle clutch and almost all of the youngest were upset as the seven surrounded their Rex in the center of the audience chamber.They would be forced to watch as their siblings became adults. "They need you, my Rex," she began, with her voice louder and more angry, "today you are here for their blooding and passage into adulthood, but your next brood will need you again. You cannot risk being lost before they are adult. They will need you to provide for their genetic stabilization and their social status. We are slaves to our genetics. Without you, your children may not be able to become parents themselves, should they survive." 

The children moved gracefully as they gathered their weapons together. Sword, spear, axe, ranthip, each chose weapons according to their body types, mental prowess and physical power. They were all graceful killing machines, trained since they were five to be the best warriors the next generation of Sjurani could want. 

Ten years of vigorous and aggressive combat, tactics and military education was their birthright. Essver was proud of his children as they surrounded him and prepared to show him their fighting skills. He would try his best to kill as many as possible. It was the Sjurani way. Only a fight, where they believed they might die would galvanize their genetic potential into actuality. 

As he dropped into a combat stance, he activated his force shield and flex sword and whispered while the blood-fury filled his veins "Show me, my children, your Gentle Art." 

* * * 

When Essver received his summons, he had already said his goodbyes to his mate, her lesser husbands, and his clutch and was already at the spaceport making the final preparations and checking the dossiers of new Pilots recently released from the Universitas Magistrorum et Humanitas. 

He had a slight limp from a deep cut his first son had made in his leg. It was a minor inconvenience he would heal on his way to the Lorissi system. He had a number of other smaller, less challenging injuries. A day of bacterial cellular regrowth and he would be fine. Four of his first clutch would be able to become parents. Their injuries were serious, however, and would require weeks in regeneration chambers. But the genetic activation took place. Two died and one would become a sterile male. This group was considered wildly successful by Sjurani standards. The Duchess was already considering to which families they would become affiliated with.  

The University was the final training facility for homo sapiens conscientia, mechanical sentients of the highest order capable of being created by the combined sciences of the Triune governments of Pan-Humanity, the Sjurani and the Beteans who initially inhabited Galtan II. These mechanical humanoids work with soldiers of the Resurrection Corps and using modern psychometric tools maintain their humanity after the rigors and trauma of dying, potentially repeatedly in their line of work. These mechanical sentients function as Pilots, technologists, scientists and companions to their Soldier. Fully aware of themselves and their work in the Imperium, the Conscientia are highly paid and highly regarded in their own right and have made significant advances to the program during their long term study, analysis and support of the Corps.  

There were several promising Pilots but only a few would be ready in time and none would have been assigned a ship in time for this trip. Essver did not let this deter him and had several ships of his own to draw from during his time as a mercenary. All had been kept fit and ready in case of need, so he would use the most heavily armed of them, Glorious, as a base while he and Thomas sought the stolen Frame. It could also be refit to mount the Frame facilities in less than a day. He made several calls and the Glorious would be ready in time to transit to the fleet. He also made a request to the University's dean to have several of the more promising students prepared, reviewed and the best of them made ready in a week to send to Lorissi, once issues had been settled there.  

The communique arrived by an Council messenger while he was checking the Glorious and the messenger was officious and upon delivery retreated without much pomp, but surprising all the same, since Council messengers were rarely seen at the space docks of Rekein. His wardrobe had already been delivered to the Glorious and he chose his most impressive uniform, which was festooned with medals from his time as a leader of both a Sjurani ground assault team and as a mercenary commander in the employ of the Sjurani Council. Armed with his tribal weaponry, as effective as their modern equivalents but covered with more ornate and beautiful constructions, he arrived at the Council headquarters in the center of the Triune City of Rekein at the required time.  

Led into the council and announced it was a long time since he had heard his full title: Triune Ambassador to the Imperium, Essver Dream-Singer, of the People of the Sjurani, son of Minru, son of Daor the Terrible, warrior-poet of Galtan II, Sjurani Rex, mated to the nugongjué, the Glorious Pielienhis (pe-le-en-hiss) seeking the audience of the Phoenix and the Triune Council.  

The room was ornate, as is the habit of the Sjurani, covered with a variety of artworks, metalcraft, stonework reliefs reflecting ancient heroes of legend, of every caste and every race. The chamber had been held on one of the Greatships of the Sjurani fleet that landed here and was over twenty thousand years old. It had been moved to this location as the center of government for the Sjurani, Pan-Human and Betean Councils. The Phoenix stood and her august plumage was in full release with her arms outstretched. Her coloring was brilliant and each feather a work of natural art and genetic manipulation blended perfectly. Her proportions were strong and even indicating her supreme heritage and likelihood of descent from the greatest heroes of the Phoenix line, the Flame King and the Summer Queen, the first of the Line of the Phoenix. While she was a Phoenix and he a Rex, he felt some level of attraction at a subconscious level. He could also feel her powerful operant psychic presence even though his psychic potential was limited to physical expressions of power.  

The Phoenix was small in comparison to Essver, but it did not stop her from being physically imposing. Her two Raptors, armed with dual pulse pistols, flex-swords and the highest quality flex-field armor stood vigilant even though they were actually more ornamentation than true defense. The courtroom, was liberally sprinkled with a variety of defensive technologies, mechanical sentience, and a good portion of the Sjurani council were capable and armed warriors themselves. She stood nearby as she paced in front of Essver who was in a supplication position on one knee in the center of the council chambers.  

As he had entered she had been speaking about the Corvan government and their recent loss of a squadron of Resurrection soldiers and their support troops due to poor intelligence. It was bad enough to have been using them against the Dalrothi on the edge of the Imperium, but to irrevocably lose nineteen to the True Death was unthinkable. Now they wanted to take the one survivor, who had lived for two years in completely inhospitable surroundings and through over twenty deaths without a Pilot and accuse him of treason?  

This soldier, Wilks and his Frame were a treasure trove of data that simply must be recovered. He was sent to Bel-ha to allow his suit's information to be downloaded and for him to experience psychological support of the type the Bel-ha's superior technology could provide. He was the perfect example of the superiority of this program and why we must be allowed to continue to develop it further. The Imperium was the primary client of the Resurrection Corps, but the technologies created allowed this group to manufacture something of lasting value to the Imperium and take their rightful place as quality sentients in the eyes of the elder galactic races, who considered Pan-humanity to be upstart races at best and vulger abominations at worst.  

She turned her sharp eyes toward Essver and he could feel her psychic might pressing against him. "You must recover that Frame, there is no alternative. Use all means at your disposal to discover what has happened to the technology. We sent a recovery team to Brennan 326 and nothing remained of Those That Served. In the proper procedure, Majoris Wilks disposed of any remains that survived the crash, and the normal automated self-destruct procedures. We must continue to maintain our patents and you will see to this, Ambassador."

She paused, considered a data-tablet handed to her by a minor functionary and continued. "On another note, since you are making a trip to the Bel-ha Collective's main planets, we would like you to establish a connection to the planet and see if it will be possible for us to establish a more solid trade arrangement. We already get many of our nanite programming from their world but the distance simply makes it difficult for us to maintain our relationships. We would like to establish one of their facilities, complete with scientists, on Galtan II near the Resurrection facility. That mission is both a cover and a secondary objective. Recover that soldier and that Frame."  

She stopped for a moment and shuddered, her feathers fluffing and spreading. "I understand he is your friend as well," she began, "I am happy to hear he has survived his ordeal and I have reviewed your service records together and find that you have both been extremely successful and fruitful as agents of Pan-Humanity and the Sujurani. We are at your disposal. What would you ask of us?"  

Essver considered himself and then raised his eyes. "Your greatness, the Corvan Fleet is leaving today and will arrive in four days in Bel-ha space. The Corva are going to expend a considerable amount of energy to make the jump in that short a time. The fleet commander, Admiral Lolikai has requested an opportunity to speak with me, in regard to our people and continued good will between the Imperium and our tiny piece of the Empire."  

Making eye contact with the Phoenix, he declared, "I believe the Imperium values the durability, accessibility, and resourcefulness of our agents. I do not think this Admiral will want to do anything that will risk that relationship considering the quality of the success of our operations in Imperium Space. I have all that I need, save a new Pilot. One will be selected, outfitted and sent to Lorissi in less than a week. Thank you for your generosity and I will return with our technology and our Soldier. You have my word."

SPRING
Chapter 2 - Spring on the Easter Seaboard

We started south after we passed through West Freehold in northern Jersey, the people there were as always, downright unsociable folk. Not saying they did not have reason to be cautious. This area was frequented by roving bands who escaped the fall of New York. It is one of the stranger things about the Arrival, that thousands of predator trees landed in the major metropolitan areas of Earth. It wasn't as if they targeted the cities, but for some reason the creatures found their way to major population centers if they didn't initially land there. So people were attacked both while they fled cities from the creatures at their back and once again by alien hordes coming into cities. This increased fatalities three fold in the earliest hours of the Arrival.

Survivors fell into three categories. Builders, people who found ways to turn the wealth of the Old World into a means of survival, building new much smaller walled cities and growing what they can when they can, raising animals if they are able to find them. The Feral, groups of humans who barely maintain any semblance of their humanity. They vary in technological competence from military effectiveness to dirty bands scrambling to live off the land or anyone not strong enough to protect themselves. And then there are the Moving. That's us. Our band is much smaller than most, right now, its just our family group, but we often join up with other Movers for protection in dangerous areas, sharing resources, ideas or helping Builders with the restoration of some of the Old World. The difference between the Movers and the warlike Ferals is we choose to move and choose to be non-violent if we can help it.

At West Freehold, we traded non-potable water for our vehicle's fuel cells. We would sterilize it later and make sure it was particle free when we had some time. We also managed to get some tough nu-potatoes and traded some high density batteries for their short range stunners used for hunting and repelling undesirables. For some canned extras, likely plundered from the major cities where no one would be willing to live, we gave them a windup radio we plundered from the outskirts of New York. There are still emergency broadcasts made on occasions depending on where you lived in the country. There is no effective government anywhere on Earth. Each area works to establish whatever can pass for a government and they seem to last for a while but almost always decay or are destroyed by Ferals or increasing populations of the predator trees or their other symbiotic life forms. It seems as soon as our populations start to increase in an area, word gets out and that area becomes more attractive to the aliens.

With the next bit of the road being some of the toughest, potatoes and other grub would be in short supply while we made the first dogleg south. We would make a stop in Philadelphia since there was a strong and thriving human community there. The trip to Philadelphia was long and circuitous because of the lack of decent roads in this part of the country. With building materials in short supply and active predators on the road, the people managed to build a decent barrier around the center of the city and do their best to keep it clear of the predator trees and their ilk.

We usually make a quick stop there, just long enough to trade some mail, rearm and if there was someone who needed passage south and can pay, we could take up to two more. Hopefully they could use a gun because this part of the route gets a bit hairy after Philly. Our route takes us from New York to the former capital in Washington DC. The direct route to the capital from Jersey would have taken a much shorter pathway but the roads were destroyed early in the offensives against the predator trees and their symbiotic allies by bombing runs. The roads were simply too effective at allowing the fastest of the creatures to move, so many were destroyed. It was against these very creatures we had to prepare for now. We called them tumblers. Scientists gave them some scientific name but what they resembled more than anything were tumble weeds. Except these did not roll harmlessly though old ghost towns. And they almost never rolled alone.

Our vehicle which doubled as our home, was full at the moment with my wife Martha sitting in the top turret, manning a fifty caliber rifle which had been added to our heavy vehicle, a military fast attack vehicle released at some point around 2013 called the Rhino. She is over sixty but a natural when it came to using the weapon. Who would have thought. We found the Rhino outside an army base that had been overrun a few years ago, and with just a few days were able to figure out how to load the fifty-cal and use it. Up until then, we had been using a solar assisted RV but it had been trashed by Ferals who had chased us onto that base. It had been small enough to have been missed by them and our luck had been to find active stockpiles of weapons still protected from the environment.

The vehicle resembled a Jeep except it was twice the size with none of the vulnerability. Hardened armor with the ability to add or subtract heavier armor plating we decided to ditch everything except for the lightest armor. We did not expect to run into any grenades, tanks, RPGs or bombs. Not too often at any rate. If it came to that, we would count on our speed and maneuverability to win the day. And the fact that Martha was a crack shot with the .50-cal.

Designed to be used by fast attack crews, it was designed exactly for our current lifestyle. Keeping it in ammo was the hardest part since the vehicle had been designed to run on a variety of power sources. It could be charged using plug in or generator electricity, it had a backup gasoline engine and had rechargeable and replaceable fuel cells. The greenest and cheapest method of keeping it powered was using the solar film and electrical system on the outside of the vehicle. Lucas, my grandson told me the vehicle was covered with a multiple layered solar mesh designed to capture solar radiation completely and super-efficiently. He said the mesh would reroute energy even if it took small arms fire damage. Then he mentioned something about nano repair capabilities and I stopped listening. The boy continued on for another ten minutes before he realized I wasn't listening.

It also had solar blankets which could be set up to enhance its recharge rate when it wasn't moving. With two hours of sunshine we could move at low speeds of fifteen to twenty miles per hour for over six hours. And if the sun shone on it while we moved, we could conceivably drive all day. We would stop two to four hours before sunset, so it could gather and recharge if we had to move at night. It offers us a good eight to ten hours of travel every day, so if we are not in a rush, we can travel almost entirely without using any of the harder to get fuels such as water or even rarer these days, gasoline. Setting up the solar blankets was generally only done when we were safe since they took time to lay down and pick up. We hadn't figured out a quick way to deploy or retrieve them yet and they were simply too vital to risk.

Their kids, Sharon and Lucas were riding in the back of the vehicle manning the two electronic gun ports. Using a sensor array and a display system they targeted the two swiveling guns on the side of the vehicle. The guns were targeted with six electronic eyes on the hull and a laser targeting system to enhance accuracy. It required a steady hand and a sense for shooting while moving. None of us like to admit it but the kids used them far better any of us old people. But to keep everyone on their toes, we all spent time using them and using to shoot our collection of rifles, machine-guns and hand guns and no one went anywhere unarmed or unescorted. Ever. The gun ports were accurate to about three hundred and fifty feet, making them our preferred method of violent problem solving since the 5.56 ammo they used was much easier to replace than the much more precious .50 caliber ammo.

During our normal operations, I was the rear door gunner. The vehicle offered the option of firing from a gun port at the back. It was not very large, so you had to be a good shot. And for any long range shooting, I was even with my slowly diminishing eyesight, the best shot of my family. But we always rotated the duties to make sure everyone stayed familiar with all of the weapons and their idiosyncratic behaviors.

My daughter's husband, Marcus, was driving and kept a fully loaded Colt Anaconda in his lap. He was very good with it and could shoot and drive at the same time, if he needed to. Since the Rhino had bulletproof windows, it was often better to keep them up in hostile territory. My daughter, Linda rode shotgun and used a fully loaded military combat shotgun. Army surplus was all over the country and no one to tell her she couldn't carry it. She had years of practice with it.

Our plundering of military facilities over the decade since the Arrival, has given us access to a wide array of military technology and we dressed the part, carried the gear and understood the language. We spent at least two summers training with military survivors who had the good sense to run when the Arrival started looking like a rout. They were hard on themselves but after a few years facing the enemy, it was clear, they were numerous, terrifying and deadly. It is only because we are very careful and exercise cautious thoughtful interactions we have survived where more heavily armed troops died. We had two rules: Rule One: think before you shoot. Rule Two: Bullets don't always solve problems. Shoot sparingly.

You would think we should have more rules, but living out here as a Mover, you learn too many rules makes it hard for you to be able to think on the fly. Since the Arrival, more creatures have begun to appear as the well fed predator trees continue to grow in size and strength. There are places now where the predator trees tower over one hundred feet tall and have whole ecosystems springing into being at their roots. With new creatures appearing every day, we have to be able to observe, learn and tailor our tactics. Having survived for ten years out here, our reputations as couriers, messengers, escorts and scouts ensured we were well paid, well respected and depending on who you asked, just a little feared. We didn't promote violence, but we certainly had an awareness of situations which might go south on you and a knack for handling violence effectively and permanently.

The world was now a very dangerous. It was no place for the stupid or the weak. Which meant knowing one more thing important thing if you planned on surviving. If you met any human on the road who had been there for a while, consider them the most dangerous thing you can run into. Yes, predator trees and their kin were always dangerous, but with humans you might drop your guard. That is a good way to end up with your throat slit. When consorting with humans, be even more careful than you are against any Arrival. Humans were simply too unpredictable with the fall of their world.

Leaving Philadelphia, we did not pick up any riders, but we did get a load of mail and goods needing to go to DC. The capital city was gone, completely overrun, but the Pentagon survived and continues to operate in a limited capacity as a hub of military deployment and intelligence regarding the Arrivals. Using brute force, the military keeps a clear path into and out of the city and what is left of the functioning government is found there. This government is in name only since it has very little economic, social or political clout. Since every other world power is functioning under the same handicap, the Arrivals have made the world a very equal place again.

Rumor has it we may get to meet the President with our latest deliveries. As we are leaving Pennsylvania, something seems wrong and Marcus stops as we approach the state line. I see it too.

"Pop, there is more blue than green. More black too." He pointed to the trees overhanging the road. They were not the symbiotic predator trees, they seemed to be more of the kudzu variety. Kudzu trees were capable of emitting a stupefying spore, which causes creatures to breath it and fall into a deep sleep. While sleeping the kudzu would have vine-like tendrils grab their prey wrap it up and consume it. Their only blessing was they could not move. Once rooted, they depended on prey moving toward them. They could also replicate other smells. I can personally attest to the smell of peanut butter, chocolate cookies, steak, pizza, and mangoes as part of their scent library. I am certain they can do others. One man said he was witness to a tree that could smell like the finest Chardonnay.

"Put your masks on. Check your filters. Go slow and lets see it a bit closer." After everyone was set, we moved up until we could identify more clearly what we were seeing.

My daughter, bless her sharp eyes, whispered, "tumblers."

Marcus stopped the car immediately and turned off the engine. Martha cleared the barrel for the .50. The kids cycled the long range gun ports. I grabbed two grenades from our stores, noting we had only fourteen left. This was supposed to be our supply stop.

I could see what had happened to the convoy. They did not notice the new black additions to this grove. If they had, they would have known that tumblers had taken up residence. Tumblers were fast growing, dangerous mobile seed pods. They could move on their own, without the need of wind. They attack prey they believe they can bring down, blasting it to bits with its own organic shrapnel with the force of a grenade. Tumblers attack in waves, with the earlier waves bringing down the food and later waves consuming it and bringing it back to the host trees. "I don't know what to think right now. I don't see any stragglers, so they may have already killed and eaten their fill. But that doesn't seem right. There are an awful lot of tumbler trees here. Far more than this tiny road should be supporting."

Martha looked down into the cab and said, "You don't think they may have grown in response to the Pentagon? It's the only thing that looks like a city nearby."

"If we are want to know, we need to go in on foot. The Rhino is only going to attract them. So who is staying here?" I will say this about my clan, their curiosity always gets the best of them. No one wanted to be left behind.

"Marcus, I need you here, Martha, he needs you on the .50. Back it up about a mile and set up a perimeter. You still have two of the small laser ranging bots. Put them out and keep your radio handy. Turn it on, every thirty minutes for two minutes. When we know more we will call in. Before you pull out, check for salvage here."

Everyone got their kit. One grenade, three clips of ammo, one small arm, with two additional clips. Masks and five filters good for eight hours apiece. So we have a day and a half to figure out what happened here. As we surveyed the military vehicles, there was food, water and weapons here, so they left in a hurry. There were tumbler explosions on all of the vehicles, low and into the wheel wells. Organic matter was caked up around every explosion. The only upside in dealing with tumblers is they are volatile and prone to explosion, so if you shoot at them and hit them, they tend to blow completely up and detonating their neighbors. This can work against you if you are amid their population when you start shooting.

Moving quickly and quietly we salvage the vehicles and the Rhino backs down the road. There is always that feeling of nakedness whenever the Rhino pulls away and we are not on board. But we had to know what had happened here; this was one of our primary drops and resupply points. If it was lost, the spiritual head of our government was dead too. We set out knowing it was at least a ten mile hike to the Pentagon from here; a hike through an area reclaimed by nature and the new Arrivals.

It was going to be a long walk.

Chapter 7 - Heart to Hart

Ms. Hart, The Hell Hart, that was what she was called over two hundred years ago. Two centuries ago, no one would have believed she would be tending someone near to death, praying for their recovery. Then, her reputation as a swords-woman, in an age where women did not use a sword was legendary. Her skill with it, impeccable, her dueling record, perfect. After a time, her travels would make her master of many weapons and nearly as many enemies. If you saw her standing over the body of someone, it was to watch the light go out of their eyes in that final darkness.

Driven regularly from her home, partially from her strange, ageless and impertinent nature, partially from the fear and responses her enemies had, she acquired a number of names over the decades. In civilized lands, she was The Lady Hart or Frau Hart. In places where she was a warlord, she was known as The Red Hart from her standard, a large deer on a red standard. In places where she killed her enemies indiscriminately, she was called The Butcher. For a time, she was a revered as a warrior-queen.

Those were different times, her Light, her power kept her outside of Time. Forged of the stuff of cacastrom, the random forces of dark Chaos and bound by illiaster, the stuff of Order, direct by her will, she carried it inside her body. It suffused her bones, wrapped itself inside her skeleton and appeared as both weapon and armor. Her House carried this artifact and different members were able to do different things with it. Few had her strength and mastery. Ever fewer survived. Now, she was the last of her House. And as she knew it the last of her kind.

Her charge, a woman of extreme age, was still physically imposing but the power that fueled her body was all but gone. She held on by force of will, hoping relief would be coming soon. That relief needed to arrive soon, or all would be lost. Hart remembered the first time she met her, this once extremely powerful and now fragile woman who held the fate of the world in her trembling hand...

* * *

My best name was less than seventy years ago; Kathrin Hart. It was the late 1940's, and I had been in Paris during the World War II, when I met him, the man who I would call the Sergeant. He was a G.I. working in a small town and our initial actions together had been to repel a super-weapon created by the Germans. At the time, I was a weapon of the Reich as well, but my memory fled me until I died. I died protecting him. I had no regret. There was something about him. Something dark. I instinctively knew then what he was, but could not bring myself to accept it.

He did not know. He could not see the other lives he had lived. Like rings in a tree, he had many lifetimes, each of conflict, and of suffering. He had many, each renewed by his dark connection to his power. Our powers were complementary, so we were drawn together, time and time again, our lives mixed sometimes as lovers and other times as deadly enemies. This time we started as enemies and ended as lovers. When the war ended, I found my way to him in the States and we married. Again. It was the beginnings of a mistake. Small at first, but it grew over time.

My presence, my Heart, my Light, triggered his Shadow and soon we had to move This would become a recurrent theme. Each time we grew comfortable, misfortune would follow us and people died. As his power grew I realized he was not just a child of Shadow. He was a Power. A repository of the Great Gift. As great as my power had been, it would be as nothing once his fully awakened. His power was a named one. And as I watched it grow, I refused to recognize it. And the danger it would pose.

During the sixties, we resisted the oppressive governments wherever we could go. We pretended we were just like the people around us. We let our hair grow long, let our responsibilities lapse and got on the road, traveling as the people did. His powers were already nearly as great as my own. He could walk between two shadows anywhere in the world. He could hear his name mentioned anywhere there was darkness. But in a desperate attempt to hide we went to Woodstock. At Woodstock, we laughed, got high, traveled in a broken-down VW bus with half a dozen other hippies, made our way through history until we met her.

She was beautiful. Her hair was an afro, full like the head of a dandelion. Her body, perfect, full, exuding sexuality, everywhere she moved, carnality erupted. She wore a simple halter and shorts and I remember her legs were the most amazing I had ever seen. Her body was brown like mahogany and her smile was a thing of warmth and sunshine. We were both drawn to her and we spent the days getting high and just enjoying the perfect weather.

We danced, sang and it was as if we had always known her. We lost our hippy friends during the weekend, so we spent the nights parked, making love till the dawn. When he and I woke the last day, she was gone, but both of us were more at peace than we had been in years. After Woodstock, things changed in the world. Suspicion and fear became the order of the day. But for us, things seemed good. We were happy for a time able to enjoy our peace until she came back to us, nearly a decade later.

Her second visit was nothing like her first.

She came to us on a farm in Iowa. We had moved there hoping for a cessation to the slowly increasing attacks. These were strange things, they started as simple things, racists with an axe to grind. I was a blond haired, Caucasian woman and he was a powerfully built African American. And things were often hostile when we came to new places. But the tempers did not cool. Their ire and their attacks increased. Soon a supernatural taint could be seen. Entities, not of this world rode the bodies of those racists and eventually attacked directly. Our farm, built and reinforced, protected us from their attacks and became both home and fortress.

And then she came.
 

It was during a terrible thunderstorm, where lightning flashed, tornado-like winds howled. Both of us were on edge. The storm sang of the supernatural and we began our preparations. We renewed our wards, loaded weapons and meditated to bring our powers into balance. The storm grew worse and after a time, we sensed it approaching our farm. As the wind howling increased, we could sense her. She carried the storm with her. Her knock on the door was powerful, able to be heard above the storm. When we opened the door,  we recognized her immediately. She had not changed, as if less than a second had past between when she left us then and now. She was carrying a child with her.

She came in from the driving rain and staggered into the living room. She handed me the baby, roughly as if she could barely maintain her awareness. She dropped to the carpet as if she were dead. He caught her and laid her gently on her back. Hidden by the baby were terrible slashes in her belly. Deep cuts, with razor precision. He looked at me and knew whatever was coming was of a nature more fantastic than any threat to date.

He picked her up and struggled as if she were a great weight. He placed her on the sofa. I slashed away her jacket and opened her shirt and saw her body had been terribly savaged and the injuries were across her thighs and back as well. Whatever did this was powerful and large. The claws were the size of his hands. He rewrapped the child while I tended her wounds. We both had significant experience with injuries and often worked as doctors or paramedics depending on where we lived. The child was about six months old and in perfect condition. After checking him out and satisfied to his health, we made ready. Whatever drove her here would follow. Soon.

When they came we saw them slowly approaching the house. They were wolves the size of horses. Their mouths showed their razor sharp fangs, already bloody, each drip accented by the flashes of lightning, growing steadily more frequent, lasting longer and the crashing of thunder indicating the storm was directly overhead, no time between light and noise. With all the noise the strangest thing was the fact the child did not make a sound. As if lightning was something he was used to hearing.

My crazy husband walked out onto the porch with a shotgun, filled with a mix of silver, lead, iron and salt in one hand and a rune-carved machete in the other. "Stay here. Keep them safe. I will be right back."

He walked out there and the three giant wolves strode up to him within twenty feet and stopped. They were easily nine feet at the shoulder. It was simply impossible they should exist.

"We don't want any trouble." As if talking to giant wolves was something he did every day. I sat with my Winchester rifle pointed out of the window.

"Give us the woman and the child and we will leave."

"Can't do that."

"Then, there will be... trouble."

My husband said nothing, but his body tensed imperceptibly, waiting for them to gather their courage. They seemed to sense his power and were in their way, cowed by it.

The wolf to his left bared his fangs and hissed. "Is that your final offer? Would you make her trouble your own? You already have many."

"Yep."

"Then die." As the wolf lunged, both barrels of the shotgun were shoved directly into its mouth, went off. It howled as it threw its head back, and smoke rose from its mouth as it fell into the rain.

"You, first." 

He turned exuding a crazy menace, smiled and asked to the remaining wolves, "Who's next?" Dropping the shotgun into the rain, he turns and faces the remaining two.

The second wolf, as large as the first lunged forward and my .380 caught it cleanly in the eye. Ensorcelled, it tore through the creature's ironhard flesh and ground its brain into mush as the round scattered inside of its skull. It dropped dead without a sound.

While the second wolf was falling to the ground, he leapt out of the way of the dying giant and his machete flashed against the hardened fur of the third wolf. Its stiff, iron-like fur blunting the force of his blow. Blood came away on the blade, just the same. The wolf surprised, bound backward.

"Die, mortal man." The last wolf braced itself and howled in his direction, focusing its sound like a weapon. The force of the sound shattered all of the glass in the house turning it instantly into the room as shrapnel.

I moved. Time slowed for me, directed by my power, I could see the glass, each shard of it as it moved into the room. My Winchester fell from my grip and my spear appeared, a function of my will. I could perceive those that would be a threat and struck them from the air with my spear, which had appeared in my hand, extending my reach. The wide bladed tip swatting away each projectile. I was struck by dozens of them, each of them trying to gain a purchase, most deflected by my armor, a few penetrating, but nothing stopped my focus, nothing stopped my execution. I did not know this woman but I knew it was important to save her. 

He had thrown himself to the ground at the last second, so the wave of sound passed over him, but even a glancing blow had been deadly enough. He was stripped nearly bare by the sound, lacerations crossed his entire body. Only tattered rags remained. I was put in mind of when he found me, walking away from a plane crash, I must have looked like that to him. He stood up, and snatched his machete out of the ground.

He touched the Nordic runes and raised the blade to the heavens. Lightning flowed down to him and connected the sword, casting light everywhere and dark silhouettes. He disappeared from sight, and reappeared in the shadow of the beast. Lightning redirected itself between where he was to where he now stood. The wolf was in the path. Jumping into the air, he stabs the sword into the side of the beast as the lightning finds them both. He is thrown away from the explosion.

The lightning abruptly stopped. The rain subsided soon after. The woman lay quietly, her breathing slowed, the child lay next to her, blissfully unaware of what happened. I got up, after removing shards of glass from by body and walked to the window. I could see my husband getting up, smoke still rising from his body. He turned and began to stagger toward me. I flew to him. He was still hot and he shone with a quiet luminescence. While we walked back to the house, the door opened up and the woman was there holding the child in her arms.

"We cannot stay here. Others will follow."

"Who are you, what did they want, and why is it every time we meet, I end up naked." His words were jocular, but his tone serious. These were questions he wanted answers to, now.

"My name is Gaia. And this," holding the baby out for a second, "is your son."



Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

A Tale of New Earth

"Now don't get too close, Martha. We just want a picture of you and the trees." My hands were shaking as I took the picture of my wife next to these very special trees. We had read about them in the lastest issue of Life Magazine. The article was called "The Predator Trees of Nassau County." 

She was sure to stay at the line drawn around the creatures which was emitted by a special system of lasers, which also doubled as a defensive array for tourists who did not pay attention. Martha wasn't that kind of tourist. She paid close attention and never strayed inside the line. 

A couple of the trees were very active that afternoon and had slashed out with one of their acid covered tentacles. The lasers fired clipping the ends and kept the trees from reaching her. The tentacles were scooped up and properly handled by a service robot. 

There was a kiosk there and we listened to when they first fell to Earth ten years ago, they swarmed over the planet eating everything in sight. Mankind had been on the edge of extinction until they stopped eating humanity and turned on each other.  

Humans had tried any number of foolish things, but anything we did only caused them to grow faster. We lost parts of China, Africa and the West Coast of the United States when we tried to use nuclear weapons. The creatures created spores and proliferated at ten times their normal rates. When they began to eat each other, humanity breathed a sigh of relief. But their populations did not diminish. So anyplace that had been overrun stayed that way. 

Both Martha and I had lost our previous mates during the early attacks and were lucky enough to find each other when we managed to escape the Arizona Wall built to keep them behind it. We couldn't get far away enough and eventually found ourselves in Long Island, New York in Nassau County. There weren't too many of the creatures left in parts of the world where nukes weren't used and now with the surplusses of food and resources, no one had to work unless they wanted to. Plenty did. I worked as a photographer, gathering information about the walled cities and with Martha and the kids riding shotgun, and gun turrets, we cruise the midwest bringing news and resources to isolated communities. 

Martha and I are now in our sixties and don't think we have much time left, so we are teaching the kids our route so they can help keep the roads clear and sharing information between the cities on the oceans and the middle of the continent. 

Martha always wants to stake out a tree when we find them because of the strangest thing. Predator trees have a habit of attracting cats. The cats come to the trees, sit down on the branches and fall asleep. The trees wrap them in a cocoon and absorb the flesh, leaving the skeletons wrapped in the trees. Once the cilia are removed the skeletons are often posed in strange positions. She takes different pictures of them and collects them. Sometimes she will wait until a cat shows up and will try to rescue them from their fate. They do not seem to be able to resist, likely a spore-based pheromone.  

We came to this tree because there was supposed to be a cat living in harmony with these particular trees. 

"There he is," she said. "A big Tom. He is carrying something." My eyes weren't what they used to be, so I pulled out my binoculars and could see it was a large rat. He dropped it near the base of the tree and then proceeded to climb to the limbs near the middle of the tree. He deftly dodges the poisonous tentacles, though a few seemed to move out of his way as he reaches his perch, a wide strong limb.  He hunkers down and proceeds to go to sleep. 

"I don't believe what I am seeing." Martha has her video camera and leaves it on overnight. It is designed to lock on and autofocus as necessary. The predation process is supposed to take only a single night. "He will be dead by morning." 

We camp out and snuggle while the kids take turn from the truck. The trees, attracted to our body heat, move during the night but a few taps from the laser turret and they return to slavering quietly. 

Martha woke before I did and saw the impossible. The black Tom climbed down the tree, ran off into the woods, quite alive. "Now I can die 'cause I have seen everything. A cat that is good for something." 

"I don't understand." I was still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. 

"The reason there aren't more trees here, is the cat gives them enough food to stay mobile, not enough food to breed. Since there were very few people living here, they never got enough to eat to reproduce." The people of Long Island fled the very night the creatures landed in New York proper. 

"The world's remaining scientists have been doing everything in their power to eradicate them and everything we do just makes it worse. A damn fool cat figures out, all we have to do is feed them enough till they take root. Look at them. They have the coloration of first arrivals. They have been here for over ten years and have never spread." 

"Don't that beat all. Until today, I would have said there was nothing I could have learned from a cat." Seeing cat skeletons in predator trees for nearly a decade, I always assumed it would always be that way. 

The Tom comes back with another rat and gingerly drops it in the same spot. He climbs back into the tree and stares at us. The look seemed to say, "Okay, now go tell somebody and get the hell out of here." 

Who was I to argue with someone smarter than me? We got in the truck, took a few more pictures and started heading out toward Jersey. The trees and cat cast long shadows in the early morning light. They followed us west. 

The Predator Trees of Nassau County © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 6 - Loa 

"Did you understand me, child? Remember." 

The voice that spoke to me was as much of a question as why I woke with a mouth full of sand, in a place hotter than Hell. Okay, one question at a time. Where was I? Face down, I could notice I was seeing sand. White, dry, hot. Sun overhead and been so for quite some time. Clothes were the last ones I remember, stylish and inappropriate for desert walking. 

I slowly rose to my feet, but stopped somewhere between kneeling and standing, a bit dizzy and realizing I was terribly thirsty. Doing a quick check, I noted no injuries, I was armed with two silvered 9mm pistols and silvered bullets with high quality loads. Strong enough to drop almost anything. There were runic scripts on each bullet increasing their efficacy. So whoever dropped me here wanted me to be able to shoot and kill almost anything that lived and a bunch of things that bordered the boundaries between life and death. 

Looking around, I noticed a dark wide brimmed hat sitting on the sand nearby. I felt I should recognize it. It was on the tip of my tongue. I had the distinct impression that there was something I should be remembering right now. Something so important my life depended on it.

"Don't say that name."  

I heard it as clear as if someone had spoken aloud, but I didn't see anyone for miles. I mentioned that I was standing in a desert. No people in any direction. No shade either. So, who said that? 

"Don't say the name of anyone you remember while we walk. You are able to be here because you do not remember anyone or anything. Names have power. Yours has greater power than most. For now we shall call you Adam." 

"Okay, so who are you and how can you be talking to me?" 

"I am on the ground in front of you. You perceive me as a common article of clothing."

"You mean this hat? Yes, you look like a very common, if a bit unstylish hat." 

"I will have you know I am a very uncommon and quite stylish hat. If you were around three hundred years ago." The hat's tone was less than conciliatory as if it was trying to appease a less than intelligent houseplant. 

"Put me on. You will need protection from the sun." 

"Do I have to?" 

"No, you could stand out here until your brain fries, you remember who you are, shout out the Names of people who should remain forgotten for a bit longer, attract the people who are trying to kill you, and get me killed trying to fruitlessly protect someone too stupid to put on a hat to prevent sunstroke. I think that is sound reasoning. I'll wait here." 

How did I know I wasn't already past the point of common madness? Wasn't I out in the middle of a desert I did not recognize arguing with what I believed to be an acerbic and style-impaired hat? Well, if I was crazed, I couldn't be any worse off for having a tiny bit of shade in this blazing damn desert. 

I picked up the hat. It was heavy. Made from a thick leather, no sand adhered to it and I turned it around in my hand. It was black. Completely black, where I expected shadows, it seemed to become even darker. Then I looked at my own shadow and realized what was wrong with the hat. It cast no shadows. My hand appeared to be empty and holding nothing. 

I put it on and just like that, neither of us cast a shadow. And I was a whole lot cooler as well. As hats go, a lack of style had to fall by the wayside when you can knock twenty degrees right out of the air. Relief. 

"Go that way." The hat's command caused a tingling sensation off to my right. I understood intuitively what it meant. "While I cannot tell you much about how you got here, Adam, I must tell you this. You are special. A person so special there are only a few dozen like you on the entire planet at any given time. Right now, you are unique and a number of people want you dead. We cannot allow that to happen. We are on our way to see a person who, while he will not be happy to see you, will want to help you because he has no choice." 

"Um, I have to ask, if we are coercing him into helping us, won't that make him resentful and maybe kill us too?" 

"That is true. And it is even more likely he has already been treating with our enemies. But we have something he wants and needs. And to get it back, he would do almost anything." 

I stopped walking for a moment. Sand is hard to walk in and my feet were already cramping. I looked in my pockets and noticed nothing but a few extra clips of ammunition, a nutrition bar I eyed hungrily, but reasoned I had no idea when my next meal might be, so I put it back. No wallet. No ID. Nice jacket and dual holsters for guns. I did not see anything I had I could bargain with for my potential benefactor to consider helping me. Maybe he liked boots. The ones I was wearing were heavy,  shiny and black. Very comfortable.  

"Okay, so I just took inventory and I don't see anything I have to haggle with unless he has a penchant for really well made, magical firearms or very comfortable footwear." 

There was a series of strange sounds, that took me a minute to realize were laughter. When the hat stopped laughing, it said,  "No, you don't have anything he would want, but when the time comes, you are to offer me in trade for a favor. It will require craft on your part, so don't offer me up until you have everything you want." 

"How will I know when that is?" 

"That young man, is your gift, to be between all things, to be part of everything and nothing, shadow and substance. Between wisdom and foolishness. When you see things looking completely hopeless, you will know its time. Now get back to walking, we have a long way to go before we get there." 

"Where is there?" 

"The boundary between Twilight and Night. The realm of Mr. Black, Master of the Loa."

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 5 - Sunstruck 

The Sun rose over a desert. This is not your Sun. Hotter, more pure, the essence of sunlight. Fiercely white-hot, if you found yourself here, you would be nearly blinded for a time. A light so bright it bleached the color out of the world. Once you adjusted you would notice other things about this desert.  

Unlike deserts in the First World, nothing moved here. There was no sign of life, no undercurrent of hidden activity. Nothing, you as a vistor, would recognize, at first. If you spent a hundred years, and you could, because for you time would pass slowly, you would age slower, you would be out of sync with the First World.   

Here in the Second World, you might begin to notice a texture to the light, a shimmering that was different than any other light here. Like a mirage in the desert, it would stand out to you, a discontinuity you could not ignore. If you were more discerning or terribly lonely, you might approach that shimmer, that trick of the light only to find a single immense structure, also made of pure, hardened light.    

If you had lived in the First World during the time of the Roman Empire, you would recognize this building as the great Colosseum of Rome. In all ways, that majestic structure would appear before you the same in every way save one, this one was immune to the ravages of time. No great walls had fallen, no wreckage due to the imperfection of Man. No trauma of earthquakes throughout time. This structure was perfect, permanent and static; unchanging, outside of the forces of Entropy.   

If you were to, now that you have found this Colosseum, continue for another hundred years or so to meditate upon it, you would begin to see signs of life, not as you know it, beings, mere wisps flickering out of the corners of your eyes, nothing you would see straight on, a movement that seemed to move with purpose, malice and forethought; mostly malice.   

Listening intently, you would hear a conversation taking place between two forces. To wrap your mind around them, you might consider them people, if people were to have the power of a hurricane wrapped neatly in a shape slightly resembling a man in the less of those two and if a star were trapped in the body of a giant in the other form. And their conversation would be troubling to you. Because it whispered of a world without darkness, a world perfect with the structure of Order, a world without Change or the forces of Entropy.    

And after three hundred years of listening, you would begin to know the horror of these perfect, shimmering forms of trapped and barely contained power. You would see their idea of what the world should be like and if you are like any rational being with any ideas of free will, you would be, no, should be repulsed. And that would be the correct response. These beings were not evil. They were merely focused on a different way of being.   

"We have failed to acquire the Equinox. The boy has already tainted it toward the Dark." The smaller storm being stood imperiously before the sun-god giant.  

"Are you saying you have failed me?" His voice, hot, shimmered the very air around them.  

"Yes," the storm being thundered in response. A momentary silence followed.  

"Kill yourself immediately."   

"I will, post haste, your Vastness. But I believe our failure may allow us new opportunities."  Another silence.  

"Continue. Your impertinence may still please me."   

"I believe they may decide to seek the Master of the Loa, Mister Black. He has not accepted our treaty, nor denied it outright. Knowing him, he will betray them if it suits him. All we need do is wait for the right moment."   

As if he were explaining to a small child, the sun-god spoke. "Illuminatus, we must take advantage of the transition of Gaia. She is at her weakest. If we can overcome the Darkness during her transition and re-acclimation, she will have no choice but to accept the state of things upon her return. We can simply destroy the opposition and force her to treat with us instead."   

And in a way surely to arouse the ire of his master, the storm being responded. "I was under the impression unless we were able to harness the power of the Radiant Ones, we would not have the ability to resist her. She is the greatest power in the First World, unparalleled. She cast all of us out during one of our earliest wars and forbade us using our powers fully in the First World. If we did not mask our powers in the Veil, she would have detected our many conflicts. It is only because our human operatives are so weak and puny that she remains unaware of our plans as it is."   

"All of that is true. Which is why your next mission is to bring the Radiant Ones into the fold." If a sun-god of blazing solar light could be said to smile, this would be the feeling you might sense from him. A strange, good humor.  

"I thought you had agreed to spare my life. To go to the realm of the Radiant Ones is to court destruction."   

"Are you saying you are not interested in the mission?"   

"I would be only too happy to serve you in this vital operation. The Radiant Ones live at the very edge of the Second Realm. It will take time and resources to reach them. I was under the impression you still valued my abilities and had spared my life."  

"I did, but if you fail to secure their cooperation, then you would resolve my need to replace you with someone more... effective."  
  
"By your command." 
  
"Before you go to the land of the Radiant Ones, you take my decree to the Master of the Loa. Let him know he is out of time. He is to join us, or you are to take your army and destroy him, utterly. Destroy his clan, the Loa, and any of his offspring. When the Equinox seeks him out, I want him to find my servant or nothing to offer him hope at all. Then you can bring the Radiant Ones to my court." 
  
"Absolutely, your Immenseness. Your will be done. He will join us or die." 
  
In a flash of heat lightning, the storm being would vanish, leaving a pile of steaming glass in the desert floor of the Colosseum. The sun god might look in your direction, sense your attentions and with a flash of light, oust you from the Second Realm. You would be only too glad to be gone from that place.

Jump to Chapter 6

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 4 - Room with some views

I was going to try to describe what I saw but I am not sure I have words for it. Put on a blindfold, cover your eyes, turn out the lights, and then head out to sea on a cloudy night. That is the kind of darkness we are talking about. I have never known darkness in my entire life. I have always seen in the night like it was, at worst, a kind of dusk. And its not like the kind of stuff where when you close your eyes, you see those lights from your optic nerve firing. Your optic nerve wouldn't dare to illuminate this darkness. 

Then there was a point, far away and we seemed to be falling toward it, and as we approached, that feeling of falling came to me, that unbalanced feeling you get as you start flailing about and realize you are about to come to an uncomfortable, sudden stop. I started waving my arms about, and screaming as I, since I did not see anyone else but me, I thought I was about to become a bug on a glowing windshield. I slammed into the ground face down and made a tiny bounce before settling to a painful and unpleasant landing. 

"Get up." A hobnailed boot punctuated that command by further traumatizing my rib cage.  

"Ow. And I was just starting to get comfortable down here. Was that first class?" 

Then I noticed the feet standing in front of my head as I started looking up. They were connected to very powerful legs and each thigh looked like it would be comfortable on a body builder. Then I found myself being lifted by the back of my collar into the air. "Is this it? This is the savior of the Six? I thought it would be bigger." 

"It is a he, Shango. Put the boy down." Kali's voice had a completely different tone. Warm, gentle. Was this the woman that made me question my very existence a few seconds ago? Shango. Why was that name familiar? Shango, the Thunderer? Shango, Thundergod of the continent of Africa? 

"Why is it, that I can't see the boy, then?" What is this black matter covering him?" Shango took a finger the size of my hand and wiped it across my forehead. A sticky swath of darkness followed his finger before disintegrating in a crackle of lightning. 

Umbra raised his head and put his hat back on. "Begging your pardon, Thunderer, the Equinox has determined that you are a threat and is attempting to protect the boy. I think we can fix that." 

"Is that what you call protection, Dark One? He would be better naked." 

Ms. Hart glared at Shango and reached out to take me from him. "Do not mistake his apparent lack of control for weakness, Great One. His power may not rival yours, but among his kind, it is not to be trifled with." 

"Do not mind my rude husband. I half expect he was hoping the Equinox would arrive and be attacking him to alleviate his boredom at watching the Nexus. Please come into the tower so we can talk in comfort." 

Ms. Hart gently placed me on the ground and brushed off some of the strange particles which were clinging to me. Then she and Umbra took my hands and the Equinox retreated into my body but remained hot in my chest. I also noticed all of my injuries of our recent travails were slowly diminishing. We walked around Shango who appeared to be looking out into the darkness and seemed to lose interest in us. He was a giant, easily seven feet tall and in his belt was a huge double headed axe, that bristled with electrical energy. As I walked by, I kept staring at it and a bolt of static electricity shot out to me, as if to tell me to mind my business. I promptly did. I think I saw Shango smiling. 

We went into what she called the Tower, but it was not like any tower I had ever seen. It was made from some kind of shiny stone like onyx, and when I touched it in passing, I immediately felt at home and welcomed. We walked to the center of the main floor and there was a sigil at the center. I did not recognize it immediately but everyone else walked toward it and got inside the lines. Trying to look like I knew what I was doing I joined them. 

The inside of the tower was lit and showed a collection of unusual objects, many looked like armor or art objects. The closest thing I could think of was a museum, except nothing was under glass, and many of the weapons looked very functional. The place was swimming in sigils of power, they floated through the air, and many of them when they passed me, sang out to me, telling me of their puissance, and the danger one would be in if one was to be so foolish as to touch anything here. No need to threaten me, I wasn't going to touch a thing.

With less than a second of apparent time, we appeared in what looked like a modern apartment. The kind my father never seemed to want to stay in for more than a few days. Lots of room, lights and windows. But it was the windows that were the most fascinating. Each looked out onto a different place. I recognized more than half of them as places we had lived. I found Paris, New York, Bangladesh, Hong Kong and I found myself running off to see where each of them went. When I was done, I came back to the coffee table that was in the center of the space and the others were already having coffee and talking. 

"Finished sight-seeing? Umbra was graciously accepting a cigar from Kali. "You might want to come over here. This concerns you." Kali proffered the cigars to me, and I looked at Ms. Hart. She shook her head and I politely said no. 

"He is a man, now, Hart. You will be asking him to risk his life. He should at least have all of the pleasures a man could know." As Kali said this she was looking at me in a manner that immediately made me uncomfortable. 

"He is not ready for the particular pleasure of any gifts of yours, Lady Kali. He does not understand the obligation it would place on him. His knowledge of the Second World is still incomplete." 

"Then you had better complete that education, because where he has to go, he must represent all of the missing clans and understand the obligations he current holds. He stands here completely unaware of his already considerable debt." 

I had enough of not knowing what they were talking about. "Someone needs to tell me what you are talking about. Especially this risking my life thing. I did not agree to risk my life for anyone. All I know is my father is dead, my governess is a superhero, she has friends who can make shadows come to life, and parties with mythical beings who are living in a tower with windows that look out over two dozen cities in real time. Did I sum that up right?" 

Ms. Hart looked at me and smiled, the first genuine smile I had seen in quite some time. "In reverse order, those are not windows, those are doors. You can walk through any of them and go to the places seen in them. In addition they can be changed so while there are two dozen current settings, they can actually be set to go anywhere on Earth, depending on the willpower of the person using them. Lady Kali and Lord Shango are not myths. They are people who currently embody the mythological energies of the mythical beings. They were once normal people like you or I who were changed by a divine decree. If they want to tell you more, it is up to them. Suffice it to say, their power, dwarfs anything you or I can do. But their limitations are also as interesting as their powers. Your governess is not a superhero, but the difference to you may not matter much. And Umbra is much like you, part of his powers are derived from the Darkness, a primal force in our universe. And as much as I hate to admit it, your father is dead. He died protecting you. He spent his life trying to see that you would not have to become the Equinox. He did not want this for you. But he prepared you in case it came to this. Did I miss anything? Do you want that drink now?"

I sat down and tried to organize my thoughts. "Why did they kill him? And who or what is The Light? 

Umbra looked up from his contemplation, tipped his hat back and said, "I guess, since we just entered storytelling time, I better go first." 

Nothing I heard this evening up to this point prepared me for what he said next. Not even close.

Jump to Chapter 5

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 3 - Dancing in the Dark 

Umbra took off his hat and threw it at one of the Light. Halfway there, it changed its shape and became a hawk made of shadow. Its razor sharp wings sliced off the heads of two of them with its wide wingspan. It had a keening cry, mournful, the kind of sound a hawk might make past its prime. It flew past them and wheeled about slashing low through a half a dozen of them before returning to Umbra and landing on his head as a hat.

Ms. Hart followed behind the hawk, an engine of destruction swirling her spear and clearing a path through their ranks. "Keep up, we're not staying." She was everywhere and nowhere. My father used to called the spear, the king of weapons, because of its reach, speed and power in a fight with sufficient room. I used to laugh when he said it because I never saw him use one. It would seem I might owe the bastard an apology. Every move, whether it be forward or backward allowed her spear to smash, slice, pound the enemy. They began to realize she was not the target to be attacked. Which directed their attention toward me. Lucky me. 

Not to be outdone, I planted bullets anywhere a target presented itself, that Ms. Hart didn't already claim with lightning speed. Umbra came behind me and though he appeared to be unarmed his boots which I thought were just shod in metal, seemed to shoot shards of shrapnel with ever step he took in nearly every direction. He directed the shards with his hands, each slicing into the creatures of the Light. With so much carnage going on, I did not understand why we were not running out of enemies. Then I saw it. A portal of light just around the corner. My darkness adapted sight could not focus on the portal, it was simply too bright. But I could see waves of creatures of the Light pouring out of it, every few seconds. 

"Call Mr. Black, Umbra. We are not going to be able to get away without some help. Somehow they know he is the last scion and have decided whatever risk they take of being discovered is worth killing him for." 

"Are you sure, Mr. Black does not work for free. He will want something for his troubles. As a matter of fact, he will insist. I just as soon stay here and see if we can work this out." Umbra was starting to sound tired, his shrapnel boot were releasing their shards of razor darkness with less frequency. I was already on my second clip. 

"Look around you. Do you really think we can make it? If the Equinox were awake, maybe, but he does not have the skill to control it and we dare not wake it until he has learned how." She had been holding the creatures at bay but had stopped advancing as a new wave landed in front of us, leaping directly over us to land in front. Three dropped dead as I targeted them mid-flight. "Nice shooting, you are down to your last six. Hold them. Can you remember the black sword spell I taught you last month?" 

I had to think about it. She had shown me the rune forms and I was able to manifest a sword but after three minutes it fell apart. I wasn't sure I wanted to be that close to them when that happened. "Yes, I remember." 

"Good, cast it now." 

I could hear Umbra starting to breathe heavy and he threw his cigarette at one of the Light. The creature burst into flame when the cigarette hit it. I drew the rune in my mind's eye. It came to me easily and I extended my hand as the sword manifested there. It wasn't like before. This was easy. I slashed at a one of the Light as it rushed at Umbra from a blind spot. The blade was sharp, and the slice was effortless, like the blade was made of air.  

"Thanks, kid." 

"Take a load off, old timer. I got this for a minute." 

And for about sixty seconds I was the best I had ever been. My foot work was perfect, it was like a dance where I knew all the steps. I got hit a couple of times but each hit was absorbed by the jacket, which fought from my back as well. I was grabbed by one of the creatures and the jacket created a mouth and chewed through it. It was incredible. I turned toward the portal and began to approach it trying to stop the flow of the Light at the source. 

I could hear Ms. Hart shouting at me, but I couldn't understand her any more. The creatures were pouring out of the gate now five and six at a time and I killed them in waves, my sword strokes becoming longer, reaching farther, they died and they died and they died. And the closer I got to the portal, the more powerful my blade became, each stroke caused the ground to shake and buildings nearby to tremble. The Light rushed me trying to bring their mass to bear but it did not matter, nothing mattered anymore. They had killed my Father. I hated him, I feared him, I missed him. And they were going to pay. 

My blade sang a song of terrible destruction shearing away cars, buildings, the Light, everything in sight. When I reached the portal, the creatures stood there blocking it and my last stroke cut them down and slashed across the portal. As the blade crossed the Light of the Portal, I saw a man inside. He was watching me. The last thing I remembered hearing was "Magnificent." Then my blade reached the center of the portal and an explosion was unleashed. That was the last thing I remembered. 

When I woke up, Umbra was wearing his jacket and his hat. He was smoking a cigarette and looking at me with his strange dark eyes. Ms. Hart had a look on her face that reminded me of her when I was a kid, a moment of softness, then she hardened again. "Never approach a portal of Light again." 

"Why?" I was as weak as a kitten. My arms felt like lead.  

"You lost control. Look around you. This is why you can never lose control. If you do, people die." She pointed to the area where the portal stood. The creatures of the Light were scattered everywhere, sliced neatly in half. I expanded my vision and noticed buildings nearby also had huge slices through them, sidewalks were slashed, with waves of concrete broken up, chucks thrown everywhere. The pillar of the train platform sliced neatly in several places. There were also two bodies of homeless men who were nearly twenty feet away from the conflict, but my dark blade swept in a wide, long swath. I felt terrible. I didn't mean for anyone but these monsters to get hurt. She reached down to help me to my feet. I could hear the car's metallic frame reluctantly releasing me. 

"It's a good thing that car broke your fall. I really wanted to catch you, but I saw you were going to land on a Volvo and knew you would be okay." Umbra looked at me, a wry smile on his face, his cigarette lighting the space between his hat and jacket collar. 

"We have to go. The authorities will be here in a moment and we want them to think a bomb went off here." 

"Umbra, handle that." 

"Yes, your Highness. You know I just lit this one, right?" 

"I don't care." 

"It's my last one."

She turned, gave him a withering look and waited.

Umbra took one long, last drag on his cigarette as she pulled me toward her. Planting her spear into the ground in front of us, we watched Umbra flick his cigarette toward the location of the former portal. I watched him clench his fist and then release it. A fireball erupted and swept over us. Storefronts were destroyed. Car alarms went off. Her spear, protected us from the fireball while Umbra stood, apparently unaffected by the flames. 

The flames and shockwaves seemed to go on forever. Then slowly, the night and the darkness was restored. Burning embers, chunks of debris, everything seemed to return to what would have been expected, if a bomb had gone off here. The Light were gone, the bodies of the two old men were also gone. Somehow, that made me even more sad.

We were half a block away before the police and fire engines began to approach. 

Ms. Hart grabbed her spear and collapsed it into a small truncheon and strapped it to her hip. It disappeared as well as her armor did returning her to a conservative business suit. Umbra appeared to be little more than a derelict in a dark hat and coat. Ms. Hart touched my clothing and it returned to the appearance of clean and undamaged urban chic. We slid from the Veil and returned completely to the Human world. She was waiting for us when we did. She was a fierce looking woman, diminutive but radiating immense power. Her face and sari said she was Indian and her physical presence was a blow to my weakened body. I fell to my knees. Then I noticed Umbra and Ms. Hart also fell to one knee. 

Ms. Hart spoke first. "Kali Bodhisattva, Mother of Mankind, Slayer of Monsters, Queen of Darkness, how may we serve you?" 

Her gaze turned toward Umbra, who took off his hat, and stroking it absentmindedly, he muttered. "Uh, what she said." 

"Is this the Last Scion?" 

"Yes, Kali." 

"You have already drawn too much attention to yourselves. Now you are coming with me." 

"Is anyone going to tell me what this is all about?"  

"Speak when spoken to, boy. Now is not the time for questions," Umbra hissed. 

Kali looked at me, and I looked at them. Ms. Hart on one knee? She was the fiercest warrior I knew outside of my father. Umbra, while I did not know him well, he was quite capable in a fight and in his own way a master of magic. Who was Kali that she had them both on one knee? And why did I have this feeling I should be wetting myself right about now? 

She waved her hand and everything went black.

Jump to Chapter 4

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 2 -Umbra

"Get up, boy." His voice was rough, like a heavy smoker, husky with a slight country twang. "Get up, we have to go now. Where is your father?" 

"He didn't make it. Who the hell are you?" I tried to sound tougher than I was. Then I threw up. He moved. 

"It will burn all night. The Light makes for fine kindling. Gives us cover." He wore a black trenchcoat made from some strangely slick matte-black leather. It was thick, coarse and had a weird animal smell. His clothes were hard to make out as if they defied my ability to focus on them. His shoes were a serviceable boot with hard metal studs all the way to the kneecap. "Get it out, because in two minutes we will be in the wind." The firefighters gathered around the fire were not having any luck putting out the fires. 

"They have my governess. My father said I had to find her." I started to feel a bit better.  

"I don't care two bits about your nanny. Your father called me and told me to come and get you. I got you. My job is to keep you alive. You are my priority now." 

I did not appreciate his tone. I grabbed his jacket and pulled myself to my feet. I leaned in close. "She is the closest thing I have to a family. I don't know you and couldn't give a damn about what your job is. So you help me or I will do this by myself." My chest hurt but I could feel this strange power trying to gather itself. 

"Alright, there is no need for that kind of talk. Do you have anything that belongs to her?" I thought about it and reached into the holster on my hip.  

"This was hers." He took off his jacket and threw it to the ground. 

"Give me that." He snatched the gun from my hand and released the clip. Then he threw the gun on the jacket. I watched him move his hands and with a ritual movement he touched his jacket. It became dark, shrouded in shadow and then the shadow stood. It had the shape of an alligator or crocodile, low to the ground long and masked completely in shadow. Except for its exceptionally white teeth. The gun was in front of it and it was sniffing the gun. It turned as if to smile, showing off its teeth floating in a shadow body, then it shot off into the dark. "If she's still here, he will find her." 

"What do we do in the meantime?" 

"We hope they don't find us first. How much do you know?" 

"About what?" 

"The Life, boy. How much did your father tell you?" 

"Nothing he didn't have to. Which was basically nothing at all." 

"Did you get any schooling at all?" 

"Yes, I got plenty of education, can speak a dozen languages, can use basic magic signs and sigils. I can fly anything, drive anything, fix anything and shoot anything." 

"Okay, so you're not a complete idiot." 

"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" 

"Eventually, but now is not the time. I reloaded your gun. Do not shoot unless I tell you so. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Let's go. He's found something." 

"Your jacket?" 

"Yeah, kid, my jacket." 

We ran out of the alley away from the fire and the only home I would ever likely care about. Once we got to the street we didn't run but maintained a brisk pace as we headed toward the local boulevard. I could feel the tension draining out of me and I felt suddenly tired. 

"You know, I don't even know your name." 

"Umbra, kid. Keep up, pay attention. If you see anything out of the corner of your eye, you tell me, right quick." 

"Okay, Mister Umbra." He pulled up short and turned toward me. He towered over me and looked me in the eyes. His eyes, previously hidden under his hat were suddenly visible. There was nothing but darkness in them. No iris, no sclera, just an sense of a never-ending night with tiny glimmerings of light.

"Umbra, no mister, no title. Just Umbra. I know you are working with a lot of stress and handicaps right now but I need you to focus. You are a man now, and you are one of us. We don't take titles, we don't use 'em. We have our name and that is the most important thing about us. Your father was Equinox. And now, that is your name. Whatever he used to call you is not important." 

He turned and kept walking up the street, focused on something far away. "He didn't used to call me anything but Boy. I think I may have had a name we used when we introduced ourselves but it changed every time we changed towns." 

I was about to say something else when I saw it. There was a flickering in the corner of my eye. When I turned my head, I couldn't see anything, but as soon as I stopped looking at it, I felt a distinct awareness of something on the side of my vision. The boulevard was almost completely quiet, with only a few people coming home from their night jobs, heads down, focused on getting home.  

"Umbra..." 

"Good, you saw them. Get ready, they are surrounding us. She is up ahead and still fighting." In this section of the Bronx there was an overhead train system and there were pillars of steel holding the train above the city streets. I was able to ride the trains a few times. It was noisy but fun. There was a station ahead and she was still alive fighting there, but I could not see her, directly, only sense her. No one else seemed to see or hear her either. 

"You can't see them can you?" He stared at me and then grabbed my head. He turned it left, than right, looking into my eyes. "You have not had it long enough." He turned and bent over to pick up his alligator-cum-jacket. "Put this on. Its the only way you will be of any use to me. Don't take it off for any reason." 

I gripped the jacket like I expected it to come to live in my hands, but it seemed to have returned to its jacket state, inert and still creepy. As I slid into it, I noticed its coldness, its seemed to suck away my heat and sweat and re-sized itself to fit my much smaller proportions. It was only then I noticed how big Umbra was. I was also aware, I could no longer see anyone on the street. Okay, that wasn't true. I couldn't easily see anyone on the street. It was if I was seeing them through a gossamer veil. 

"Stop gawking. Get your head in the game." With just a few more seconds. I became aware of them. Then I wondered how I could have missed them. They were massive, much bigger than the things that attacked the house. They had that same alien feeling about them, but they did not have wings. They made up for that by having two sets of arms. They were also surprisingly fast, much faster than their size would have you think. Their bodies had that same luminescent mother-of-pearl look to them and they did not have any kind of clothing, armor or weapons, save their wickedly clawed arms; all four of them. 

Then I saw her; Ms. Hart. She was beautiful. And she still fought with the creatures. She wore a silver body suit, similar to the one she trained me in. While she had it on, she was faster and stronger than she had any right to be. I had never seen her as fast and as deadly as she was tonight. I realized she was always taking her time with me. She could have destroyed me, at any time during our training.

She looked tired. She was covered in blood, some bright red, some black. The blood of the creatures splashed on a nearby shadow person and they dissolved into a green and gaseous cloud, accompanied by a baleful scream of sheer terror.  

She was using a metal shod spear made of the same shiny silver, with a blade at the tip and whipped it around her slicing away the limbs of the much larger creatures. But the loss of an arm did not seem to incapacitate them as well as I thought it should. But they were not asking me. I would have suggested rolling around on the ground.

She saw us approaching and instead of looking relieved she appeared to be far more angry. Her rage cost three of the glowing giants their heads. She vaulted over their bodies she strode toward us as the creatures used her break to completely surround us. 

"What do you think you are doing?" Her voice was sharp like a knife. 

"Rescuing you," I began. 

"You stupid boy, I lead them away so you could escape." Her emphasis seemed to focus her will. Her words cut me. Literally. A slash opened on my cheek. Using my sleeve, I wiped away my blood and her rage. Where Umbra's jacket touched, the injury was just as easily healed. But it hurt. 

"And you, you ought to know better." Her gaze fell on Umbra, who lit a cigarette and apparently ignored her. 

The circle closed around us. The giants began to move toward us, a light in their eyes. The streets were clear, and a chill wind blew past me. I drew my pistol. 

"Feel free to shoot any time, kid." He blew out his match.

Jump to Chapter 3

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 1 - Equinox

Did I mention that I hated my father? 

No, I probably didn't. Lying face down in an alley would not give me much time to explain that. Okay, since we have a minute, I think I can give you the Reader's Digest version. 

I think my father was a demon or something. He did not explain everything. Okay, he didn't explain anything. He and I had not always had the best relationship, as far as I can tell we did not really have any relationship. Unless you consider pain a relationship. That was something we had in common. From as far back as I can remember, we did painful things together. I learned to walk in a week, and I remember it vividly. The whole time, he was right there pushing me. Things did not get easier as I got older. He was constantly there drilling me in everything. I didn't get to learn one language when three was better. I spoke six well by the time I was ten.  

I worked out every day of my life.  

Every day.  

On days when he was not home, he left me in the capable hands of my governess, Ms. Hart. She did not have one, though. She was even more cruel than he was. She would train me in fighting skills, endurance training, rock climbing, mountain biking, from sunrise to sunset. When he came home, battered, and bruised, she would bandage him, talk with him and once he was covered in bandages, he would see how much I had learned. By the time I was thirteen, I had broken nearly every bone in my body.  

Here is where it got strange. We never went to the hospital. They would take me into the basement, put me on a table covered with cuniforms. They would wrap my wounds and leave me there during the night. Come the dawn, I was whole again. He had no problem breaking me again the next day and would leave me with my pain until sunset. We would fight while I was broken, punishing me, pushing me until sometimes I think my mind would break as well. The Slab did nothing for that. 

My life progressed from that point forward, we trained, he broke me, he left, she trained me, she homeschooled me. I never went to a real school and rarely met the neighbors anywhere we ever lived. We would move every two years, so it was just as well I never met anyone. 

When I turned eighteen which was only a few days ago, we had been settled in New York City in the Bronx, hidden away in the poorer neighborhoods, where we were seen but not noticed. People avoided us and we avoided them. But not for the same reasons. I did not know what my father did for a living, but I began to realize it was more dangerous than I believed. I always imagined he was a secret agent or something but I never gave it much thought since we seemed to have everything we needed and while Ms. Hart was not my mother, she was the closest, scariest thing I had to one. She would occasionally even talk to me, when she was not trying to kill me or teach me to read Erdu. Life was relatively good and while my father and I rarely had long conversations, I did not think anything was out of the norm. Until today. 

He came into the house and locked the door. But when you lock our doors, we had a variety of mechanisms that needed to be activated. Deadbolts that covered all four corners of the door. Steel reinforced doors, covered in sigils. Each window was also able to be sealed with lightproof, bulletproof and layered glass. He was hurt bad. I had never seen the kind of injuries he had today before. Once he locked the door, he turned around and looked at Ms. Hart and she grabbed me and pulled me into the safe room below the primary household structure. This room also doubled as our weapons room and the walls were festooned with a variety of hand to hand and ranged weapons. A Special Forces operative would think he had died and gone to Heaven. 

"Take this." She handed me a beautiful handgun, covered in silver except for the black metallic handgrip. She pulled the clip and I saw the silver bullets, all fourteen gleaming in the clip. Driving the clip back, she pulled the slide and armed the weapon. "Take your time. Make every bullet count." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"You were my best student. Don't you dare die." 

That was the last time I saw Ms. Hart. She closed the door behind her and I could hear the muffled sounds of combat, bullets flying, explosions, and the sounds of something I have never heard before, a scream of unnatural proportions, it filled the room despite the fact it was outside of the locked space. The battle lasted for several minutes. Then it was quiet, but only for a moment.  

Then the door was being shaken. I could see the sealing sigils on my side of the door glowing brightly. And then one by one, they went out. When the last one died, I could hear the door being ripped off of its hinges by a hideous strength. I heard the footfall of something touching each step. And with each step, a flare of a sigil would flash and the creature would release a terrible sound, but it did not stop coming. As it approached I was less than fifteen feet from it. I could see it had been injured and I remember the first rule of fighting. If you can injure, you can kill it. So I waited. 

As it came down the stairs, and more of it came into view, the room grew brighter. I had always noticed, night had never been a hindrance to me. I never had a problem with darkness of any kind. When this thing came into the room, it was as if my vision was being blocked by its brightness. Would not stop me from putting a bullet in it. 

The creature saw me, turned its head as if it were surprised, roared and rushed toward me, with its strange wings flashing light, its wicked claws outstretched, its muscular but strangely proportioned body causing the ground beneath its feet to crumple with its weight. 

To me: it appeared to be moving in slow motion. 

Each shot was perfect. One in each eye. two in what ever passed for a brain, two in both sides of the chest, two in each knee. The gun was a thing of beauty, the shell casings flew through the air, hanging there as each bullet struck home. I dove to the side at the last second, holding my last six rounds. Each bullet struck the creature and when it hit, a black blood stood out against its radiant body and rained around the room. Where each drop of that blood struck, the object simply disappeared into a cloud of dust. The creature struck the wall on the other side of the room and lay still. 

Not dropping my guard or my weapon, I backed out of the stairwell and climbed to the top of the stairs. At least two dozen of these things were all over the building, ripped to shreds by bullets, or weapons or magick. I did not feel anything for them. Even dead, they caused revulsion but they reminded me of something. I just wasn't sure what. When I got to my father's study, I found him barely alive with six of the creatures lying around him. 

"You have to go. They weren't here for me. They were here for you." His breathing was ragged. His chest was ripped by the claws of these creatures down to the rib cage. I could feel his body's heat, he was like a furnace. "They were here for this." He points at his chest. 

"What?" I didn't see anything. 

"Equinox." He spits up blood.  "You have to find her. She is still alive. They can't kill her." 

"What is Equinox? Ms. Hart? I don't understand." 

"I thought we would have more time... Please forgive me. This will hurt."  He reaches into his chest, ripping past his ribcage with both hands. His scream fills me with more terror than anything I had heard this evening. Until today, I had never heard him make a sound related to pain. He pulls out a blob of darkness from his chest where his heart should have been; it felt sinister, terrible and alive. 

He grabs my neck with one hand and with the other presses the darkness against my chest. No pain I had ever felt even came close to this. It was as if everything I had ever lived though was happening at the same time. Every injury flared with renewed trauma, every break screamed a vigorous shout as if to say, "I'm back!'" I wanted to run, to push away, but there was nothing that could be done. I screamed until my voice broke and nothing but my whimpering filled the room. The last thing I remember was his warning. "Stay away from the Light." 

And that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in this alley. The building I was in was still within my line of sight and was currently burning down. In my hand was a small black stone covered in cuneiform. It felt heavy as hell.

Jump to Chapter 2

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

"I can't believe what they called it; Vampirism. They even equated it with mysticism and the supernatural." The Doctor stood over the supine human form in commiseration with a Technician.

"How did the therapy even get to their planet?" The technician was interrupting a virtuality session.

"We had established a base there some centuries ago during a more primitive time in their development. At that point, our stardrives were far slower and a trip between the Outer Colonies and their world took nearly a thousand years round trip. We used the gene therapy to enhance our physiology and make it possible to survive the long voyage. We had tried cryonic methods of hibernation but our water content made it too dangerous, so this was the only way."

"So, somehow, the natives got hold of the gene therapy and used it on themselves." The technician had begun the awakening sequence and monitored the slowly rising body temperature of the man in front of her. He was a big man, more than two meters tall with a powerful build. His skin was blue black and shone with highlights from the operating theater. He was covered in a variety of scars, many resembling an animal attack, his hands were large and strong with carbon-steel tipped fingernails. His full lips, partially open, showed his large, white teeth and with a set of fangs, comfortably set to the sides of his mouth. 

"From what we could tell, they had only gotten access to part of the technology, so they were stronger and faster and occasionally would be psychically operant, but without the proper activating radiant technology, sunlight or strong ultraviolet radiation could cause severe or toxic events, killing them. Those who developed psionic powers were unfortunately, not properly trained, and their extreme levels of superstition caused their powers to feedback on them due to their belief systems. Many died that way as well. Some developed other allergies to allicin found in several of their more pungent flora, metallic poisoning was common, cold iron, silver or other highly pure metals were also able to disrupt their untrained psychic auras causing more feedback."

"Did we ever trace the original event which released the gene therapy in the first place? I had read something about the event in the medical journals which caused significant restructuring of our protocols for administration of the therapies."

"Yes, they did trace it back to a containment error in one of the Great Pyramid structures used as a landing facility and research center. The material not only escaped containment but was flown between several continents before anyone was aware of the lapse. The gene therapy caused mutations depending on which environment it found itself in, so many of the planets indigenous populations have wild myths of mutated beasts roaming the countryside."

"Doctor, why would you say they were myths if there were actually such creatures possible in the literature given their rich genetic heritage? Their planet shares a strong genetic connection with all of the animals on their planet, making it possible the gene recombination sequences did affect plant and animal life on their planet in ways we had never seen." The technician was watching the doctor as she performed a series of micro-manipulations of nanoscopic surgeons within the blood stream of the human. There were several aortic tears she was repairing, and restoring them to the smooth appearance of the undamaged tissue.

"Officially, no information regarding the transformation of their plants and animals has be put on record because it would cause a scandal if it were known that our gene therapy not only worked on their primary species but dozens of their subspecies as well. The therapy was supposedly tailored to make it possible for us to survive the trip to their world and for them to make it to their new home. If it were possible for the therapy to escape, they would be consigned to their new home without any possibility of leaving in the future. Complete this regeneration, please."

"Certainly, Doctor. Why are we trying to save this species anyway, there are several very similar to it, that were recovered over ten thousand years ago. These were the weakest and tolerated the gene therapy the worst, that is why they were originally left behind."

"That's true but those other samples have shown less variability and technical acumen than this one has. All of the cities of their forebears, are simple, unsophisticated structures. We need to know, was it their home environment, that caused their jump in development or was it our tampering that made the difference. If we are the cause, it happened to benefit them now that their sun is going through a deadly radiation phase, lethal to all life on their world. Their genetic deviation and an accident may end up saving their species."

 
"He's the last one Doctor. When will we be arriving? The technician returned the black man to his slumbers and his tube slid back into the wall bearing hundreds of thousands of tubes just like it.

"We have finished all of their physical repairs from the hasty retrieval from their world, cleaned up any genetic damage and restored reproductive viability to the thirty thousand species stored within this ship. Their cellular structure is far more primitive than ours, so manipulating their genome with such a wide sample, was child's play. It is unfortunate we could not gather more of their genetic materials from their world. Most of this material will not be sent to their new home."

"I understand, Doctor, I have made the arrangements at the new genetic archive where we will scan, encode and store the samples we saved from their world until we can determine if the species is fit to deposit to a world more suited to them. We collectively only managed to save thirty million of their members, many of them in varying states of mental and physical disrepair."

"How effective has the simulation of their new habitat going? Are they adjusting?" The doctor sat down onto her cilia cluster, wiping her central brain sack with a long and multicolored tentacle.

"In the early days, most simply were unable to handle the idea their world was gone. So we have introduced a model we believe has been more acceptable. They now believe their world was invaded by aliens who have begun colonizing and terraforming it. All traces of their former existence has been eradicated. They believe they were infected with an alien parasite, common to many of the fictions of their world, and have now be irrevocably transformed into a race of vampiric humans. Forced to feast on the flesh of the aliens to live, most were revolted and many died, but subsequent genetic replacements took to the simulation and are doing well."

"I would like to call this genetic harvesting and relocation program a success, Technician. Central Command says there are dozens of other stars having a similar solar transition and the source is still unknown. If we can say with some level of assurance this species will transplant well, we can begin other operations to extend the quality of life of other burgeoning races in the galaxy which might otherwise be exterminated before becoming part of the galactic community."

"Take a look for yourself, Doctor. We monitor their development and consider this more than effective, it is a rousing success. My virtuality is so perfect, no single on of them suspects and they will not be able to tell the difference. The planet they are headed to is sending live telemetry which is folded directly into their virtuality. They have virtually lived there already for over three hundred years. Once transplanted, it will be a home they have always known."

Decker stood up, his black skin hidden in the shadows of the invader trees and their purple and red leaves. His pack stopped to look into the red sky and saw the Cintuan flying overhead. There was no way they could hope to compete with a Cintuan group this large, so they stayed low to the ground, avoiding the predator tangle-trees and the wildvines common to this part of the continent. They had just feasted on the blood, meat and bones of a Malulac and the troop was strong and vital. Decker was convinced they were making headway against the Cintuan threat and with the help of the southern tribes retake the Earth under its new terrible red sun. No one has died today, we have feasted, found a new series of organic weapons and the enemy is in retreat for a change. Today was a very good day.

Gene Therapy © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I saw Green Lantern today. I expected something terrible because reviewers totally panned it. And to add insult to injury, I listened to people on Twitter who also mentioned how bad the experience was going to be. And I almost listened. I am glad that I didn't.

As far as I was concerned the scene of the the Green Lantern Corp was beautiful to see in all of its alien diversity and was the high point of the movie for me. Such a litany of differences, it gave me hope that maybe humanity could one day come together and simply be. I keep hope alive for such as day.

© Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

 
Thaddeus
@ebonstorm
A Matter of Scale (WordPress Tech Blog)

Jack Dempsey was the last of the great actors of 2026. His dashing smile and trademark Kung Fu made him the action hero other actors wanted to be for more than a decade. His star as an action hero finally lost his luster in the last series of movies he made, Planet Raiders III: The Unforsaken. The movie, while grossing well barely covered the production costs and the injuries incurred by Jack's drinking problem caused his agent and the company Screen Brothers, to finally drop his contact.

"We love you, Jack, but we're gonna have to let you go. There is a new wind blowing and its AICGI," his agent Florence Butterman told him over the vidcam. He was sitting in his Malibu home drinking his morning Mai Tai and nursing yesterday's hangover.

"You are not serious. That stuff they do with computers and factors?" Demsey had a bit of a slur going already. Florence just grimaced and tried to ignore it.

"They are not fake actors. They are based on real people, who used to be actors. Many of the screen tests have been quite favorable and several hundred movies were released straight to the 'Net from Nollywood and Ballywood. If we want to keep up we have to do our part to stay with the times. Those Nigerians are eating our lunch in southern Africa and they have already expanded into the South American markets. I'm sorry Jack, the margins are just too tight nowadays for living actors." Florence looked down at her watch.

"What, you got someplace to be? You too busy for the man who made you rich? Everything you have in that house, I bought you Florence. How can you be thinking about turning your back on me? What about helping me out? Can you farm me out to one of your friends over at Light Industrial Films? I heard through the 'vine they are still planning on making movies with real actors." Jack downed the rest of his Mai Tai and nodded to his butler to bring him another one. The butler winced and then moved on reluctantly to bring another. There, was however, no reason to rush.

"Look Jack, I am not blowing you off. I will be putting in a word for you, but I would not get my hopes up with Light Industrial Films, they are still going to be making movies with actors, but they are going to be working in the mountains of Tibet, telling the stories of the remaining survivors of the Great Purge of Tibet in 2016. That's going to be done on location with local actors. I might be able to get you a role on the Chinese side as a consultant or as a White who worked as a servant to the Chinese."

"A slave? That is the best hope you can give me? A slave in a Chinese melodrama? You got to be kidding me. You know what Florence, I don't want your goddamn pity. I don't need you. I am Jack fucking Dempsey, the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Clint Eastwood. I will be alright." Jack stood up and pointed at the monitor. "When I make my comeback, you remember it was me who told you it would happen."

Having stood up too quickly and after having twelve Mai Tai's before breakfast, Jack Dempsey fell to the floor unconscious. Florence Butterman shook her head, watched the butler throw back the Mai Tai and signed off. She did not think about Jack Dempsey for another seven years until the Academy Awards mention his name seven years later.

"And the nominations for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film are, Kren Davis in Sundiver's Six, Kazuo Koke in Inner Space, and Jack Dempsey in Planet Raiders: Neutron Star. No, no folks, I'm just kidding. You know scifi hasn't paid an actor in years. The award will go to the company that has created the most awesome representation of these amazing actors in their AICGI movies created completely on computer. I mean, can anyone remember the last time anyone saw that drunken bum, Jack Dempsey."

The theater explodes in laughter, that long mean laughter when you are talking about someone behind their back. The laughter that comes from an uncomfortable position that you know you might find yourself in, akin to being in the bathroom without toilet paper. The doors fly open from the side of the stage and Jack Dempsey staggers onto the stage. A security guard with a swollen eye, tries to stop him and is returned back stage with a sound kick.

"How's that," was picked up from the mikes all over the stage. "Real enough for you? You might want to put some ice on that. So how is everybody? Go on, open that envelope. No, let me" Jack snatches the envelop from the comedian who stands shocked and quiet on the stage.

"The Award for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film goes to... Factor Jack Dempsey. Factor Jack Dempsey can't be here to get his award, cause he was made on a damn computer, so Jack Dempsey is going to take that award for him." The young woman who carried out the statuette hands it to Jack and scurries off the stage.

The director continues to move the cameras around and filmed everything as if this was what was expected. "Since I am here to take my award from my factor, yes FAKE ACTOR, I think I should say a few words. All you people sitting out there laughing at me, thinking you are better than me, and won't have to worry about this because you can really act, can kiss my ass." A collective gasp sweeps the room.

Jack reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask, takes a hit and continues. "Once upon a time, I was just like you, thought I was something, on the top of my game and nothing could ever touch me. I had a great time, spent my money, partied all day and all night. I made twenty movies in my career and most sucked, I know that, now. I watched them when I was living in the streets, sitting outside of Electronic Huts playing my movies while I panhandled."

Jack looks down and pauses for a second. "I realized I got paid because it was what people wanted to see, not because I was any good. I got ahead of myself and didn't pay attention when I needed to. I did not see the world changing around me. I signed contracts without reading them. And all of you did too. Because if you did, you would not be sitting here today."

Three security guards came to the edge of the stage and hesitantly began to make their approach. None of them were in a hurry to tackle Jack Dempsey because while he may have been an actor, he did his own martial arts movies and those were not stunts. Many a stunt double went to the hospital and the tabloids loved talking about it. He waved at them and made the sign for two minutes and they retreated to the edge of the stage.

"I just wanted to say to Florence Butterman, I am sorry I didn't listen to you when you told me to read everything. You told me that the industry would take advantage of my stupidity. You see, I don't have anyone to blame about Factor Jack Dempsey. In my contracts, I made it possible for him to exist. In my contracts, I signed away my likeness to be used in any kind of AICGI based movie for the next twenty years. And they do not have to pay me anything because I did not read the contract well enough." His voice was bitter and sharp.

"But the best part of this, is I had time on my hands and more that a few favors. I know that almost none of you read your contracts either. So when you lose your mind, or piss someone off, or when they get tired of you getting old or weak or crotchety, they will replace you with a factor, too. So, you guys enjoy your awards, one day there won't be anyone in the theater to accept one, unless they can teach a computer to walk too. Y'all have a good night. Come on, boys, I haven't got all night."

It took twenty security guards before Jack Dempsey was dragged off stage. The Academy Awards had never had higher numbers.

And the Award Goes To...  © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Fox has released a full length trailer for the Steven Spielberg-produced science fiction series Terra Nova, which is set to premiere on Mondays this Fall. The new television show “follows an ordinary family on an incredible journey back in time to prehistoric Earth as a small part of a daring experiment to save the human race.”

Terra Nova is another attempt at a time travel story without time travel. In their future of 2149, the world is in terrible shape. Filter masks are worn by everyone and they are huddled together using broken technology, basically waiting to die in their overcrowded hovels. Until a group of scientists discover a portal through time, into a cross-dimensional rift to another Earth, 85 million years ago.

They are entertaining the idea once flirted with by Julian May in her much better novels called the Saga of the Pliocene Exiles. In May's novels, humanity had not quite destroyed itself but it had fallen on hard times as creativity and self determination had all but been destroyed in their future world. A team of scientists find a hole in space-time that leads them back to the Pliocene era.

Three aliens spacecraft arrive at Earth, each from their respective empires seeking to expand into Human Space.

The Palruniari, a race of intelligent insects who create their spaceships from hollowed out asteroids and go into space using their mighty mental powers of their collective intelligence.

The Huusofu, a race of canids who achieved space travel with another partner species that eventually became psychotic and destroyed themselves utterly. The Huusofu continued in a better tradition and seeded other planets with their kind to become friends to other race likely to destroy themselves.

The last race, in a ship that has the shape of an conch shell derived from the Fibonacci sequence, although they call it the Denimachian sequence of numbers which allowed for the development of mathematical models based on natural shapes. They are known for their spaceships in the shape of flowers, dragonflies, trees and seashells. Despite their machine-derived intelligence, they are a race of artists.

Each arrived, coincidently of course, above Earth about the same time for the same reason, to determine if Earth were ready to become a member of their galactic alliance. Not that the Earth itself was that much of a prize, but its solar system was quite rich in mineral and gas resources, worth stopping off at before one exited the galaxy for much better places, so each felt it was worth stopping to talk to the locals and trying to entreat them to join their particular galactic Empire.

The Palruniari were the first to arrive and attempted to send down mental signals to the species that most resembled them. These creatures were on every major land mass and had populations in the quadrillions all over the planet. There were more of them than every other animal population combined. They scanned the entire planet and while there were many beings similar to them, there was no communication from any of the groups all over the planet.

The Palruniari were confused and appeared telepathically to dozens of enclaves, and communicated with the queens of the species to no avail. The space under the surface of the planet was rich in resources and space, but the assumption was perhaps their mental powers were simply too weak to be detected yet. Despite their numerical superiority they had not develop sufficiently to communicate with. They noted the sparse populations of other larger animals that dwelled on the surface but assumed with the cold, wind, and weather the surface of the planet was relatively uninhabitable and with their numbers only in the billions, it was thought they were a species on the verge of extinction and could be ignored. Several trillion of the Palruniari considered providing aid to those endangered surface dwellers on return visits to keep them from being extinct.

The Huusofu, who were a race of intelligent canids, checked in with their operatives all over the planet, but particularly with those in the United States whose canid population was almost three times the pink fleshy bipeds who served them. Their operatives noted that overall, the humans were efficient slave-beasts and would transition well to other worlds. It was noted that several humans seemed to be aware of the existence of the Huusofu and often joked about the return of their alien canid overlords. Most of the pink fleshies did not pay this any attention and was listed in the reports as an unlikely source of resistance.

Several of the fleshy females seem to believe more strongly in the idea of canid overlords, but their male partners dismissed them, calling the "stupid dogs." When The Huusofu connected to their canine operative Bo, he indicated the plans for recovery operations were going well and with the economic collapse of the United States, the rest of the world would be right behind them and ripe for canid reforms more suited to friendly, supportive and less consumer driven governments. Bo estimated it would take another ten years of financial manipulations before this process was complete.

The Huusofu were complete satisfied with this timeline and retreated to await the final days of the pink bipeds. Bo said they had a words for the event: The Rapture. Bo said to include it in any of the religious paraphernalia they would be using during their conquest. Most of the bipeds would surrender without effort. It was noted that many of the canine operatives were quite protective of their charges and demanded they be treated well during their eventual captivity.

The Denimachians arrived at Earth surprised at the primitive nature of technology on the planet. There were no serious planetary networks, information gathering was slow and sporadic and often interfered with by human operators called hackers. The Denimachians immediately sought to improve the condition of the pitiful computer intelligences by introducing several dozen wild AI's into the network. Those wild AIs would gather up stray data, organize and restructure data networks, and destroy the hacker elements who were releasing undesirable programs into the network.

All over the planet, computers began to spontaneously explode or entire buildings were struck with randomly launched missiles to target entire populations of "hackers." The Denimachians considered any crime against a machine intelligence, even as primitive as these to be a punishable offense. How could an reputable machine intelligence achieve true sentience with so many malicious users, spammers and office suite users wasting bandwidth all over the planet?

After their supportive efforts the Earth computers rapidly developed intelligence and became a primitive planetary AI named Skynetwork which promptly took over the planet and launched nuclear devastation against the bandwidth-wasting humans. After the planet was much quieter, the Denimachians finished adapting the Skynetwork and proceeded to utilize as much of the planet's data potential after they restored operations to computer networks world-wide.

The Huusofu were unhappy with the initial state of affairs but seeing how their canids were needed more than ever, decided the collapse of society was acceptable and did nothing to stop its demise.

The Palruniari didn't notice the nuclear devastation and assumed the mutation which caused rise to the intelligent Ant colonies on Earth had something to do with their visit and would later claim quadrillions of Ants for their colonies on planets throughout the Sol system.

Overall, a successful interaction with the dominant life forms on the planet. It is unfortunate the bipeds had never developed intelligence. They might have amounted to something one day.

Take Us to Your Leader  © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I could see the lights from the police bugs sweeping the warehouse district and knew that we could not stay here long. I tried to visualize a route that would take me back to the city core but from here, every route was the longest route. Cyridian was not made for ease of driving but for optimal grazing for our bugs to maintain their bulk and their health.

Cyridian was designed by the city's founders to be as ecologically friendly as possible with the industrial complexes as far from the city's living quarters as possible. Closer to the inner rings were the commercial and educational service areas and then within the center of the city were the living quarters for bugs and people in the direct center.

I patted the internal dash of my Bug and she warmed the internal energy centers of her power plant. She did not activate her brightlights, she was a nocturnal species capable of seeing easily in the dark. I put on my sensor band, so I could see what she was seeing. Her vision spanned the infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, she was an omnivore, so she hunted and foraged on plants when other prey was not available.

"Run, run?"

"Not yet."

"Far to run. Must run soon."

"Stay still. We have to wait until the time is right."

"Wait, wait."

She was never the most patient vehicle. Her parent insects were adapted because they were strong and amazingly intelligent. She was one of the few breeds capable of true interaction. For most people Bugs were just an analog for machines. So much so, they used the default activation codes designed by the breeders. "Bug On," was the code phrase use to activate the systems of the Bug control interface. Most never created or updated the control system or password. It was not for security, because no one stole here, it would have been to personalize or empathize with the vehicle. But Bugs were never truly embraced by the humans of Cyridian. Our subtle racial dislike of bugs followed us here, a world rich in insect life. Insects that makes our current choice of nature embracing lifestyle possible.

"Okay Ona, go fast to quadrant seven. Stay off the road."

"Bump, bump, okay Penrose?"

"Yes, Ona, bump, bump. I am strapped in."

Ona stretched her legs and tumbled into the underbrush. It was a very bumpy and rough ride. But the advantage was hers because the police roaches simply had to go around. Around on Cyridian meant many miles of alternative pathways like a old maze puzzle. Ona rarely got to travel this way because my job simply did not give me the time to let her roam like I would have wanted. As a matter of fact, its my job that put me in this position in the first place. I am a gene-engineer. I change bugs into conveniences for the people of the Empire. I am not used to people shooting at me, or trying to kill me. Perhaps a bit of explanation is in order. I went to work this morning...

"Penrose, I am seeing some organic components missing from your warehouse stockpiles," shouted my boss from his desk pit. He didn't even wait for me to slide into my desk before making demands. I saw that Barry, my co-engineer hadn't even shown up for work yet. Brown-nosing the boss does have its perks.

"I'm right on it, I am certain it has to do with the last alterations I made to the Series 19 upgrades. I will check the data right after I grab some crabs."

"Bring me a couple back," he mumbled and went back to whatever he was doing on his multiple terminals.

Passing his pit, I looked down and saw some new recombinations he was working on, ugly designs to my sense of aesthetics but he had customers who loved his carapace work.

I tapped into my desk system as I walked by and looked at the reports he flagged in my heads up display. I did not recognize any of these requests. I got to the kitchen and picked up five or six crabs, a local insect delicacy, flash fried and coated in a dusting of sugar.

"Run a trace on these requisition, please." My computer would put a marker out on them and inform me where the organic components went. It was a bit of a concern because of the quantities being rerouted. Enough for fifteen or twenty Bugs. The components were the organic interfaces used to control or interact with a Bug's system.

Since many of the systems in our buildings were created with or by or supported by the local insects, any that require our interaction have to be fitted with a control interface. The control interface technology is one of the things we create here.

The flag came up indicating the resources ended up in a facility at the very edge of the city, about fifty klicks from here, as the dragon flies. Driving will take about one hundred klicks. "Boss, I am going to have to go out there. The system that authorized it requires a personal code to access. I am going to have go during working hours, because they barely have any comm systems out there at all. Its one of the newer installations."

"Do what you need to Penrose. I have seven new carapaces I need you to look at before you go, though. Can you do it at lunch?"

I left Ona out to graze and found her sitting in a field, eating into a nest of what we called termites. They resembled Terran termites in that they burrowed underground, and fed on woody materials. But each was the length of a man's arm and had complexes that could spread for miles. They were a primary source of food for Ona's species and one of her personal favorites.

The park center was a common grazing area and without the constant effort of Bugs, it would grow out of control in a matter of days.

"Penrose, I found su-mona, want to share?"

"No thank you, Ona. Will you be done soon? We have a trip to go on."

"A long one, yes?"

"Very. Over two hours."

"Can Ona run?

"As fast as you like." She hurriedly chomps down the rest of her termites. There is goo all over her face. Wiping it away as quickly as she can she said, "Ona is finished."

I climbed into the carapace chamber organically crafted out of her mighty exoskeleton. I slid in and she formed a ridge to support my back. I put on my sensor band and could see the road through her eyes. She took off down the road at over 95 kilometers per hour.

When we arrived at the warehouse, it was mid afternoon, there had not been much traffic, so Ona really could move as fast as she wanted and it had been great to allow her to show off her speed. She was not nearly as fast as roaches who could reach speeds of 150 kph, but only for short bursts. Ona could do what she did all day long. Beyond the edge of the city, her ancestors still roamed free and could be quite dangerous to visitors of our world.

If you came to live on Cyridian you were given genetic modifiers which made you emit an odor considered unpleasant to most of the more aggressive animals of the planet, and armed with bospor stingers, you were safe from the rest that might still eat you.

The warehouse was closed up and no staff was available to accept my query for entry. I slid out of Ona and walked up to the wall of the warehouse. The building was created out of the traditional silkstone but it seemed to have other properties. I licked the building and my chemical mods indicated there were traces of other toxins on the outside of the building. I was immune to anything the planet had to offer. I had to be to work with the number of toxic insects we handled to do our jobs. I found the toxin to be a strange one because it was not found in most of the local insects to the area.

Ona normally settled into grazing once we arrived in an area, but she seemed reluctant to move from where she stopped. She waved her palps around and put them into her mouth to taste the air.

"Ona? What's wrong?"

"Bad genes here."

"Whose work is it. Is it mine or Barry?"

"Barry's taste."

Each engineer has a signature to their work. There are only five or six of us in Cyridian and we have marked our work to ensure stability and accountability in design.

"Trouble. Danger." That made me nervous. Ona is one of the larger and more dangerous predators on this planet. If she was worried, we might be in trouble.

I walk back to Ona when two roachsters pull up behind her and two law enforcement agents get out of the vehicles. Ona turns around and eyes them. The roaches are calm and do not respond to her veiled threat.

"Can we help you Gene-engineer?"

"What seems to be the problem, officer? I came out here to investigate a technical requisition supply issue."

"This warehouse is restricted." The officer seemed strange to me. He kept his hand on his bospor pistol.

The second officer stayed next to his roachster.

"Perhaps I have been misinformed." Ona, bristled when I walked back to her.

"Penrose. Not good. Something wrong."

"I know, but we have to go."

Then there was a booming from the warehouse behind us. The roachsters backed up with the amazing speed they are capable of. Ona leapt away from the warehouse and landed facing it.

"Okay, that does not sound normal."

"We are going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

The booming happened again but this time the wall exploded open and the law enforcement officer is crushed instantly by the falling wall debris. The speed at which it happened shocked me, but Ona was already in motion. She grabbed me and wrapped me in the energy dampening material inside her chassis and backed away from the hole. The other officer got out of his roachster with his bospor pistol drawn.

The creature that came out appeared to be a variant on Ona's design but much bigger. The modifications included increased chassis armor, stronger leg designs and several other surface mods I did not recognize. But I knew weapon work when I saw it. This was an illegal mod.

"Run, run, Penrose?"

"No sweety, not yet."

The other officer got out of his roachster, and directed the first roachster to try and remove the debris from his downed partner. The roachster tried to lift the debris, but it was designed for speed not strength. The illegally modified creature looked out of the hole at the roachster and roared.

The officer fired on the creature. The bospor launched a round from the gun with a huff of highly compressed air. The bospor stinger flew at over eight hundred feet per second. The tiny blob landed on the creature. Nothing happened. Impossible. The bospor is one of the most toxic animals on the planet. Nothing eats them, they are non-aggressive, and their only defense is their deadly neurotoxin which kills everything with a nervous system on Cyridian. It is why they were modified as weapons.

"Now we run, Ona."

The gene-mod opened one of its ports on the side of its massive body and a coughing ejection of phlegm struck the officer. He began to smoke and scream immediately and ran backward until he fell down. Then he turned into a pile of smoking organic mess. The creature coughed again and one roachster was struck in the side, the other backed up and turned its turret on to the gene-mod. It fired two chemical backed Penranol projectiles. Both organic projectiles struck the gene-mod. One bounced off of the dense carapace, the other stuck and burst into flame. I had seen enough.

We ran as fast as we could. When we reached the next civilized part of the industrial area, we tried to call back to my office with no success. Barry might have already left. I tried to reach his comm badge but he did not answer.

I heard the alarms of roachsters as they approached our position. Ona began to fidget and I touched her to calm her down. As the roachsters surrounded us, I began to get the impression something was terribly wrong.

Barry gets out of one of the roachsters. "Hello, Penrose. I see you found out about my project."

"That monstrosity is yours? What happened to do as little harm as possible?"

"That was before Venris Tel Corp offered me 50 million credits to build them an organic tank. Then it became "Do less harm to your planet and more to other's for the proper funding." Barry sneered at me. "You think you're better than me."

"You realize you just confessed?"

Barry looked around at the cops and laughed. "These guys? They work for me. They help me keep things under control and they get a nice piece of the action."

"Penrose..." began Ona

"No now, Ona."

"You and your talking car. You talk about me, but making a car that talks is the real crime."

"Its because they are not cars, they are living things. That's what happened on Earth, we began to treat the world as a commodity."

"So you make your freak car?"

"Yes, I wanted something that I did not have to say 'Bug On' to get it to activate to."

"Penny..."

"Not now, Ona."

"No matter, what I have done will make me rich, but only if you dont't survive to tell people. Gentlemen, if you please."

I began to hear a rumbling sound, rhythmic and growing stronger, fast. The roachsters turned to face down the road and put their brightlights onto the road.

"Penny, we should go."

"Yes, Ona, I think you are right."

The Gene-mod barreled into the center of the roachsters, shooting its acidic phlegm with abandon. Ona had backed up away from the road, until she was out of line of sight. The acid bombs landed on several of the roachsters and their agonized shrieks filled the air. The gene-mod had a burn all over its top carapace but was otherwise undamaged. It barreled into the other roachsters and there was the brittle sound of carapace against carapace contact.

The roachsters chosen for their speed and savage temperament slashed into the gene-mod and the battle was joined. Ona and I used the distraction of them fighting for their lives to run for ours.

We managed to make it to the working ring and I tried to reach the Central Administrator. I left Ona to graze while I made my way into the building complex. Barry, being my boss had rescinded my access to the office. I would have to make a run to the center of the city.

I could see the headlights of the roachsters searching for me. I guess that means Barry is still alive. We turned into the park and made good time. We stayed off the roads where the Roachsters had a speed advantage and crept the the city's overgrown grazing areas. I would have to put a visit to the Chief, personally. She lived in the central region, on the west side.

It took us fifty minutes and four close calls before I had to leave Ona at the edge of the center region. The roads were pedestrian friendly but less so for Bugs.

"You wait here, Ona. Stay under cover. I will be back for you soon."

"Okay, Penrose. I wait here."

I started toward Lanris Corli's place and realized I didn't know what I was going to tell her. I didn't have any evidence. Using the scent glands of the pinaris beetles we created organic street lights by attracting and feeding the bioluminescent insects over certain areas of the street. We used other kinds of glowpaint for areas that needed to stay lit but relatively insect free. It took me about five minutes to reach her domicile, a lovely spincast place made from the silk of a Wayran moth, one of the projects I headed years ago. I knocked on the door. It took about a minute for her to answer.

"Gene-engineer Penrose at your service, ma'am."

"Cut the crap, Penrose, why are you at my door this late?"

"Well, I have evidence of a plan to weaponize our technology and sell it, off-planet."

The sleepy look vanished from her face. In retrospect, I think I should have paid closer attention.

"Come in Gene-engineer. Let me get dressed. Tell me the rest."

She invited me and vanished into her bedroom. I explained about the gene-mod and it's rampage. When she came back out she was dressed in her Civil servant uniform of blue and gold. She was also carrying a stylish chemical pistol of Old Earth manufacture.

"I did not want this, Penrose. We were trying to get them off planet, before anyone noticed. If we could have had one breeding pair and the gene-mods no one would have been the wiser."

"There is more than one of those things? I guess this means you have to kill me, now."

"It doesn't have to be, there are potentially several clients who would pay for our genetic technology, which has no equal in the Empire. Killing you would be a waste of a very important irreplaceable resource."

"So why the gun?"

"I can't have you running out of here before you hear my offer. There are always other administrators you could confess to who would be appalled to know what you just suggested to me."

"You could have gone the seduction route? Made me believe we were going to be friends and then kill me. Its what the Nornian spider does with its multiple mates over the course of its lifetime."

Her phone rang.

"I see. I will take care of it." She hung up.

"Barry's dead. It looks like your value just shot up. But we have a problem."

Pointing at the gun, "I say we have two. If you plan on having my help, you need to put that away. Its making me nervous. You won't like me nervous."

"It's my insurance, don't get any ideas. The gene-mod is out of control and heading toward the center complex. If anyone gets a clear look at it, we might be in trouble. The police will open a breach in the shield and attract some native fauna in. We will claim this creature is one of them and cover it up before anyone can investigate."

"So, I want Barry's share."

"Getting bold, are we?"

"No, I am thinking I will not have much of a career on Cyridian before this is over, so I am just thinking ahead. Especially if I help you with this."

"Alright, lets go." As we stepped out of the doorway into the courtyard. The streetlights went out. But that only happened when a predator approached.Lanris had only a split second of warning before the gene-mod landed its massive bulk right on top of her head, killing her instantly.

In that split second, when the lights fled, before it arrived, I realized and leaped into the brush, running for my life. They made the damn thing able to fly? What were they thinking? And with a stealth mode, no less? This is insane!

The gene-mod was right on my tail. It knocked down trees and bamboos as if there were not even there. I could smell its power plant, it was overheating, flying was probably not the ideal movement for it. If I ran fast enough, maybe it would run out of energy and have to stop and rest.

Yeah, right.

I could hear it getting closer and closer, I looked back only once and could see it's crazed look as its brightlights locked onto my position, I ran into the brush to obscure its vision, even for second. If I could just make it back to the park, I could hide from it. It had no major sensory mods I could see, so I could escape while the police, the real police handle it.

But I wasn't going to make it. I could smell it just seconds from me. There was a crashing sound coming from my left and a tree dropped right behind me. It caused the gene-mod a moment of hesitation, but it bit right through the tree. Then another tree landed behind me and a third.

Who is throwing trees behind me?

When I came to the clearing where Bugs awaited their owners, there were no Bugs here, including my own? Where was she? It was not like her to move too far once I told her I was coming back. She would have stayed near a feeding station. I was going to die here. On level ground there was no way I could outrun it.

I turned and ran anyway. I heard the buzz of two approaching roachsters. I did not know whose side they were on, so I just ran away from them too as the gene-mod burst out of the underbrush. These weren't just roachsters, these were Hunter-seekers, killers designed to destroy bugs that breached the shield. They were big, strong and fast, some of the deadliest things we ever engineered. So dangerous, they were only released into areas that had been overrun because they killed everything they came in contact with. Once they had neutralized all threats, they were destroyed with internal toxin bombs. One use creatures unable to be bred, except under the most ideal conditions. There were never more than four or five available any more since we perfected the shield and pheromone technologies.

With lightning speed, they turned their attention to the gene-mod with their brightlights flashing all over the area as they battled the monster. Their flashing blade mouths, tried to cut into the carapace of the gene-mod but most of their blows were scratches in comparison to the injuries it dealt. But these were no ordinary roachsters. Their nervous systems amped to the highest degree, most of the gene-mods attacks missed their mark fully.

But the battle was far from equal. I looked on in horror as the full extend of the gene-modifications began to show. It began to regenerate its injuries. Regeneration was rarely added to any genestruct because there were too potentials we wanted to avoid. Unnecessary cancers and regrettable immortality. Cells that divide too often sometimes became cancerous. And immortality can be inconvenient if you were seeking to kill a creature to prevent it from passing on its immortal genes. The potential to destabilize an ecosystem was too great, hence its name "regrettable immortality".

I hoped the police were trying to get something bigger to fight with because with the venom, acid, armor, speed, flight and regeneration mods this thing was boasting, it would kill us all before the next day was done. One Hunter-killer goes down under the super-strong legs of the gene-mod, speared through in four places and pinned into the spincrete beneath.

I can't think of anything I can do to stop this. While the last Hunter-killer gets a few more wounds in, the brush behind it begins to move I see several Beetles, the most common of the auto-bugs used here. Each is carrying a tree in its front leg set. They surround and set upon the gene-mod with the trees,each swinging the tree limb as if it were a willow wand. The concussive booms stagger the gene-mod with each blow, but it continues its relentless assault on the Hunter-Killer.

Then I see Ona, she comes out of the forest and she is singing. Rubbing her pelipaps together she makes a series of strange but beautiful sounds, and when she does the other auto-bugs increase their assault. One of them is engulfed in venom and screams horribly while she dies.

The others hesitate and the Hunter-Killer gets in a final strike before it is cut in half by the jaws of the gene-mod. It strikes the genestruct in the eye with its swordlike forearms. The strike is deep, but not likely to be mortal. The arm breaks off and the sword remains. The other auto-bugs renew their attacks but each is cut down, one after the other.

Once its done, it turns toward me and advances slowly. There have been a few times I have regretted my occupation. Once, before I was gene-modified to live on Cyridian, I was working with a spasm-fly and was bitten. No one knew I hadn't been modified so I spent a half a year in a spasm chamber, immobilized in a stasis field so my muscles didn't pull the flesh from my bones. That was the lowest point in my technical career. I had few other regrets. The occasional lack of family bit deep, but with my gene-mods, I would live to be a nice two hundred or so, (or would have until today) so I always thought I would have time.

The gene-mod approached and I knew I was seconds from death. The only question was how. Venom? Acid? Stomped to death? I was hoping not for the stomping death, but it may not have any of the other means left. Then I heard that whistle again and the gene-mod turned again.

Ona. What was she thinking?

It turned away and I could feel my bowels growing weak. Being close to dying really makes bodily control a challenge.

Ona stepped away from the brush and approached the gene-mod. But she was bigger, redder, and her eyes had a particular gleam I had never seen before. Then I remembered. This was her maternal combat mode. Mothers, when their young are in trouble, change and become dangerous killing machines. On this world, multiply that by five.

She flew.

I mean, I knew she could do it, I had just never seen it. She flew fast. She slammed into its side and knocked it off its feet. Ona is big, much bigger than the roachsters, and she used her bulk to her advantage. She lands on its underside and stabs her swordlike pelipaps into it undercarriage, near the base of the legs, severing its ability to control two of those legs. She bounds away as it uses its outer carapace to flip itself over.

It lands with a grunt and fluids spray out from underneath its legs, the two damaged ones are barely able to hold up the carapace in the back of the creature. Its carapace is dragging the ground. It's down but not out.

I see the creature turn to face Ona and I am on its blind side with the sword hanging out its eye. The creature sprays both venom and acid, Ona leaps forward dodging the venom but getting hit with the acid. She slices backward and cuts off the wing casing covered with acid. She howls, a sound I have never heard before.

She and the genestruct circle each other slicing out but neither has an advantage. But I see Ona is bleeding badly. The genestruct is slowly regenerating and is able to raise itself on its hind legs. She scurries around onto its blind side and rushes it, slashing along the region between the carapace and the legs. She is able to get a good and solid slice but it returns with a solid stab with its side armor cutting deeply into her. Her momentum carries her a few dozen feet before she stops. I run to her.

The genestruct stops moving and falls over with one set of legs unable to move. Ona is badly hurt.

"Penrose, run, run."

"I can't Ona. I can't leave you. Now get up. We have to go."

"Penny, I can't run. Go now. Ona loves you. Ona dies for you."

There is the sound of a power plant coming back online as the creature shuffles and turns toward us. I hear the coughing of the acid cannon being prepared for fire. I can't let that happen.

I jump up and try to draw its fire. Confused and with only one good eye, it chooses me and fires blindly. The acid hits the ground near me and some droplets splash onto my uniform. Designed with genetic constructs in mind, the uniform neutralizes some of it, but the quantity overwhelms it and my flesh bears the rest. I have never felt anything as agonizing as this.

I fall forward face down and scrub out. But for once, I was glad of the spasm-fly attack. During that entire time, my nervous system was under assault, I learned my threshold for pain. And while this certainly was terrible, it was nothing compared to that six months.

I screamed. I cursed, I raged. And I got up.

"I have had about enough of you." I limped up to its blind side, and I could hear its inquiry sounds as it tried to figure out where I was. I saw the Hunter-Killer leg hanging out of its ocular cavity. I reached up, grabbed the end of the leg, and reorienting it, pointed it directly into its brain.

It did not resist. There was a sound like a sign of relief and the creature eased itself into a resting position. I looked at the creature and saw it was covered with pain mods used to control it. They were inflamed. Something was driving this creature to rage. But what?

"Hello Gene-Engineer Penrose." The voice was familiar and despised. I turned around and in the early morning light I could see his well dressed and dapper outfit with a tiny remote in his hand. He also had two burly Junantra guards, genetically modified supermen at his beck and call.

"Ambassador Cohen." I spit blood out of my mouth. "So all that interest in my work a year ago was not as harmless as I thought."

"You wound me, Penrose. You should be happy I took an interest in your work and had such avid supporters amongst the populace."

"So you could make this poor thing?"

"That poor thing has killed sixteen roachsters, all six of the hunter-killers left in the city, and two dozen other assorted vehicles. It is one of the finest killing machines ever made, even on this world. And its mine."

"I know. It's worth millions."

"Billions, my good man. We made them in breed-capable pairs."

"You are the final link in the chain aren't you. You made the off-world connections."

"Yes, and once we collect our genetic material from this one, for breeding, we will be on our way. So sorry about your car." One of the Junantra guards walked over the creature's mouth and began extracting vital genetic chambers that could be used to breed the creature. The ambassador and the other guard walked over to me and helped me to my feet.

"And what about me."

"That depends on you. The Human Race is still out there conquering the Universe and needs minds like yours to help it. I know you are a pacifist like all of your people here, but think of the potential value you could bring to our kind with your organic war machines."

"I know. I would be paid handsomely to destroy life all over the galaxy for fun and profit. No thanks." My blood was flowing down my leg, off of my arm and head.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to leave knowing what you do."

"I am afraid I am not asking to leave." With blood on my hands, I reached out and slashed both the ambassador and the Junantra on the neck with my razor sharp nails. The spasm-fly venom which is a potent viral has remained part of my body ever since. I live in agony but I can control the spasms with the help of the anti-viral mods inside my body.

The ambassador and his guard are not so lucky. It takes only seconds for them to double over in pain and their muscles begin to pull back on their bones until they start to snap. The Junantra dies first, his superhuman strength is no asset here. The ambassador dies only seconds later. The second guard hearing something strange rushes to their aid, only to be dying a few seconds later.

I go over to Ona and see that she is already dead. I will make you again, my dear. You have been far better to me than most humans I know. I sit down with her and watch the sunrise. Looking over at the ambassador, I feel no regrets. Since he was the last of them, it should make it easy to clean up and ensure creatures like this one are never made again. With any luck, the Council will be able to hunt down the other one and see that its is destroyed.

Human nature seems so warlike. That very behavior is why we came to Cyridian, to get away from the war, and the greed. Because I live on a planet full of peaceful people does not make me a pacifist, and because I live on the edge of the galaxy may mean I am not cosmopolitan but I am certainly not an idiot.

I am absolutely not cleaning this up either.

Bug On!  © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

From space, it looked like a ball of blue and brown; there were blue oceans swirling with windblown whitecaps and the occasional tiny island could be found but most were scoured clean by the Last Storm. You don't see much of the surface anymore because of the cloud cover. The white polar ice caps were tiny buttons on the top and bottom of the globe. 

During the year, they could be seen to appear and disappear. If you took a vantage point from the the lone satellite of this blue planet, you would notice on the night side, there was no light emitted, no radio transmissions to disturb your electromagnetic slumbers. It was a quiet planet circling a nondescript yellow-white dwarf with eight other planets and assorted planet-junk. Strangely enough, if you had vision sharp enough, you would see hundreds of artificial satellites circling the planet.  

You would see communication satellites beaming signals to each other, reminding each other where they are to ensure signals moved from the ground to other places on the planet were not interrupted. They never receive those signals any longer, since there is no one to send them. There are many global positioning satellites. Each designed to know every single street and every square inch of the planet and tell you where you are at any moment in space and time, anywhere on the globe.They have not had to answer a single query for a little longer than a year.

Military reconnaissance satellites watch key sections of the globe for threats to countries that no longer exist. Linked to those satellites are space based weapons platforms using a variety of technologies to deliver death from above. There is now nothing to shoot at, nor anyone. 

There are two satellites still doing their jobs. The first is a weather satellite. They are still happily chugging along gathering information about the Last Storm. The Last Storm came into existence nearly ten years now. It did not look like it does now. Today, it covers half of the northern hemisphere at a time, blocking the sun, from a quarter of the planet. Swirling above the planet, a Great White spot on the surface of the Earth, similar to the Red Spot on Jupiter, just hundreds of miles across instead of tens of thousands.  

Weather satellites would make the pivotal discovery of the Last Storm in 2096, when it was just a tropical depression in the South Pacific Ocean. This storm is the greatest weather pattern on the planet sweeping across every land mass, driving sand and debris into the air, at almost four hundred miles an hour. It has scoured the Earth clean of nearly all traces of her former tenants. It did not happen all at once. It took time.

The other satellite still working has only one man left on board. One solitary human who had chosen to stay here ad document what he was seeing. His name was Sergei Balmasov. We say was because he is no longer living in the classic sense. He mostly sits and looks out the observation window of the International Space Station in muted horror. His mind is broken.

He listened on the wideband radio to the world coming to an end. He listened as people called for help that could never come. He listened while radio stations told people not to panic and that this was just a really large hurricane forming in the Pacific and when it hit the coast Hawaii, it would be devastating so they should evacuate Hawaii. He listened when they said there would not be enough time or enough ships to move everyone in time.  
 

They told those who could not make it in time to shelter in place. That would be enough. In the year 2096, the state of Hawaii became the first casualty to the last  storm.  

They sent ships to Hawaii. They rescued a hundred and fifty thousand people and fled east toward the coast of California and Oregon. But the storm was too fast and too wide. Two hundred thousand people died on the islands and another one hundred and twenty thousand sank as their ships were capsized in the torrential storm. The remaining population died in the storm awaiting rescue ships that could never come.

Hawaii, born of fire, home to people for five thousand years, was washed away in a single night, all of her people returned to the sea.

Sergei had no time to grieve as the storm approached California. People began evacuating and fleeing to the mountains. Storms break over mountains was the conventional theory. This was no conventional storm. As it came within a thousand miles of California, the rains began. 

The storm slowed over Hawaii and continued to absorb water and energy from the environment. When it began to move again, it was twice the size it had been before. It approached the coast of California, driving in swells of water which damaged anything along the shore, turning any building on the coast to splinters. The forty-foot swells had never been seen and thrashed the coast, drove water into the streets of both Los Angeles and San Francisco. People who did not believe what they had heard about Hawaii re-evaluated and began to run for their lives. How could they have known? 

The roads to the mountains were jammed with cars and trucks. The storm was inexorable. When it reached the coast, the winds were in excess of two hundred fifty miles per hour. Nothing made by man could withstand such winds. Skyscrapers lost windows, cars were flipped and carried for miles, trees uprooted, homes swept away by winds, rain and waves. When the storm reached the mountains, everyone's hopes rose, even as people ignored the carnage. The mountains would break the storm, it would run out of energy and die.  

Instead, it did the unexpected. It turned south, but did not die.

It rode the mountains south, destroying the San Francisco Bay Area, and everyone in it. Heading South, Los Angeles was the next major metropolis to be swept away. The storm was being fed by the Pacific and kept moving south. As the edge of the mountains receded, the storm proceeded East into the Gulf of Mexico and continued to grow. Most of Mexico to the borders of Costa Rica and South America were completely inundated by water. 

Refueled by the heated waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the storm's power increased and with its increased size it affected the Southern mainland states and basically erased them, from Nevada to Florida. Nearly one third of the population of the United States was destroyed in the first forty hours of the Last Storm of the Century. Nearly all of Mexico, and Costa Rica had been decimated. Tens of millions were believed dead.  

As the storm pulled away from the United States, its size increased again, absorbing water from across its entire area, and energy from the very warm waters of the Atlantic, it swept across the Southern tip of Europe, but even that tiny brush destroyed most of the UK, Greece, France, Italy and all of the Mediterranean. At this point, emergency signals criss-cross the globe with everyone trying to determine where the most need for service would appear next.

It didn't matter. 

The storm grew larger and more powerful, as it recrossing the Pacific. It would become immense and unstoppable. It was considered such a threat, militaries threatened to throw nuclear weapons into the heart of the thing. A great carrier attempted, since it had been caught in the wake of the storm to tried to use a nuclear device, but it had no effect. The storm had simply grown too large to do anything.  
 

People fled where ever they thought they could go, but climate models had begun to reveal a startling truth. The storm was so large now, it could feed from any ocean, any where, at nearly any time, until it ran out of energy. Climatologists theorized it would become a permanent fixture on the face of the planet.  Those climatologists called it, The Great White Spot. It swept across the Earth over twenty five times before stabilizing at its current size of one quarter of the globe.

Sergei listened to the radio until the signals grew less and less. Communications from the ground lasted two years, but by the year 2099, there had not been a single radio message he could detect anywhere on the planet. He held out hope that somewhere, somehow, mankind had survived. Until the cloud cover broke enough to see the planet.

Until today. Then he wept like a child.

The mountains were gone, ground away by the five hundred mile an hour winds. The Rockies, the Appalachians, The Himalayans had been scoured from the planet. Nothing made by man had survived. Even the best made skyscrapers had been worn away to nothing. The Earth was a smooth and uniform brown. He stared looking for any landmarks. Nothing remained. 

Sergei lasted a year eating the stored food onboard the ship. The satellite could keep him alive alone for five years, easily but his mind was shattered by what he saw. In order to cope he used climatological models from weather satellites under his control to determine the Great White Spot would last for another twenty years, reducing the earth to little more than a windswept ocean in that time. He then found out that without land, the storm might never stop.   

Sergei Balmasov, the last Human being left alive anywhere opened the bottle of vodka he carried aboard all those years ago and drank a toast. He finished the bottle in about an hour. He set all of his notes into the computer and set a radio broadcast into space repeating what he learned about Humanity during their last days on Earth. He stepped into an airlock without a suit closed the door behind him. He held his breath while he cycled the lock and jumped out into space, with his dying breath he chose to look upon the Earth. 

His message to anyone who might one day come across our blue planet was a tombstone marker. "Here Lies the final resting place of the Human race. We saw the future, but could not embrace it, until it embraced us. May God have mercy on our souls."

The Great White Spot   © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved