I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, dodging my workplace, when I saw Him come in. I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing first because, well, this is San Francisco, and you are liable to see almost anything here. He was wearing the equivalent of a long ragged cloak, stained with age and reeking of an unspeakable odor. 

It was the scent of a recently opened grave, and while I had not been near one in a while, I had put a dead racoon in my garbage can once and left it there for a week in the hot sun. Worst thing I have ever smelled. I was only too happy when the garbage man came. It was worse than that. No one else seemed to notice.

His cloak hid is face but it was safe to assume I didn't really want to look too deep in there anyway. He was carrying a pole with a strange watermark on it and two runnels near the top. His hands were strong looking, like a weightlifter's with veins running through them. I could not see much else of him but he was big, much bigger than I imagined him to be.

See, I figured this had to be the Boatman of the River Styx.

"Cappuccino." he said with a scary baritone.

"Four seventy five, please."

"Are you serious?" was his response.

"Uh. Yes."

He reached into his pocket and put pennies on the counter. Lots of Pennies.

"Sir, we can't take those."

"They're currency aren't they?"

"Sir, they're pennies."

"I get paid in pennies."

"Excuse me, miss, I will take care of this." I found myself reaching into my pocket and paying with a five.

"Keep the change." The crowd was getting kind of hostile and I wasn't sure what might happen if he got pissed off. He looks at her. Reaches across the counter with his large, ham-like hand and touches her chin. 

"Rebecca Montez, angry boyfriend, six years from now, lamp. Unfortunate." She looks at him as if he were crazy but does not move. Almost as if she were under a spell.

He turns to me and says, "Thank you, Daniel Simmons."

"How do you know my name?" I already knew the answer.

"I know all of your names." That voice was really starting to work me. The rhythm of the shop resumed and people went back to typing.

"What are they seeing? How is it only I can see you?"

"Cappuccino, up."

"Uh, that's you."

"Let's sit and talk, Daniel Simmons."

"Okaaaaay." Didn't like where this was going.

I sit down at the table and try to hide my face behind the screen of my laptop so I could resist the temptation to look into his cowl. He reached across the table and closed my laptop, gently.

"So, Charon, what brings you up for coffee? And why is it no one else can see you?"

"Mmmmm. Good cappuccino. Very nice." The cup disappeared into his cowl and did not come back out.

"No one can see me because to them, I am some unfortunate hobo having coffee with an overdress preppy. That would be you. As to why I am here? I need a guide and since you can see me, you are volunteered." 

What could I know about that he would need a guide for?

"I am looking to franchise my business."

"Excuse me?"

"Earth is very busy these days, lots of dying and you guys keep making new ways to kill each other off. I can't keep up. Look at this bicep." He pulls back his sleeve and shows me this massive arm that would not have look out of place on the Incredible Hulk. "Go on, touch it."

"Um, no thanks."

"I used to be scraps of bone and flesh, now I have biceps from pushing that thing." He points outside the window.

For a moment I saw a flash of a large gondola-like boat, about the size of an eighteen wheeler. Off in the distance, I could see people, thousands of them, tens of thousands, standing patiently wearing clothing from what looked like medieval times. Then the street returned to its mundane appearance.

"Yes, I just cleared the backlog from the Black Plague last week. But I still have the Civil War, the Spanish Flu, World War's I and II, and Korea. Do you know how many Russians died out there?" He was starting to sound a little hysterical.

"Uh, what about other death-oriented entities like yourself? Aren't there others out there harvesting the dead?"

"Valkyries are still working, but they only want the valiant dead, so they swoop in and pluck one guy out of thousands, put him on their flying horse and their gone. I've tried shouting out, 'hey, you could grab a few more' but they keep mentioning something about Vahalla having a quality assurance clause and then they're gone. When I complained to the Niflheim Residency Committee, they indicated they aren't responsible for all of these people. They closed their doors when the last of the Vikings bought the farm. Something about Niflheim having a purity standard."

"There are certainly other death agents, yes?"

"Heaven only takes devout Christians. Lets just say that number isn't going up. Same with their other sects. People don't seem to have a desire for really rigid religious structures anymore, so most of those places are closing their doors, or waiting for a management decision from on High. Hell, well its just overflowing. They even changed the sign. Used to say 'Abandon hope all ye who entered here'. Now it says, 'Abandon hope all ye who thought to enter here. Entry denied due to overcrowding.' So, I keep going, moving the Dead into their afterlife of Last Resort. But I am starting to fall behind, so I hoped someone here might have some idea how to franchise this operation." 

"So you're hoping to find people willing to help you ferry the Dead, for a fee. What kind of benefits would you be offering, you need a good benefit package if you are trying to recruit these days."

"I am not trying to enter into Management. I do not want to take responsibility for their work. I want to hand off a section of the workload to other interested parties."

"That's the problem. Who's going to be interested in buying into a business where your job is to move the Dead across the River Styx into the Afterlife of Last Resort? What do they get out of the deal?"

"As long as they work for the Company, they can avoid dying of anything, as long as they manage their company effectively. If I have to pick up their slack, I will carry them across the Threshold myself. I am not interested in who they hire, as long as they get the job done."

"Effectively immortal, long term job security, open hours, free hand in hiring, no micromanaging. I think I am going to quit my job. Okay, what's the cost to buy into this program?"

"2 pennies." Charon voice had begun to grow on me.

"Okay, the first thing we are going to have to do if we are going to work together is to increase the cost of dying. How can you run a business on 2 pennies a soul? Haven't you ever heard of inflation?"

A Cappuccino with Charon © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Wilson Tuchman called "Tuck" by his friends, the few that were still alive sat at the bus stop and waited early on a Saturday morning. It was a warm spring morning, the kind that made you forget your aches and pain and believe the world was going about its business of being beautiful before the heat of summer baked it away. Tuck was a a tall man, easily six feet whose once black wooly hair had faded to a salt and pepper grey. His chocolate brown skin was smooth with a rich wrinkled texture, that when he smiled smoothed away the age from his face. His eyes were bright and clear and people found his wise and knowing gaze easy to bear.

Tuck had been in the habit of making the trip to Lowell Park in the mornings on Saturday to improv with a group of musicians who play outside the city's farmer's market. They were an above average group who played for tips all day. This particular iteration of the group had been playing together for about two years and Tuck enjoyed playing with them. It was the thing that made his weeks bearable since his Sadie passed on.

He was determined to stay active and involved in the community. He heard that men did not live long after their wives died and Tuck, well he was not quite ready to die just yet. Having lived to be seventy-two, he was in no particular rush to meet his Maker. Sadie, bless her soul, had trained him well and he could cook, shop and take reasonably good care of himself. He had to get his hair cut down at the corner shop, something he had not done in years, and discovered he missed the male company. Sadie cut his hair for thirty years and he had grown accustomed to her light hand and special pampering. He trimmed his beard, since no one could cut it the way she did, and after the first butchering at the shop he decided he didn't really like it anyway.

He put on a pair of comfortable slacks and a shirt that didn't bunch up while he played his horn. He wore a pair of comfortable shoes, just in case he had to stand up. Sadie's last gift to him was a pair of gel insoles and he simply loved them. When you get to be old, you just don't realize how comfortable feet make such a difference in your day. He wore a light jacket and a sweater, he didn't know what the weather was going to be like and wanted the option to put on or take off whatever was necessary to keep playing.Tuck loved to play his horn. He had lost his grandfather's horn he played all through the sixties in a fire twenty years ago. It was an heirloom 1927 King Liberty Silver. A beautiful trumpet given to him by his grandfather. He did not know how precious it was but he cared for it meticulously because his grandfather had. 

He taught him how to take it apart and clean every spring, value and chamber. He shined it until it glowed and when he played it, there was nothing that even came close to it. He played it from 1924 when he started in the Diamond Club, a juke joint in the backwoods of Louisiana. He joined the band there and they traveled up and down the Chitlin Circuit for thirty years playing jazz of every melody, style and rhythm. Jazz was in his blood. He even managed to make it to the radio in the fifties and sixties and had half a dozen albums to his name. He married Sadie during that time and their relationship was turbulent to say the least. She used to say that he loved his horn more than her. That wasn't true. The horn just didn't nag him as much about her. 

After he lost the Liberty, he was too distraught and realized he simply couldn't bear to play anymore. He had played other trumpets over the years but they couldn't seem to match the soul his grandfather's trumpet seem to have. Tuck sometimes thought his pater's soul had moved into the trumpet when he died and Tuck was simply a vessel for him to keep playing his music. So in his early fifties, he became a mechanic because he had always been handy with vehicles and repaired them over the years they spent driving the Circuit. He bought a small station and for twenty years made a tidy sum keeping old cars on the road in his corner of Philadelphia. Sadie worked as a librarian and was very, very good with money, so they had more than they needed with his tiny royalty check and her retirement. 

After his retirement, his was a comfortable life. He even bought a new trumpet, a Jaeger. It was functional, with a clean, bright sound. He had mellowed and decided he would let go of his past, his fame, or his reluctance to play anything other than the Liberty. And just like that, his life was good again. He played everyday again and his neighbors loved to hear his muted trumpet whispering tunes of elegance, mystery, sassy tunes of exuberance and a time lost, a time when it was okay to be just a little bit bad.He played at Sadie's funeral. He could not even speak to anyone. So he played. And when he was done, his music reached into them, pulled something out of them, some grief, some sadness, and brought it into the air with them. It sat alongside them, wept with them and then that sadness moved on, just like Sadie did. People left the funeral smiling and filled with light. 

The bus was late, but only a few minutes and he stood up to stretch his legs. As it rounded the corner, he found himself eager to get to the park. It had been a long time since he was eager to do anything. The bus pulled alongside and he allowed most people to get on before him to avoid bumping into anyone with his trumpet. He was the last person to get on the bus. As he moved into the bus, several young people decided to get up and pushed their way through the bus. As they came close to him, the largest shoved him into another passenger and he snatched the trumpet from his hand. As they ran out the door, they startled a flock of pigeons on the sidewalk who scattered and took flight.

Tuck fell over the baby carriage and managed to catch himself before falling onto the young mother and her baby. The bus driver tried to run out after the ruffians but one of them pulled a small firearm and Tuck touched the driver and shook his head. He was not so in love with the Jaeger that anyone should die over it.For a moment, his rage grew and then he heard the small child laugh and look at him. 
"Are you okay, sir? Do you want to file a report?" It took a second for Tuck to realize the driver was talking to him."No. There is no point. It's not like I will get my trumpet back any time soon. I am sure the police will have plenty to keep them busy in this town."

"We have them on the bus camera and may be able to get an ID later."

"Okay, you take my address, and if I am still alive when they find them, and my trumpet, I will happily accept it back. I am certain these good folks have someplace to be, and so do I. I am fine, my gel insoles broke my fall."Several of the riders laughed and a young man offered Tuck a seat. Shaken, he accepted and rode to the park in thoughtful contemplation.

When he got to the park, the Farmers Market was almost finish setting up and the band was tuning their instruments. While he had not be seriously injured, he felt a slight twinge in his hip and knew he would feel it more later. 

"Hey Tuck, where's your horn? You always jam with us. Taking the day off? Williams was another oldster who played the bass. Tuck liked his easy-going manner. 

"No sir, not today it seems. Fate decided that old Jaeger and I needed to go our separate ways."
"What happened?" Jim, the saxophonist stopped warming up and looked up. He was one of the youngest of the musicians barely twenty-five, but he had an old jazz and blue soul.

"Some of the urban yout' decided they needed my horn more than I did."

"I can go handle that if you want me to." Jim's veiled threat was easy to recognize, and despite his old musical soul, he had a modern day blood-lust when pushed to it.

"Let it go, I am going to sit here with you brothers and just relax for a change. I need a break from carrying y'all anyway." Tuck smiled and Williams shook his head.

The group consisted of a double bass, electric piano, sax, alto sax, bass guitar, drums, a cornet when we were lucky, an occasional French horn and until today, at least one trumpet. Fortunately, another trumpet showed up, some new cat nobody knew. He wore a tan linen suit with a red shirt underneath the jacket. His clothing looked comfortable and he was relaxed. He was smoking a cigarette while he relaxed in the back. A cool brother, he introduced himself as Israfel. He was playing some old school horn, something from the thirties from the look of it. Tuck felt a momentary sting of nostalgia for his grandfather's Liberty. The group warmed up and Tuck sat off to the side and just listened.

They started with 'Fly Me to the Moon' and Tuck thought of Sadie. It was one of her favorites and they danced their first dance to it. The vocals were taken up by Israfel's horn. He played it, massaged it, and spun into and out of it. The rest of the band played softly allowing him to carry it. "In other words, please be true, in other words, I love you." A slow piece, the band used it to warm the crowd up, to tease them close. It was a piece most of the older crowd knew and playing it ensured their approach.

Switching to 'Rhapsody in Blue', Israfel soared, his trumpet stomped, disappeared and reappeared across the piece. This was a jazz favorite because while the pure song was wonderful, it lent itself to varied improvisations and could be played allowing each instrument a time to shine. Fast and slow, it offered everyone an opportunity to play alone and together. Tuck remembered this piece as one of his favorites, and was one of the pieces he played on the radio near the end of his career. Many people knew snippets of the song because parts of it were played in cartoons and commercials in the sixties.

Near the end of the piece, Israfel reached into his pocket and pulled out a mouthpiece, still in the wrapper and flipped it to Tuck. Tuck surprised, let it hit him in the chest before catching it. Looking quizzically at Israfel he let the band wrap up the piece. Without a word, Israfel takes his mouthpiece out and hands his horn to Tuck. He nods and Tuck takes it. It feels good. It feels like the old Liberty in his hands. Light, keys smooth, he didn't even feel the need to test it. He put his lips to it and felt it become a part of him.

Williams flags out 'April in Paris' and Tuck steps forward. A strong trumpet piece, Tuck taps his foot and they begin. Israfel moved in the back and found a French horn. As they started playing, the crowd began to gather, a gentle breeze swept in and the vendors in the Farmer's Market, settled into a rhythm, sales were easier, people were friendlier, a gentle and easy peace took place. Tuck played his heart out, the crowd grew larger while they played. They worked it, they stretched it and when they played that last creshendo, Tuck was drenched, sweat flowing easily down his brow. The crowd roared, money was passed forward and they kept playing. The moved through the century, with hit after hit. The crowd rotated but never seemed to grow smaller, when they finally stopped to rest, Israfel came to Tuck and clapped him on his back.

"So, do you like it?" pointing to the trumpet.

Tuck, still a little winded, smiled widely, the first real smile in two years and said, "Oh yes, very much."
Israfel laughed and replied, "In my country, when a man says he likes a thing we are obliged to give it to him. She is yours, now."

"Oh, no, my brother, I could never take something as sweet as this from you. I have never played anything this good since I lost my grandfather's horn. I know it may be a custom, but I could never deny a man his horn."

"It is also bad manners to refuse the gift, my friend. Please take it. It sings for you. Look at this crowd, they were loving it.""Your gift humbles me, my brother. How may I be of service to you?" Tuck was moved and felt a need to reciprocate somehow. What could he offer for such a fine gift?

"The knowledge that you will care for it and love it like I did is enough for me," Israfel replied. He picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. The springtime air had warmed considerably. 

"Where are you going? We still have one more set, we need you." Tuck had reached out to touch Israfel's shoulder.

"You don't need me any longer, my friend. You have everything you ever needed right there. Look on the side of the trumpet."

Looking where he expected to find the manufacturer's name, he saw the word Gabriel spelled out with ornate and beautiful styled lettering. There were patterns woven into the metal, subtle, hard to see, but in the midday light, they were unmistakable. This trumpet was a work of art. Then Tuck had a moment, a moment of memory something he heard as a child. "Isn't Gabriel the name of an Angel?"

"You remember rightly. A Serephim who trumpets for the Lord. Smote Soddam and Gamorrah if my church learning is still righteous. What about him?"

"Am I dead?"

"You look okay to me. You not feeling well?"

"Actually, I feel great, the best I felt in years." Even the twinge in his hip was gone. He stood straighter and taller as if part of him had suddenly returned.

"Then enjoy the Horn. My gift to you."

"Am I going to have to play in Heaven or something?"

"No, Heaven is full up on trumpets. Make your magic here, do what you did today anywhere you wish, any time you want. Your is a special magic no one can give you. You have the magic that comes with time and effort. That word on the Horn is a title, given to the one best suited to move the hearts of men. That, my friend, is now you."

"How long can I do this?"

"Until you are ready to pass it to another who loves it like you do. Or until you're ready to lay down your burdens. Whichever comes first. For as long as you love it, play it and share it, you shall know no want, no fear, no longing.

"What about Sadie?"

"She'll abide till you show up. She said you'd take it. She said you loved your horn more than her."

"But never better." 

"She knows that, too" Israfel turned and walked away.

Tuck, with a lighter step, slid back up to the group and joined in on 'Birdland'.

Hornblower © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

"Is anybody going to get that?" Being the farthest away, I thought it pertinent that I ask, just in case one of the people closer to it, might want to do something about it.

"Get what? I don't see anything. Don't you see I am sleeping?"

No such luck. Perhaps the other one will do better.

"You know, you would see a lot better if you eyes were open. Try it."

Strike two, now let's listen for his excuse...

"I got the last evil. I have no intention of getting down from this tree. Besides its so small, surly he can manage it on his own."

"Are we betting the farm on that?" I tried to be reasonable as I got up to go and squish the latest evil to make its way into the house. I could see it, cloaked around the spider, draped through with the menace we were sent here to face.

Don't mind me. I am just walking here. Look I stopped. Don't want anything. Just moseying along. The spider mumbles to itself as it tries to make it through the room full of cats. The contract it picked up on its way here, said it would be a cakewalk.

Get in, sting the man, drop the venom pack laced with Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (I simply love how that sounds, almost as sexy as latrovenom, only the sexy poison this side of a black widow)and we are outta here. Nobody said anything about cats, a room full of cats, three cats, twelve legs, forty pounds of attitude and no place decent for a spider to get a bite on them.

"Okay, I'll get it. Then I am going on patrol, this is the third one this week."

"Whatever, bring me something back."

"I don't think so Big Boy. If there is anything to be found, I will be eating it all. I won't be bringing anything back."

I am almost to the door, I am going to be able to squeeze under it, and I will be in the clear. Cats can't go under doors. Uh-oh, that thump. That can only mean one thing. Going to have to RUN! I am lightning-streaking through the night. I am a hurricane wind whipping through trees. I am the living embodiment of speed, move left, now right, stop. Dodge. Running like crazy, jump left, missed me. Run again. Oh damn, what is this? A carpet, its plush. Speed is slowed to a crawl. Navigating the strings. Stop. He's right there. His breath is Death, the destroyer of worlds. Being still.

I know I saw it moving toward the door. If he gets under it, the Man will have to handle it himself. Stop, lock the vision, blur for motion, there. I've got him, bounding. He is in the carpet. Hold still.

I know he is there. I can see him, his cold eyes staring down at me, his stilled breath. He is using that cat thing, where they stare you into moving. Well I won't do it. I will stand right here. I will teach him to mess with me. I will be still. I will not move.

Where is it? I know its here. Focus on the motion, lock on to the slightest of motions. Open the pupils, let in every scrap of light. Slow down time. Raise the paw, slowly, ever so slowly. Don't let him see it.

He's staring right at me. Does he see me? He's looking right at me. He's trying to trick me into moving by pretending he can't see me. I'm on to him. Frozen in time. He, hey what's that slow moving shadow? He can see me. I am not going out like this. I will make a run for it. I'm young, I'm fast, I have my whole life ahead of me. I am like lightning...

I don't know where he is. I guess I am going to have to call this one off. Movement, pounce, pounce, flip, flip. Snap. "Mmmm, chewy. You two suck. Its a wonder anything gets done around here."

"And you are so much better than we are..."

"Protect the Man, that is the mission. Is there a part of that statement you don't understand. If you can't do it because we have a metaphysical obligation placed upon us by higher powers, surely you can do it because he feeds you."

At the mention of feeds, Big Boy's ears pop up from their flattened I'm-ignoring-your-rantings state to alert attention. "Go on."

"What? You need more than that? You like to eat, he feeds you. If something happens to him, who knows what will become of us. You know She does not like us. She tolerates us for him."

"Relax Sleek-black, you are too intense. We have to just embrace the coolness of life."

"Look Furball, all of us aren't descended from a bunch of lazy forest-dwelling, long-haired hippies who have been inbred to maintain their flowing locks at the expense of having an IQ in the double-digits."

"Harsh, man. True, but Harsh." Furball curled back up and proceeded to wrap his exceedingly long and amazingly fluffy tail around his supine and curled up body, displaying the aloof, I-can't-hear-you posture.

There is a skittering sound in the kitchen, giant claws skittering across a too clean floor. "Hello, Cats."

Ugh, just what I don't want. A conversation with enthusiasm-mania.

"Heard there was some Evil here. I am ready to fight. Just show me where it is. I am all over it. I will..."

"Stop. We appreciate your eagerness to help fight evil, but, well you're a Dog and dogs were not meant to fight Evil. You're for tackling the mundane issues of life, burglars, dropped broccoli, licking and adoration of the Man and his Mrs. That is your lot in life. Lowly that it may be."

Sleek-black stood up and began to pace as if he were a professor in a classroom with particularly not bright students. His tail waved like a baton emphasizing certain words. "The fighting of Evil," he began with a particular stress on the word evil, strongly delineating the two syllables, 'E-vielll,' "the supernatural menaces that lurk in the dark, things that go bump in the night (when its not us), those things that are just a step away from conquering the world every day, that is the role of the Cat." With the word cat, his tail stood straight out with only the tip pointing at himself.

"Isis gave it to us and we are doomed to fight Evil, not the mundane evil, with the little E, until the end of the world or until we destroy all the Evil left on Earth. So no, to answer your question, we cannot go out and fight evil today. You are ill equipped to do so, lacking the basic criteria required to even acknowledge evil or for that matter even see it."

Big Boy looked up, his shining blue eyes, half lidded followed up with, "Yeah, what he said." He put his head on his paws as he observed the Labrador from high in the main cat tree.

Not to be deterred, Zeus, the dog in question, asked "What if you are attacked by a burglar or some other, what's that word, uh, mundane evil? Could I help then?"

Well technically that was a right good question and I had to think about it for a moment. What did we do when confronted by mundane evil? We ran away, it wasn't our job. "Not saying you have a point or anything but perhaps we could go out together and improve our chances. You can fight evil, and I will destroy, E-veill." Not acknowledging anything about his going out with the dog, or having a Dog along on the quest to destroy Evil, Sleek-black walked past Fur-ball, who was doing as his name suggested, and whacked him in passing.

"What?"

"Cat says what?" Zeus muttered under his breath.

"What?" Fur-ball muttered again before drifting back off into sleep.

"Open that gate, Zeus."

"Okay, Cat."

"You may address me as Sleek-black."

"When we first met, you told me I was never to call you by name."

"And you still aren't. That is my appellation. My callsign as it were to the world of Evil. If you are going to be fighting Evil with me, you will need a appellation so that Evil will know you are coming and fear you."

"Big Dog."

Sigh. "Good enough. Close the door behind you."

Cats Versus Evil © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I found her behind our lines in a field not too far from a downed Messerschmitt Me 262. We had pushed the Germans back out of Paris and had retaken the countryside in early September. I thought she was a local who had been injured when the plane crashed into her house, but she seemed shell-shocked and could barely speak. She was staggering around in some colorful rags and we took her into the improvised field hospital.

We did not have any doctors yet, it was still too soon after taking the territory, so I was the lead medic in charge. We lost Jenkins, the only other medic, so I was working two shifts tending the wounded as best I could. Ronowski was a good kid with his hands so I put him to work cleaning and tending lesser injuries while I did what I could for those who looked like they might make it.

The camp was an old church that hadn't taken too many bullets and kept us out of the rain. It rained nearly every day. The Parisians were nice though and shared what little food there was. No one knew the strange woman, so we assumed she wandered from a nearby province.

She was a right pretty thing, five foot ten, but in her shocked state she seemed diminished and she let me lead her quietly. A French woman, Martinique, likely a Resistance member helped me tend her and we put her in the back rooms of the church.

After we cleaned her up, we noticed she did not have a scratch on her, even though her clothing had been destroyed, she was unmarked. We tried every language we could scrounge up in camp, but she did not seem to have any words at all.

We went out to check through the wreckage of the Messerschmitt and marveled at its technology. We took sketches of the design of the vehicle, its engine and the strange containment devices that were in the bomb bays. Both were broken but they did not appear to be bombs. Once we were done, we returned to the church. We were expecting to be reinforced.

Later that evening, we made a breakthrough with the blond haired woman. After saying my name and tapping my chest, she finally seemed to get some sort of recognition. She tapped herself and said "Helga."

After that, she became a member of the camp, helping with anything and everything. She still didn't talk much but she would smile and occasionally laugh if others were. She followed Martinique around everywhere and the woman graciously tolerated it.

A week after Helga got here, she came running to me and grabbed me. She tried to draw me with her. I picked up my rifle and told Lewis and Franklin to come with me. We double-timed it to a barn and what we saw inside stopped us in our tracks.

We opened fire on it without even questioning what it was because it was ripping Martinique's chest open and eating her vitals. At first glance I would have thought it was an insect except it was the size of a man, and its claws were tearing through Martineque's bones as if they were twigs.

Our bullets bounced off its shell as if it were armored. It drew its antenna back and turned around, broke down the wall of the barn and sped off down the road.

Lewis pulled Helga away from Martinique. He said, "what the hell was that?"

My mind was racing, in this war, I had seen a lot of things but nothing like that. "I don't know, but when it comes back, I intend to give it a much warmer reception."

"How do you know its going to come back, Sarge?"

I looked at both of them and then looked down at Martiniques' body. "Because we are where the food is. We are the food."

We got the townspeople together and explained to them what happened. They did not believe it at first, until the saw the body, and a barn full of holes and no target. I thought until our reinforcements arrived, we would be better off if we stayed closer together, so we took over the small number of homes near the church and established a perimeter and guards. Everyone was issued a weapon and taught how to use it. No one was go anywhere alone. Helga was the only person who did not have a weapon, she refuse to even touch one. After Martinique's death, she would talk to no one, nor stay with anyone but me.

We put a call out on the radio, trying to get an ETA on the backup but we were told it would be a couple more days, so we would just have to tough it out and make due. We put a machine gun nest in the center of the complex to offer a complete field of fire and had snipers in two of the tallest buildings. Nothing we could do but wait. It didn't take long.

I am not sure what made me go out that evening but I felt compelled to walk the perimeter and talk to the men. They were in good spirits and except for the two who had seen it, joked about the idea of a bug hunt. As I was walking back to the church I had the strangest sensation of being watched. I turned to look down the road but I couldn't see anything. I slept with a pistol in my hand.

Around 0400 hours, I heard gunfire, and sat up off of the pew I was sleeping on. It was rifle fire, likely one of the patrols. Then I heard the screaming and I was up and running.

There were only twenty soldiers left and they were all accounted for, so it was likely one of the locals. We ran out and made it as far as the central machine gun station, when one of the snipers launched a flare. We saw Jean-Claude, one of the cooks, running toward us and then before he could move more than a dozen steps, he was sliced in half from behind. The insect was back, and he brought friends. Dozens of them.

Williams, our church sniper had already begun firing and the rest of us bellied up to the sandbags at the machine-gun nest and opened fire with our M1 rifles. Our bullets struck the creatures but only the machine gun seemed to have the power to bring them down easily.

"Concentrate your fire in pairs. Snipers, cover fire only. Somebody get me a damn grenade."

"Coming at ya, Sarge."

One of these cockroach looking things made a dash across the courtyard toward the church and began to climb the wall toward the sniper position.

We tried to knock it down but the armor on its back was too strong.

"Petrelli, there is one coming up the wall right at you!"

There was a scream as the monster crested the wall and a single shot.

Petrelli looked over the wall, gave the thumbs up and kept firing. We held the ground until dawn and had taken no casualties. Or so we thought. When we canvased the area, there were three spots where human blood had been spilled but no humans were found. There were dozens of creatures killed, but they took the bodies, every single one, except for Petrelli's kill. Then the real bad news followed.

"All of the food in the camp is gone, Monsieur. I don't know how they did it, but there is nothing left anywhere. The grounds are picked clean. Only what we had with us in the church is left. They ate every chicken, every goat, every wheel of cheese anywhere." Pierre was beside himself.

Corporal Lewis and Petrelli had taken the body of the monster from the roof and were looking it over for weaknesses. We looked at our ammo and realized we could not have another fire-fight like last night. We simply did not have enough ammo. Only the machine was without fear of running out. The rest of us were down to fifty or sixty rounds apiece. That would not last long in a sustained firefight.

"Right between the center of the head seems to work best." Petrelli's New York accent was thick and it was something the group used to tease him about. "I guess that works no matter who youse are." They laughed. But real fear crossed all of their faces.

"I think we are going to have to make a stand here inside the church. Its got the strongest walls and the fewest windows. I want you to board up everything you can. Use the pews and anything else you can scavenge from town. They don't seem to like the light so avoid the shadows. Remember, they got Martinique when she surprised one in the barn."

"Sarge, I have an idea."

"I'm all ears, Lewis."

"Maybe we can lure them where we want them. And use something besides bullets to kill them. We don't have napalm but we do have gasoline so we could make Molotov cocktails. They seem as flammable as anything else."

"Fine, get a detail and get on it. But that is a plan that will happen while they are far away and while we still have lots of bullets. No sense having any flaming ones running through the camp."

The next few hours were desperate as we did our best to fortify our positions before nightfall. Helga seemed strange and distracted but she worked as hard as anyone to prepare before dark.

We were hunkered down with two squads outside on rooftops for sniping and close protection. We were using shotguns, inside the church and had built a bunker in the center. Our more powerful weapons were outside to try and kill the larger and more aggressive creatures first. Both groups outside could see and cover each other, and had plenty of flares to get through the night if necessary. We had also stationed lanterns down the road and anywhere else we thought the creatures might come from.

With no more food left in town, we knew they would be coming for us.

They came after midnight. They were not shy, they simply came right down the street, one after another, they came down every street from every direction. We shot flares, we threw Molotovs, we burned them, we shot them, we stoned them with traps, they fell into pits, and they still kept coming.

We fought them until four. They would fight, close us retreat, and they did this again and again. Our bullets grew lower and lower. We would soon be down to handguns and shot guns. The two machine guns were still loaded but when they started shooting it took everything we had to keep the enemy off of them. We were down to our last grenades as well. One or two more waves and we would be fighting them hand to hand.

Sniper Team Alpha died first. The creatures saved the best for last. Some of them could fly. They swooped down and simply picked them off in rapid succession. The men managed to kill three more before being dragged away into the darkness. We provided cover for Sniper team Bravo, and pulled them into the church. Our last machine-gun was setup in the doorway to the church which faced the street.

He ran out of bullets at five to five. Our shotguns held them at bay, lacking the power they made up for it in damage dealing. By five thirty we had killed sixty or so right up to the walls of the church. The waves had stopped. It seemed only the last of the creatures were coming. But these were bigger and tougher and could only be killed with a direct close hit to their chest or face. If you were that close you were likely to be getting killed. Petrelli bought it like that. Shot one bastard clean in the head and was sliced apart for his troubles. I want to go like that. Clean.

We had put the townspeople behind us in the church with small arms and they helped when they could. Suddenly the wall behind us exploded and they were being grabbed and dragged away. Helga leaped into the crowd of the creatures and began to bludgeon them with her fists.

Each hit caused a creature to explode into blobs of disgusting flesh. We did not know what we were seeing and we did not care. The last twelve of us rushed up behind her and pointed our shotguns into the masses wherever she wasn't. One of the biggest of the bastards, grabbed her with his claws and I expected him to rip her apart like Petrelli. She screamed and the sound literally turned him into jelly before our eyes.

We fought for another hour, the creatures must have been desperate because they kept coming and fought more savagely, with greater rage. We lost five more after that. All but seven of the twenty townspeople were lost or missing.

Helga seemed to be slowing down, her strength waning. But she did not stop and neither did we. We were so focused that I did not see one coming in behind us. It was a big one. Lewis having only one grenade left, threw himself onto the creature and the grenade detonated under him. Blasting the creature and us. No one saw Helga move. One second she was outside, the next she was in front of me. She took shrapnel that was meant for me.

She fell back into my arms and looked at me. There were shrapnel wounds in her chest, stomach and legs. I could hear small arms going on behind me but they gradually stopped. I looked at her and wondered where she came from, who she was, what she was. And none of that mattered. She saved us.

They told me later, she was a prototype of a German super-soldier that was intercepted and shot down near us. The insects were also a weapon, likely on the same craft. It seemed her memory had been lost in the crash and she only remembered her name. There was some talk of taking her body and dissecting it for science, but no one could find her when they went looking for her later.

When the war ended, we heard of several super-soldiers who had been released into the war, but were all believed to have been destroyed or killed depending on their nature. I returned home, tired from the war, just wanting to forget it happened. My parents had taken care of my little house and it was just the way I remembered it. I flopped down onto my bed and remembered Helga. A wind whipped up and the tree outside my window shook its leaves. The window opened up and a woman landed gently on my bedroom floor.

"We are no longer enemies. And I have never forgotten your kindness."

I ran to her and she swept me up in her powerful arms. How does one begin to forget a goddess? I did not intend to even try.

Übermensch© Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

The Kid fell from the sky, aflame. A black energy coruscated and trailed from his unconscious form. He fell limply, silently, helplessly. His explosive impact drove shards of concrete into the air and an exploding crater released a tower of flaming gas as his powers ignited an underground fuel main. People retreated into whatever cover they could find as automobiles fell from the explosion and the searing heat melted plastic, rubber, and other soft metals nearby. It was hell on Earth.

What followed him moved slowly at first. It was in no hurry. It savored the world into which it found itself thrust. The first two days here, there was no resistance and the creatures were soft, edible, pliant, with mild and crunchy centers. Then a few new ones came, and they were armed with stinging tools, primitive and less effective than nothing. They and their tools were tasty with a slight iron flavoring. Some articles of their clothing were less than tasty, tough with a fibrous consistency. After eating six or eight of them, it decided to peel the rest of the blue guardians and eat only the flesh and bones.

Then they came. The special ones. Most looked like the main food of this world, small, delicate, crunchy, and like the blue guardians, they were armed with tools. Their tools were fantastically more effective than those of the blue guardians. No matter. Nothing of this world can harm me. Nothing at all. Even the fire-star is too weak. I shall enjoy this one, and I shall not share it. Not a morsel will the Others get.

“The Kid is down.”

“He’ll get up. He’s just like his old man was. Stubborn.”

“Any ideas of what we’re dealing with?”

“With the rash of magical threats we have been seeing lately, I think someone has just upped the ante.”

“Oswald, I think we are going to have to hold the line until the big guns get here.”

Thornton Oswald the Third stood looking over the city and realized that the Shrike was right. With The Kid down, Gunner on sabbatical, Kali was coming from Metro City, and Shango out doing whatever magical Protectors of the Crossroads do in their spare time, they would have to hold this thing until reinforcements arrived. But it took The Kid. After Kali and Shango, The Kid was as tough as they come. He lacked his father’s fighting experience, but his durability under fire was unquestioned.

“Shrike, I will need a minute. Can you keep him entertained while I transform?”

“Sure thing, he’ll never see me coming.”

The Shrike, Walter Scott, depressed the studs in his gloves and his suit’s jetpack came online. Extending his arms, large metallic wings with serrated edges extended from them, increased his wing span to twenty feet. “Don’t be late.” With a boom, the Shrike took to the air and dived to attack the creature who stood easily twenty feet tall.

Thornton proceeded to draw a circle of containment in the rooftop gravel. As his cane drew through the rocks, they lit with an eldritch glow. Hearing the boom of the rockets as they roared away, Thornton focused his mind on breaching the boundaries between worlds. To a particular world, a world of feral monsters used by dark magicians and ancient gods, to the Fan-run-dhar-durak - Land of Forgotten Beasts. Once the realm became clear to him, he sought for a particular beast, a creature whose unmistakable might would be tested tonight. He sought the beast called Grimmamon, mightiest of the Beast Lords.

The Shrike swooped fast and his onboard computer, linked directly into his brain, had already plotted the course he needed to strike five times in two passes. His wings comprised of Promethium, a rare alien metal, allowed him to transfer and magnify his kinetic energy, so the longer he flew, the stronger and more dangerous the metal became.

But fly too long and the energy became uncontrollable without a release. So the longer he flew, the more he was forced to fight. Only touching the ground would bleed that energy from him. It was always the delicate dance of fighting and being tougher, but blowing out from not releasing enough energy or returning to his default state where he was weakest just before recharging.

Having flown here, he had already expended a good portion of his energy against the creature. He had damaged this black material called skin and even had drawn blood. But it seemed unaffected and knocked The Kid into next week. If he had been just a second slower, it would have been him. He doubted he would have survived that impact with the ground.

—gonna be fast, be loose, feel the air, float with it, snap the wing, strike, strike, beat the wing, turn, beat the wing turn, snap, snap, strike, strike, strike, away—

His blows were fast, blurs to the naked eye, and each tore into the nacreous flesh with little effect. Once, his wings had sliced through bank vaults back in the days when he was a villain in Metro City.

—Come on, Kid, we ain’t friends or nothing, but right now, I could use the sight of your overconfident face coming out of that fire. I hope Oswald is having more luck than I am.

* * *

Kali was streaking through the sky on her cloud, heading to Paragon City where she received the distress call from the Shrike and the Sorcerer. She was making good time and would arrive in about ten minutes. From this height, the suburbs of Paragon City seemed peaceful. She could see the smoke from the burning buildings ahead, a path of sheer destruction. The old Kali would have liked that; the new Kali was repulsed by such mindless waste.

“Kali Yuga, I have need of you and your darkest aspect.”

“I hate when you call me that, Shango. Where are you?” She really did hate that name; it invoked a violent and destructive past where she was a destroyer of all that she surveyed.

“I am at The Crossroads. There has been a breach and creatures are pouring through. I am attempting to seal it, but I cannot as long as the creatures prevent me from reaching it. I need your help.”

“Asking for help? That is not like you, Thunderer.”

“Nor is needing help, warrior-goddess, but here we are.”

“Can you make the gate? Or shall I follow your whining to the Crossroads?”

“Suffice it to say, you are earning that spanking.”

“Put it on my tab. I will be there shortly, husband.”

Kali focused her will, and her two arms became four. Each of them was armed with a knife of pure spirit. She began a sword dance designed to take her to the Crossroad between Worlds, a magical nexus connecting nearby realms of existence. A particularly puissant sorcerer or other magical being could use it to reach across space and time to other worlds altogether.

As she whirled faster and faster, she began to weave open a doorway, using her spirit blades and her connection to her husband’s god-force. The Shrike would call it a paired quantum connection, but she preferred the magical concept of contagion; once two things are bound together, nothing can keep them apart. She was beginning to feel the connection strongly and could see into the nether dimensions the Crossroad inhabited.

She could sense Shango before she could see him. He was covered by a horde of dark skinned giants. The Crossroad was in the presence of three giant red suns shedding their ruddy light on the scene. Shango was, for a moment, unable to be seen, but then lightning exploded from the ground, and the creatures were thrown back, and for a moment he was clear.

“Woman, what part of your Kali Yuga aspect did you not understand? I need you in your most terrible guise or we are doomed.”

Once she transitioned into the Crossroad, she was behind Shango, and he used his double-headed axe to create a barrier of lightning.

“Good to see you, too. Before we invoke that bitch, do you think we could see what we can do here, first?”

“Do you see that portal? That is where we need to be.”

The distance was only about the length of two football fields, but it was filled with these creatures, each the height of two men, with near human physical attributes. Their heads appeared to be more like an octopus, and their hands instead ended in tentacles. There were hundreds of them.

“Make ready, husband.”

Shango dropped his barrier and released a bolt of lightning, driving a wedge between the creatures, incinerating two dozen of them instantly. In the second it took his lightning to cross one hundred meters, Kali had already slain thirty of the monsters . She stepped through time and space and was everywhere and nowhere. She appeared and disappeared, and each strike laid a creature low. Her face was serene and peaceful as her four blades struck at once. Her superhuman strength made each blow cut deep into their flesh, severing meat and bone like a hot knife through butter.

Shango concentrated his powers and created a series of strikes before her; each of them she slew her way through to the next. When he was too busy to support her, he lent her his lightning and she kept the area around her cleared with her flashing blades and lightning. His double-headed axe flew around him with a cloud of electricity arcing from it to every creature near him. But the creatures were relentless and without fear. As soon as he would clear the area, more would appear.

He looked out and saw Kali was within fifty feet of the portal. He called lightning once more, and as it arced from him toward her, the creatures around him opened their mouths and sharp bones shot out and speared him in his chest and arms. He looked in disbelief; his flesh had the strength of steel. He laughed off high caliber weaponry like rain. What were these things that they could do this?

A searing acid began to burn his flesh, pumped through their ceramic probosci. He howled as his mighty flesh began to burn. Without warning, the creatures blocking his line of sight were cut in half, and two other blades slashed the demons’ tongues. The blades whirled around him and returned to Kali, who had not stopped her dance of death and retrieved her weapons amid flight and continued killing.

Shango, now enraged, drew his power to him, focused his pain and rage and became a thing of pure lightning. The creatures strove to grab him and died instantly, burned to death. As they cleared away, powerful arcs leaped from him to them, and they continued to die. He moved forward slowly, and Kali cut them down as they passed through the portal. He reached her and caught her hand as she struck out at him.

“Enough, my wife. The portal is silent. Perhaps we have earned our invitation.”

“Then let us not be rude to our hosts. They did set forth such a feast for such as us.”

“Indeed.”

They stepped through the portal.

* * *

Meanwhile, Thornton Oswald III completed his summoning ritual with the King of Netherbeasts. Grimmammon took the form of a great cat of immense size. “ Grimmammon, I invoke your service as in the pacts defined by my ancestors.”

“Bah, mortal, why should I bother with your family’s ancient pacts? You have been notoriously lax in your relationship to us. Where are the rituals of blood and souls as in the past?”

“Spare me your pathetic bargaining, hell-beast. Without me and mine, you and yours would have passed into your final existence decades ago. Our world stopped worshipping your kind hundreds of years ago. Look around you. Ask where Lord Arioch and his brethren have gone. Provide your services and enjoy the benefits of our continued relationship.”

“Show me why you summoned me.”

“Look, oh Great One. Tell me what you see.”

Grimmammon looked over the edge of the roof, and his demonic mien grew more stoic. “Our pact ends at the edge of this world, sorcerer. That is an eldritch being from beyond our world.”

“And evidently frightening enough to remove most of your bluster. Tell me more, Great One. Who or what is that creature?”

“A Chaos god from before the time of Arioch, from before time as you measure it.”

“You lie. There were no gods before that time.”

“Silence, pup. There are secrets even the gods keep. These creatures were imprisoned here in an age before yours. You are not the first masters of the Earth. Did you think you were? Ha.”

“Imprisoned?”

“By the First People. They could not destroy them, but they could lock them beneath the Earth, or the Sea, or in Fire. It is said even the very Air imprisons one. I will have no truck with that one, no matter what the price you offer. Its powers likely dwarf mine, the same way mine dwarf yours.”

Oswald thought about what Grimmammon told him, and realized they were out of their depth. Even if Shango and Kali were here, this was a threat greater than they could manage on their own. Since neither of them were here, it was likely they were working on this menace in their own way. “So we will do what we can until they arrive.”

“I know you can see the boy in that conflagration. Bring him here; deposit the flames on the creature. Then you can take your leave. We would not want you to be injured before I can make use of you again. You are weakening with age; perhaps I shall call your rival Shunmaburan instead.”

“As you request, so shall it be. But if you seek to wound my pride, you will find no demon has pride when its survival is at stake. But by all means, if you wish to call Shunmaburan today, and he were not to survive, I would be in your debt. Farewell.”

The old demon stood at the edge of the roof and the flames rose from the crater in the street. The flames swirled as if they were a fire vortex and flew from the crater to surround the otherworldly invader with the terrible fires. The Kid disappeared from the crater and appeared on the roof next to Oswald. Oswald saw the daemon link the fire to the creature, and realized the fire would only last a few minutes before exhausting its fuel. Once surrounded, the creature stopped moving forward, and this bought them some time.

Grimmammon turned away from the roof’s edge. He looked at the boy and said, “Tough, that little one is. A parting gift.” And with that he nodded and stepped back into the gateway in the floor of the roof.

Oswald was not happy with Grimmammon’s parting words. No good comes from gifts from demons. Looking down at The Kid, he saw the boy’s amazing recuperative powers rebuilding him, and in less than two minutes, he sat up, looking angry.

“Wait. We need to talk. There are things you need to know.”

* * *

Carolyn Von Putten was having dinner on the other side of Paragon City when she saw the news. She was finally having the date she had taken a vacation for, and she was determined to enjoy it. She was wearing a black Versace dress with less than modest pumps, showing off her well-muscled body.

She spent days hunting for this dress and wanted to stun Elliot Cole, investigative reporter, right out of his socks. And the dress had the right effect, too. Cole was barely able to speak and the evening was going so well. And then this.

Cole looked at her. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I know you can see that television over there above the bar.”

“And? It’s on the other side of town. If those heroes can’t handle it, we’ll just cut our dinner date a bit short.”

Cole leaned forward and whispered, “What about Gunner? You do realize I know who you are?”

“What?”

“Don’t try to kid the kidder. I have known for some time. I am the ace investigative reporter in Paragon City. Now I know you should be going, and they certainly look like they need you. I don’t see Shango or Kali. Moving fire means the Occultist is there, and that flashing of silver probably means the Shrike, and I have not seen The Kid yet, so I am guessing thirty foot tall monsters warrant your attention?”

“Do you know how long I have waited for this date?”

“And I promise we will get another shot at it, pardon the pun. Now go. Besides, I have a scoop to get.”

“Need a lift? My car is on its way.”

“Nah, you have an image to uphold. Guns blazing and all.”

“See you in a bit.” Carolyn grabbed Cole and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. “Just in case, you’re late to our next date.” She turned and ran out the door. Turning the corner, a midsize SUV pulled alongside and opened the side door.

“Your suit’s in the back. Nice dress. “ The grizzled man driving the car pointed his thumb backward. She hopped up into the back and started stripping. “Get me there, fast. Set up range for heavy weapons long range. Put me on the radio. Shrike, can you hear me?”

“Gunner, enjoying your vacation?”

“Can it, I need you to get some distance and come in hot. I will be there in less than five minutes. Move out and I will come in with explosive ordinance. You follow with a Cannonball.”

“Roger that, fearless leader.”

“Occultist?”

“Yes, Gunner.”

“Where is The Kid?”

“I have him. He has been hurt. He found the creature first and alerted us. He held it until the Shrike and I could help.”

“How is he doing?”

“Tough as nails, ready to go back.”

“Any word from Shango or Kali?”

“None, but I can sense they are not in this world, or at the Crossroads. So they may be involved at another point in the battle. We will have to do what we can.”

“Our goal is to stun and control. Keep it where it is. Can you get the rest of the people out of there?”

“Of course.”

“Once the Kid is up, tell him to wait for my signal. Ten seconds after my signal, he should see a Cannonball. I will need him to grab the Shrike. I will work long range pushing the creature back. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“My contacts tell me it’s not like anything we have ever seen. We better hope Shango and Kali are having better luck than we are.”

“Why?”

“My contacts said the last time these things ruled the world, they destroyed the previous inhabitants.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“Stand by for my signal. Get those people out of there.”

* * *

Shango and Kali stepped through the portal and fell to their knees. The gravity was intense, eight times what they were used to on Earth. The air was thick and heavy. Even with their superior senses, they could barely see through the soup-like atmosphere.

They could hear a chittering sound, something that clicked, popped, sputtered at a variety of distances. Each set of sounds was distinct and otherworldly. Kali stood and began to move her hands in magical gestures.

“The spiritual flow here is weak. Something binds its movement.”

“Draw the god-force from my axe and complete your spell.”

As Kali finished her spell, she looked exhausted, but now she could understand the voices.

“What is it? Why has it come here?”

“It has disease; it comes from elsewhere. Nothing comes here.”

“Make it leave.”

The three voices had a chorus of others that answered them.

“This does not bode well, Kali. I think I liked it better when I didn’t know what they were saying.”

“That can be arranged. What do we do now? I was hoping there would be something to hit over here.”

“It wants to hit us. Why? What did we ever do to it?”

“Kill it. It trespasses on our world. We would never allow that in the past. We have eaten all before now.”

“No haste, visitors are rare; find what they want, first. What do you want, germ invaders?”

“I am Shango the Thunderer and this is Kali Bhavatarini. On our world we are gods. I would see whom I address."

“Gods, you say.
Hahahahahahaha! Such tiny gods.
You must come from a tiny world.”

“Show yourselves, braggart,” Kali shouted out to the darkness.

“Pull back the darkness.”
“We’ll rip your tiny minds apart.”
“Shroud is for your protection.”

Shango raised his axe and began to emit lightning, pushing back the darkness. Kali called her spirit blades and touched them together, increasing the light and dispelling the shroud around them.

“Evil germs want to see what we are?”
“Germ gods can’t listen.”
“So be it.”

The shroud of darkness peeled back slowly like a fog being dispelled. The scene was one of carnage as an alien landscape with the remains of a city all around them. Broken buildings toppled into the streets with all the great structures damaged in one way or another.

In the sky swirled a great mass, where the shroud emanated. Tendrils of both darkness and blackened flesh reached from it. They were immense, and the creature filled the sky with its horror. The pressure on the minds of Kali and Shango increased as its spiritual monstrosity overwhelmed them. Both warrior gods, both having slain tens of thousands in battle, were not prepared for the horror of a creature that had slain billions, entire worlds, holding their souls enslaved within its flesh, the spiritual screams overwhelming them. Their shields diminished, pushed back to their very persons. They stood together to support each other, and held the horror at bay, but it lapped at their shields, tongues of darkness trying to lick them, taste them, just seconds from overwhelming them completely.

They had never seen anything like this.

“Germ gods, you do not see all there is to me. I dwell at the center of the Universe. I lived before your world was even a swirling in the cosmic miasma.

What would you know of godhood?

You are only a little more evolved than the worms of your world.”

Shango laughed loudly and contemptuously at the alien being. “Your living quarters are foul, oh great Universe-dwelling deity. Where are your worshippers? Where are your spires of beauty, showing off your power to your enemies? A poor deity that fouls its nest!” Kali looked at Shango disapprovingly.

“Imprisoned by the creatures here. Unable to enter, unable to leave, I sensed an awakening and strove to find it at the Crossroads of all Realities. But before I could find it and leave, the portal was closed. Wretches bound me to this spot. Hate them I did. Killed all of them. They now serve me as my advance guard. Now I seek my kind everywhere. Only they can free me.”

“What would you know of this creature? He roams my world, free. His power is like yours, dark, an evil before time.” Kali presents a psychic image of the creature in Paragon City.

“He is one of us. Betrayer. He taught them here how to bind me to this spot. In exchange for his imprisonment somewhere else, away from me. Send me to him. I would have my revenge.”

“We cannot send you to him. We cannot break the bindings that lock you here. But we could make it possible for you to bring him here.” Shango looked at Kali, disbelieving what she was proposing.

“Trust me, my husband.”

“Oh yes, I would have him here with me.”

“How would you make this possible?”

“You are, after all, insignificant in power even to one as puny as he.”

Kali spoke to the tendrils of the creature tearing away at her shields, seeking even a momentary doubt to penetrate and strike. “Open your portal again. We will make a portal to our world. You reach through both and pull him back to you.”

“How can I trust you? I trusted him and he deceived me.

I trusted these creatures and they enslaved me. I cannot trust anyone now. Only one of you can go. 

The other stays here.”

They look at each other disbelievingly. They are the last of their kind on their world. Without them, their respective pantheons would lose their last anchors to Earth. Shango readied himself to say something, and Kali touched him on the lips. “You go. Your powers on Earth make you the more suitable choice to create the gate and to drive him into it. I will stay here and play hostage.”

“I will be back for you, my wife.”

“You’d better.”

* * *

The Kid, using his super-speed, ran through the legs of the creature and launched an attack at its chest. His haymaker rocked its footing. Rebounding off its chest, he flipped and landed thirty feet away, just to the right of Gunner.

Gunner in her red and black battle gear held an X-25 rocket rifle, firing a series of explosive grenades into the tentacled face of the beast. The Occultist rained fiery spheres down from the sky, each wrapping a limb in a flaming embrace.

Fire had the most effect on the creature, preventing its continued movement. But that was all they could do. Between The Kid and his speed and strength and the Shrike’s Promethium attacks, they could keep it off-balance. But whenever it moved or flailed about, buildings fell.

Nothing they did caused any permanent damage and they were beginning to tire.

Suddenly the sky darkened and the wind whipped up. Lightning began to swirl at the edges of the skyline.

The Kid, looking up, slowed down the flow of time and saw lightning charges building up right above their heads. Grabbing Gunner, he sped out of the line of the lightning discharge with seconds to spare. His big grin showed this was what he lived for, that last second save that no one but he could pull off. “Got ya, boss lady. I think the cavalry is here.”

“What?” Gunner hated when he did that. He saw something seconds before it happened. Then the lightning strikes began. Each rained down as a driving wind directed them into the face of the creature. Right where she was standing a second ago.

“Occultist,” boomed the voice of Shango from the heavens, “we need a Gate to the Crossroads. Something big enough for our guest.”

“Shrike, where are you?” Gunner extricated herself from the Kid’s very tight and strangely arousing grip.

“Coming in at Mach two. Tell me we have a target or I am going to explode right over you guys. Less than a minute.”

“Come down West Street. We are trying to push the creature to the Crossroads.”

“What good is that? He’ll just come back.”

“It’s what Shango wants.”

“Good enough for me. Fifty seconds.”

The Occultist teleported himself to the ground behind the alien monstrosity and began to form his gate. It was hard to concentrate over the barrage of lightning, and he had to erect a barrier to protect himself. Holding his cane above his head, he warded off the lightning and driving rain pushing the creature back toward him. His incantations steady, he sensed the gateway to the Crossroads opening. And then he sensed it, a creature of the Outer Dark awaiting on the other side!

He balked, holding the spell before completion. Shango is impetuous, stubborn, and sometimes downright irresponsible. But since I don’t see Kali, I have to assume she is somehow involved in this. In the end, this is about trust. I have to trust they have a reason. He completed the spell.

The Shrike, covered in the kinetic energy of his Promethium armor, saw the gateway open up. Diving down, he targeted the creature and saw lightning striking it, as well. Lightning strikes so powerful, the very air seemed aflame in a light so bright, the creature could barely be seen. Never saw Shango like this. Glad we are on the same side now. Four, three, two, one...

The release of the Promethium had to be done at point blank range. It had a release range of less than ten feet. He could turn at this speed, but just barely. To be sure of the effect this time, he would have to cut it closer than he was comfortable with. If I had known this hero gig would be so dangerous, I might have just stayed a villain. He activated his force field a second before impact, bracing himself for the energy release, it would be the equivalent of a Tomahawk missile. The explosion blasted him into the sky as he rebounded from the armored skin of the creature.

Flight controls are gone, diagnostics lights are on everywhere --we’re done. This had better be worth it. He felt his vector changing as he fell downward. Still trying to reboot his armor, he suddenly felt the wind was knocked out of him.

Suddently drapped over the shoulder of the Kid as they bounced off a building, arced through the air and landed on the ground nearly a hundred feet away.

“One day I might miss you.” The Kid laughed and put the Shrike down on the ground, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t remind me. Thanks for the save.”

“Armor systems online.” The Shrike’s powered armor reactivated.

“You might want to work on that reboot speed.” The Kid smiled and streaked away, faster than a Corvette down the street back toward the creature. He plucked hurtling chunks of building out of the air, like flowers, that might strike bystanders as he re-entered the fray.

The combined explosions of the promethium wave, Shango’s lightning strikes, and Gunner’s mini-missiles pushed the creature into the edge of the gateway, but not quite through it. Before anyone could make a further effort, a tendril of blackness reached through the gate, and as it touched our air, burst into flame. It grabbed the monster and pulled it back into the Crossroads. The last thing heard was, “I finally found you, Nyarlethotep. Revenge is ours.”

Without warning the gateway snapped shut.

Shango dropped like a rock from the sky, attempting to cross back into the gateway before it closed. The speed of his landing cracked the concrete. He roared like a madman and began to whirl his axe to create his own portal. The air was aflame with his lightning, but no portal formed. The Occultist walked up behind him and placed his hand on Shango’s shoulder.

“Enough, old friend. The creature from the Outer Dark has temporarily sealed the passage from our world to the Crossroads.”

“It has Kali.”

The gathered heroes fell silent.

* * *

Kali summoned her spirit swords and began the ritual dance of power. Tapping the energies unique to this plane, she bound its power to hers. She felt the lives of The People, and their rage at the creature that destroyed them. She felt their need to lash out, but also their impotence since they are deceased and can no longer affect the world. Her dance said that they could.
They listened.

The portal had been open for some time. She remained peripherally aware of it as the spirits of the dead came to her and followed her dance, each lending its tiny essence to what she was, a goddess of destruction and creation, a goddess of Time and Space. They sensed her kinship to all things in creation, and were at peace.

The portal was rent asunder as the Other suddenly arrived, and the two power-mad creatures tapped the energies of this plane and dozens of others nearby for their conflict. They ignored her and closed the gateway while their battle continued.

“Our deal is done. Release me.”

“Germ gods are in no position to make demands. We have our quarry, and we will use you to get back to your world once we have had our revenge.”

“You will stay with us.”

“We will be free of this place. We taste your world on him. It is to our liking.”

Their conflict was so terrible, nearby shard realms of existence were destroyed as they moved their battle through dimensions. Kali realized this creature never had any intention of letting them go home. That was why she told Shango to leave. She had no intention of staying.

Turning to the gathered spirits she raised her arms and shouted to them, “You seek revenge. Only Kali Yuga can give you that. So I release her to you. Gain your revenge!”

Kali’s dance moved faster, her four arms became eight, and she directed the energy of her death magic through the souls of those damned to be in this place, and they reflected her.

Her spirit blades appeared in their hands . And this happened again and again until there were hundreds of her and the contagion continued, spreading until there were thousands. Each shone with a dark energy that disrupted the very air around them. Slowly they rose into the air and their spirit blades sang out their song of retribution and revenge for their unjust deaths thousands of years before. Tiny stars of black fire began to arc through the air.

The gathered spirits by the thousands turned their energy toward the ancient gods locked in battle. They were not aware of the dark stars surrounding them. Each deity was consumed with its hatred of the other. The crazed tentacled god bound his brethren in a smoky embrace. The dark invader sliced away tentacle after tentacle, even as new ones replaced them. Their struggle destroyed the remnants of the great civilization around them as if they were nothing more than tissue in the path of a hurricane.

Then lead by Kali, the People exacted their revenge. Each hurled itself at the Great Old Ones. Their fiery trail slashed through tentacles and Dark God alike, and their screams of rage were palpable. Once ignored by the Great Old Ones, but no more. Now their rage was given form and a world quaked as bound spirits rose up against their slayer.

Kali Yuga smiled and continued her dance as the sky lit up by the fiery stars of souls enraged. And the Dark Gods knew fear.

* * *

An hour later, a portal opened in the wreckage of the street. Shango stood exactly where the last portal had closed. He knew if she was going to appear, it would be where the walls between worlds was weakest. He could sense it coming, a tell-tale rippling of the space-time at the Crossroads. When she came through she was in her Kali Yuga aspect, her demonic eight armed form was disheveled, battered, barely conscious but still alive. Even in this state, her power was evident, a wave of fear swept the street and people shuddered unconsciously.

Shango reached her in a single step and grabbed her. She slumped into his arms and her Yuga aspect was dispelled. And it was a good thing too. She had a hard time telling friend from foe in that state. He did not know what happened over there, but if she took on this form, she didn’t make any friends.

Ever the optimist, Shango picked her up and laughed. “Look at that! They sent her home, after all. She really doesn’t make for a good hostage.” It wasn’t the first time Shango questioned his wife’s incredible powers. The gathered heroes turned to the wreckage and could hear the sounds of attack helicopters and other military vehicles approaching the scene.

The Shrike looked at Shango, his visor opened, “I know this part. Skipping out from the police was my specialty, remember? We aren’t on the side of the angels anymore. We’re fugitives. That means we run.”

Gunner looked at the Occultist who was already weaving a teleportation spell. “Only for a little while longer, then we are going to fix this. I am tired of running.”

As the military approaches, the people of Paragon City streamed out and quietly blocked the path of the oncoming forces, slowing them significantly.

Gunner looked on, saluteed them and with the spell completed, they faded from view. The bystanders quietly dispersed. The military commander breathed a sigh of relief. Gunner was an American hero. She and her team had saved the world a half a dozen times, at least. He had to follow orders, but he didn’t have to rush.

“They got away again, sir.”

“Don’t you hate when that happens, Lieutenant?” The old colonel smiled, lighting a cigar.

              Our ship dropped out of the Gate inside of Mariovel space. Corvan battlefleets patrolled the area but acknowledged our IFF transponders and allowed us to continue into the starsystem. The red supergiant of the Mariovel system had two smaller red companion stars which were only visible if you knew where to look.After programming the coordinates for the Mariovel homeworld, the WarpRunner jumped and we emerged in the shadow of the goliath of planets. A great banded world of luminous clouds of various shades of pink, gold and browns.

              "Look into the upper hemisphere of the planet. There should be a Great White Spot. That is the space they have create for any visitor's habitation during the planetary refitting. Everything is on schedule, they say the planet will be ready in less than a year." Sitting in the pilot's chair, I was trying to strike up a conversation with a cool and prickly Diplomat of the Hegemony.

              "I understand they produce only one planet a century here?" He was trying to be polite, but I could tell he really didn't want to talk to me.

              Rising to the challenge, "They accepted a contract to create a new Earth for us at the request of the Hegemony's leaders."

              "Your records indicate you live on Galatea II, Captain. What's wrong with Galatea II? It has been the cradle for a majority of the Humani species now for almost a thousand years." He sounded smug as if his reading my records gave him an advantage.

              "Nothing, except it belongs to the Botani who look like trees and don't allow us to make anything out of wood, because everything made of wood might be their kin. Not to mention their symbionts creep me out with their strange cuteness. Other than that, they have been very hospitable. One thousand years is long enough, I think. I hate the idea that we are indebted to the Squids."

              "Captain, I didn't know you were anti-Corvan."

              "I'm not. I just don't like them. You do remember they destroyed the Earth and ten million other humans who did not leave during the Exodus."

              "Ancient history at best. Yes, I have been Transferred three times and am nearly a thousand years old but the Mariovel and the Corvans have a relationship that goes back nearly ten thousand years. So if you hate the Corvans, remember The Mariovel love them, and keep your opinion to yourself."

              Our class six WarpRunner was fitted for the Mariovel home-world and had the adjusted beacons needed to land in the protected regions. We would need a ship designed to interact with the powerful gravity technology of the planet.

              As we approached their home-world, we were struck by its sheer immensity. It defied anything we knew about planets. Three times the literal size of Jupiter, it was surrounded by a gaseous cloud layer similar to most gas giants but that was just part of the story. There were several cloud layers, all the way to the surface of the planet. They had a gravity technology directed from the planet that changed the gravitation constants, allowing visitors from other planets to come to their world and live comfortably during the process of planet crafting. The Great White Spot is their equivalent of a landing pad for visitors.

              Eighteen thousand miles in diameter, the Great White Spot moved slowly in comparison to other storms on the planet. The Mariovel were one of the races of the galaxy's races that had never been conquered or even effectively attacked. Their world was inhospitable to almost any other form of life. The incredible storms that swept the surface with their two thousand mile an hour winds and their crushing atmospheric pressure were able to destroy all but the most durable alien ships. Add the super-gravity of its planetary surface, and most forms of life simply cannot negotiate it. There is also one other aspect which most invaders remember. With a gravity well as deep as theirs, unless the Mariovel allow it, no one who lands, leaves.

              We would not be going to the actual surface, though. We would be stopping at the third layer where buoyant fungi forms were floating through the atmosphere of the planet and were used as a base of operations inside the White Spot. With the surface area of two thousand Earths, this was little more than a tiny way station on their vast planetary surface.

              "Remember, keep your gravity harness active at all times. It keeps you in sync with the artificial gravity generators and in the event of any failure will protect you with an artificial gravity field. Otherwise you would be crushed instantly by your own weight. It also protects you from the atmospheric pressure, so you never want to be anywhere outside of protected areas without it. This is the most dangerous environment you can imagine."

              "I read the brief, Captain. I am aware of the risks."

              "As a diplomat, I understand you have traveled to hundreds of worlds, and your dossier says you have even been to Nalrud, rumored to be the most dangerous world in the Hegemony, but there, it's the lifeforms that are dangerous. Here, even a tiny mistake can be your last. I just wanted to keep you safe Diplomat Sinian."

              "Your concern is noted, my good Captain. Let's get to the surface and to our work."

              "You will be meeting with Chalguldan and what he calls the Planet Crafters Enclave, Division Nine."

              The Diplomat is wearing a Humani standard hardened bio-suit. It has been encrusted with his sigils of accomplishment and awards of state from almost three dozen worlds. The suit is designed to emit information into the infrared and ultraviolet spectra to allow the Mariovel to detect them and with a standard mediasphere connection, they will be able to interpret their meanings and other galactic standard information.

              My own suit is far less ornate, indicating only my rank, my modest accomplishments and my suitability for classified information management. I would be allowed to go everywhere the Diplomat went and able to witness any transactions. It is not necessary for a Diplomat to have a Humani witness for such transactions but it has been a tradition for millennia.

              As the bay doors open on the WarpRunner, we are immediately assaulted by the heated air and the strange smell of the planet. It has a strong ammonia smell, nothing dangerous, but certainly unpleasant. There are other odors as well, one that reminds me strongly of cinnamon, and the other of baking bread. There is quite a wind blowing as well, and it takes a moment to adjust to the force of it. Nothing our suits cannot handle.

              There is a white spongy material on the ground, and then I realize it's the living fungus of that makes up the Spot. I could see buildings off in the distance, also made out of the same materials. There are dozens of different ships here from a variety of the galaxy's races, each negotiating for their own planets or resource development of one sort or another. The sky is white with light from the overhead clouds and at the edges of the of the fungus, I could see lightning flashing as the two weather patterns met. I can see flying creatures in the distance, but remember reading they were actually like everything else on this planet, gigantic in size, only their great distance belied their size.

              Leaving the ship, we are met by a Mariovel in their foglet form. As near as I understand it, they are capable of three different states of being. One is an energy form they use to repair ships when they are part of a Corvan battle fleet. The other is a large and mostly rocky form suitable for almost any environment. In that shape, they are mildly radioactive so they don't tend to use it in the presence of more organic beings. This cloud form is the only one that is not radioactively toxic to any of the Humani tribes. My suit indicates that we are in the presence of Chalguldan and I marvel at the beauty of this state of being.

              Zhe, using the polite non-sexual pronoun, appeared as a starlike collection of nano particles orbiting a larger central mass about the size of an apple. The cloud was about two meters in diameter and twinkled with both internal light and light reflected from the environment. When it spoke, it emitted light that was interpreted by my suit's interface system and translated. I also spoke Galac Six naturally having been trained with biometric and computer languages nearly a hundred years before. I was certain the Diplomat did as well.

              "Greetings are given to esteemed guests."

              "Greetings are accepted from our esteemed hosts."

              "We are available to communicate with you regarding your request for a new planet."

              "Where will we be meeting with the Planet Crafters Enclave, Division Nine?"

              "They are all here. We will be visiting your world in progress. Will that be acceptable?"

              "We will be able to see it?"

              "Yes, Diplomat. But you will not be traveling to the surface, we will just visit to the planetary growth matrix. Understand what you are able to perceive of our technology will simply be representations your minds will be able to conceive of. Do not be distressed if you cannot understand all that you see. Please stand by for transportation. Please inform us if you have any social, moral or cultural taboos regarding quantum teleportation."

              "No Chalguldan, we have no issues with quantum teleportation."

              "Please make yourselves ready, we understand carbon life forms experience disturbances or mild physiological upset with quantum teleportation."

              "We are ready."

              And just like that, we were gone from the spaceport and suddenly what looked like the Earth hung in the sky above me. It was a beautiful as anything I ever remember seeing. There were blue oceans, polar ice glistening from the background light of the Great White area.

              The Diplomat tried not to appear even remotely affected by what we were seeing, but my mouth hung open for several minutes.

              "Esteemed Captain, your biological signals are in disruption, are you in distress?"

              "No, Chalguldan. I am simply in disbelief. This appears to be for all intents and purposes, the Earth as I have seen it only in videos and three dimensional simulations."

              "It is your world, physically in every way possible. Using the information gathered by the Sjurani when they rescued you from your world, we have created your planet accurate to dimensions of less than one meter. With the genetic support of the Sjurani we have filled your biosphere with animals and plants taken from your world. The Sjurani gathered entire sections of your planetary ecosphere and stored them in stasis, until we could study them and recreate them."

              "You have done so much for the project already, Chalguldan, why are we here now in renegotiation?"

              "Diplomat Sinian, we have studied the land masses captured and found environmental pollution at a catastrophic level. Your land masses, water, air and creatures were completely saturated with a variety of environmental poisons that could have only been created by primitive manufacturing techniques."

              Sinian looked up at the planet and marveled at the organic looking structures linked to Earth Two. These great limbs-like structures appeared to hold the planet in place and as the structures reached the planet, they branched out again and again like capillaries surrounding the planet in a fine mesh. However in scale, those fine appearing cables were likely to be hundreds of miles wide.

              "Several of our older brethren were questioning the wisdom of returning your species to a planet that even though it was destroyed through no fault of your own, your species would have made it uninhabitable in less than two hundred years. It has taken us nearly one hundred of your standard years to complete this project. Relatively speaking, your planet's creation has not been difficult for us. But understand, your species will not be capable of such feats for tens of thousands of years at your current level of technology. We would rather give this world to a species that is more appreciative of the wonder of a planet. The question of the Enclave, Division Nine, is how can you assure us of the sanctity of your world to your future generations?"

              "Chalguldan, I think our people have experienced a catastrophic loss and many of them would just as soon never return to the Earth. Many of us have already become part of the Second Diaspora and moved from the Toranor System into Hegemony Space proper. The Humani Tribes are very diverse today, in comparison to when your people received samples of our previous home."

              I found myself growing warm and uncomfortable as I watched the Mariovel's movement pattern grow more complex as if it were assessing the words of the Diplomat. I also notices clouds of other Mariovel approaching our position, pulsing in unison with Chalguldan.

              Sinian continued, his face intensely focused on the vistas slowly turning overhead. "In addition to Humans, we have Simians, Ceteacea, Hybrids, Machine-Kind, the Cyber-immortals and the Transferred. What caused our species to be myopic was our very short lifespans. I have lived fifteen times as long as my kind did back then. I believe we would be more likely to protect that which had been won so dearly and cost the lives of billions of our kind."

              Soon, dozens of Mariovel hovered over us and began exchanging elements from each of their clouds. Elements swarmed over us, around us, and soon we were in a sphere of moving foglet elements. As the elements began to swirl, they began to emit colorful light patterns. At first I thought it was a form of communication but I could find no useful patterns in it.

              Suddenly, Sinian and I were standing in a factory shoveling coal into a furnace. We were sickly and malnourished and every cough produced a black phlegm that seemed in endless supply. Smokestacks blackened the sky in every direction. Sinian collapsed and I carried him outside of the factory. We were taken to a local hospice area where he was pronounced with tuberculosis and only had a few days left to live. I stayed with him while he expired in agony.

              Night fell and we were suddenly wearing masks on our faces and there were deep walls on both sides of us. We carried primitive rifle weapons and were being sent onto a different battlefield in the dark. A cloud of smoke floated into our trench and my mask was not sealed properly. I began to choke and sputter and found my chest burning, searing with unimagined pain. Sinian tried to help me but I could not hear a word he was saying. Soon he is the only one left alive as the green cloud claims the lives of everyone around him.

              Then I found myself running chest deep in water, toward a beach, while exploding rounds rocked the ground in every direction. I was dragging Sinian. He had a wound on his chest and I was watching men dying all around me. It seemed to go on forever. We were forced to take cover behind large metallic X shaped objects as the shelling continued. We made our way up the beach but high caliber rounds ripped men to pieces, their anguished cries for their mothers, rang hollow in my ears, as I struggled not to join them. Sinian is struck in the head and I fall to the sand with the shock of his dead weight.

              I woke in a camp with a high fence wearing a striped uniform. Sinian was nowhere to be found. Everyone was sick and pale and nearly dead from starvation. The smell is terrible. It's the smell of death. The death of thousands. I struggled to rise and stagger outside. The light is so bright. I can hear others whispering and cowering. I saw men carrying guns knocking down a fence and Sinian rushed to me and offered me water. I threw up the water because it had been so long since I had anything to eat.

              We found ourselves in the middle of a rain forest surrounded by crude oil pits carved into the earth, while a multinational corporation extracted it without concern for the indigenous people who lived in the area. Sinian was a corporate worker while I was a member of the locals who was dying from cancer. Sinian spent time with me when his duties allowed it, but he could not stop what the corporation was doing no matter how silvered his tongue. We were both shot while we discussed the horrors of the what was happening and how we were going to expose the corporation's misdeeds.

              We watched as we slowly expired from starvation in what was called Africa as corporation's priced seed out of our families ability to afford it. Our farm stopped producing food and our families starved, one child after another until no one in our village was left. Wars around our villages prevented people from trying to leave sooner. We staggered out, last men standing to try and walk to a neighboring town. We starved to death in transit.

              We watched as the Sjurani spacecraft arrived on Earth and their great starships hovered over every major city. Humanity knew they were coming and followed their instructions to the letter. Sinian and I were leading the teams who gathered animals, plants and people from the North American continent. Every plant, animal, seed, flower, spore that could be gathered together was. Entire swaths of the planet were scooped up and taken away. Sinian and I wept as we were left behind on the planet, chosen by a random lottery. There were alien forces all over the planet. We picked up our weapons and went to defend our world. They overwhelmed our position and as they swarmed us...

              We returned to the Mariovel, their flying elements slowing and returning to their respective bodies. We were both weeping with the shock of each experience. They felt so completely real and each was as if I had been in everyone of those positions. As we gained control of our emotions, Diplomat Sinian stood up enraged and shouted "Chalguldan, that was hardly a fair representation of what humanity had done in their time on Earth. You painted us out as monsters who did not care for each other or the Earth. You ignored our arts, our culture, our best emotions, our greatest gifts to each other."

              "This is true, Diplomat. All that was good in your species was overlooked in this instance for a single reason. That which was good, did not destroy your world. Only that which was bad. Only that which showed difference where there was none, only that which created division when it should have created unity. Greed instead of compassion. Health instead of corruption. War instead of cooperation. All of what we showed to you was true, gathered by your own people. We simply moved through time to see it firsthand."

              "You mean those were not simulations?"

              "No, Captain. We placed you in the minds and lives of those people you experienced. Time and space are infinitely variable to us."

              Sinian sat down, placed his head in his hands and whispered "No."

              "Diplomat Sinian, are you sure?" I kneeled down next to him, the soft loam beneath me.

              He looked up at me, his eyes were bright and hard. "I said, no, Captain. I cannot see why the Mariovel should create a planet for humanity when we were so terrible to each other and the last one we had. In good conscience I could not recommend us at this time."

              "Chalguldan and the Enclave of Planet Crafters, Division Nine, I Diplomat Wells Sinian hereby respectfully request a temporary hold on the planet Earth repopulation project at this time. In the light of the information presented today. I would like to return to the Humani Tribunal to ensure we have a proper plan of development for our new planet, to ensure its long term growth and continued existence."

              "We are pleased to hear your decision, Wells Sinian. While the Earth would have been ready for repopulation in a year, another hundred years would give many of your indigenous animals time to spread out and achieve a homeostatic balance with their new environment. We hope in this time you will also convince your people of a way to achieve a more homeostatic balance with your new home as well."

              Sinian and I stared longingly up at Earth, her deep blue oceans and swaths of green and gold beckoned to us. I helped Diplomat Sinian to his feet and he seemed relieved to have made a decision he could live with. "What are you going to tell the council?" The Mariovel retreated into the distance and I saw Chalguldan flash a brief goodbye in Galac 6 before our instantaneous transmission to the spaceport.

              "The truth, Captain, the truth. The planet needed another century in the oven before we would be ready for it. We've got work to do. Take us home."

The Planet Traders © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

"I went yesterday."

"I went out the day before."

"I don't care who went out, when. Put your guns on and get out there and bring back something to eat. I don't care what it is."

"Yes, Ma."

"See what you did, now she's mad at us."

"I didn't make her mad, you did."

"Anyway, food won't hop into the house by itself. You two get a move on. Get back before dark."

"Yes, Auntie." Ma's sister was almost as mean as she was.

We left the habitat by the back door, and after looking both ways we started down the vine and headed out of the park, into the city. It used to be called Philadelphia; back when stuff like that mattered.

"Did you pack everything?"

"Why do you always ask me if I packed everything, its not like you weren't standing right there, supervising."

 
"Last time we were out, you forgot the wipes."

"So, you were forced to use your hand or some leaves, why should I care, how you handle your business?"
"You suck."

"You ought to know."

"Be quiet. I hear something."

Whenever we go out, we are always very careful. There used to be lots of humies once upon a time, but after They came, there were a lot less. We can see the one closest to the main city. It sits outside of the city proper and sends its parts looking for food. 

Humies learned not to live in the cities if they wanted to avoid being food. Mama said once, cities used to be filled with humies but now, nobody with any sense goes there. That's why there is so much stuff still there. We don't tell Ma, but sometimes we go there and look for stuff. We learned how to avoid the plants and their critters.

"There it is. It's a cabbage-head." 

"I don't like cabbage-heads. We just ate one a few weeks ago. I'd rather eat my boot first 'fore I eat another."

 
"We ate our boots last week, so we probably shouldn't get a cabbage-head anyway, they be the makings of poor boots."

We let the cabbage-head wander off. They weren't too dangerous or too bright and noisy as all get out, so you didn't have to worry 'bout them sneakin' up or anything. They looked like a horse with the head of a cabbage. And they were about as bright.

Then we saw them. And we nodded. That was the target. Razorbacks. That's what mama called them when she taught us to hunt. Razorbacks were part of the Creature, a fast and dangerous part. They hated humies, too.

 
We waited cause there were too many to try and get one. They had six long legs and were really fast even though they were twice as big as a humie. 

"Why don't you watch 'em, while I catch some shut eye."

"kay, its gonna be a while." I liked it better when he slept anyway, its the only relief I get from his godforsaken mouth. We had taken a position near the edge of the city where a lot of the Creature's parts wandered looking for scavenging humies. There was a mild quakin' and I could see the Creature moving closer to the city. It must be real upset or real hungry, it moved a whole dozen feet today. 

There were still humies living in the city, we knew that cause we could see their lights at night, but the Creature did not have many 'spring that moved around after dark. There were a few, but not many. Humies tried to do their scavenging after dark, cause it was a bit safer than when there were hawkwings about.

 
After a couple of hours, the Creature settled down, mostly cause the sky was 'cast and it did not have any shine on it. The razorbacks started moving back toward the Creature. It was taller than all of the buildings near us. Mama said it was nearly five thousand feet tall and when they landed they changed the weather, killing humie by the dozens every second for years. She said something about spores, but I was never good with that science type stuff. My brother was much better.

One of the razorbacks turns and holds still. It starts makin' its supper sound and turning around. We duck behind the heavy rock wall and wait. It turns toward a building near the clearing next to it. A humie runs out and tries to scurry to the next building. The razorback supper sound grows louder as it turns to the humie, locks its legs and charges fast, faster than any humie could hope to be. 

The humie turns around and points a tiny gun at the razorback. Its pop does not even make the razorback blink. The razorback runs past the humie and its skin bursts with blood. It staggers and tries to keep running. The razorback circles and passes again. The touch of its skin rips the flesh off the humie, and after the second pass the humie falls down.

A second humie runs out, he is a bit bigger and is carrying a shotgun. But shoots too soon and the razorback does him in quick. 

"Get up. We got one on the hook."

"I was just startin' to have my favor dream and you ruined it."

"You wants some boots or not. You can walk barefoot for all I care, but I wants some boots. There ain't no better hide than razorback and ain't no better eatin' either. So shut up and get up."

We check our guns and make sure our chems was dry. No sense shooting if nothing happens. I don't want to tangle with a razorback with just my knife if I can avoid it. My brother is good in a fight but it just the two of us these days, so we can't afford to get hurt.

The razorback is so busy eatin' it doesn't even hear us getting close. We hid in the shadows of the building. It don't see too good and we know that having hunted them for years. It was slow going. Ma says no sense rushing if you get et by what you be chasing. By the time we are close enough to shoot, it was getting dark. We would have to gut, skin and carve before the biguns came out.

And then run for home.

As we approached, my brother covered the right and I covered the left, making sure there were no razorbacks hiding that we might have missed. They were group kin, so where there was one, there may be more. The long shadow of the Creature fell over us and we used the cover of its darkness and the setting shine, to sneak up just a few dozen feet from the creature. We aimed, making sure we hit it below the sack in its belly. That was the only part we could eat and we wanted to be sure we didn't just come home with boots. Mama would tan our hide.

We each had three in our shooters. They were hand-made from parts in the city. Three barrels, three chems. I shot first, making sure to hit it in the head. My brother shot second, hitting it in its hind brain. If you didn't get both, it could still trample you with its head shot clean off. We ducked back into the darkness to wait. We couldn't wait long with dark coming but it was always best after bustin' a chem or two. After ten minutes, we went to work.

"Hurry up, you got that sack yet?"

"Don't worry about me, you just get the hide for our boots."

"I am. I am going to get enough for mama to get a coat too. This razorback's skin is good." 

The skin was covered with a fine grade of spines, but they only cut you if you rubbed the wrong way or if the razorback was alive and pushing them up. Even though it was really big, it was delicate and slashed it food, bleeding it before eatin'. The spines and its leathery hide gave it a toughness that made for fine boots.

 
We loaded the sack and the hide into our ruck, and started making our way home. We had to pass by the river on our way back to wash off the blood before going home. No need to make it too easy to find us. The river was not too far off and we made good time.

We waded in quick-like and cleaned ourselves up. We could hear the wind shifting near the Creature and once the shine was completely gone, we knew the Bigguns was on the prowl. Picking up our guns at the shore, we started running back toward our tree. 

We were in too much of a hurry, when we heard a booming sound from the underbrush ahead of us. We had our guns ready, when two of the bigguns burst out, mouths wide open, spit flying everywhere. Each of us took one, I took the right, he took the left. We shot them straight in their mouths. Its the only spot on their bodies not covered in heavy armor. Each chem went straight into their brains and blew up from the inside.

 
We jumped over their bodies and kept running. Others would hear the chem and rush toward food.

We moved through the outskirts of what mama called a suburb. She learned all of this from reading. She said she taught herself when she was young and there were other humies to live with. It had been a long time since other humies lived with us, nearly thirty summers, give or take.

We could hear them coming.

Sounded like three, maybe four. All of the Creature's parts were fast and hungry. If mama were here, we would just turn around and fight, mama was hell on wheels in a fight, but since she hurt her leg a few summers ago when we were surrounded by razorback and hawkwings, she don't hunt with us anymore.

"What ya wanna do?"

"I hear, three, maybe four."

"We only got, a two chem between us."

"we could drop the food and get away, its slowing us down."

"If we come home without food, mama's going to eat us. I would rather be out here with them."

"Just keep running."

When we came to the park, we could see all of the Creature trees that had landed here. Mama said humies learned to kill the trees brains when they was little and we could live in them while they grew. The trees never got their own creatures when they did not have brains and humies learned to live in them and make homes out of them. We could see our tree in the center of the park but it was just too far, we wasn't gonna make it.

"We gonna have to fight, you know that, right."

"I reckon."

"You ready?"

"Don't miss."

"Have I ever?"

"Nope."

They jumped out of the brush and the earth shook with their landing. We dropped our ruck and had our guns out. One chem each. Four Bigguns. They looked so much bigger up close. When we stopped, they stopped. They had go have seen the two others we killed, and no one was volunteering to go first. We used that to get a few dozen more yards, by pointing at whichever moved toward us first. That wasn't gonna work too much longer.

"Biggest one first, on the right. 

"Then the one next to it."

"Got your knife?"

"Yep. Aim for the eyes."

We stopped moving, each of the bigguns with an armored head and a spike collar stood still. They seemed to know we were going to fight. We roared at them at the top of our lungs, and bared our teeth. The largest two responded in kind. And then they were dead. We dropped out guns. 

Pulling our knives, we rushed the next of the creatures while they absorbed the shock of what happened. While they had good vision facing forward they had to turn their whole bodies to see if something moved to the side of them too quickly. With six legs they could do that fast, but only if another one wasn't in the way. While they were trying to negotiate, we slipped to the side of the Biggun and stabbed into its eye sockets with our knives. We were covered in its warm eye jelly and blood and it reared backward knocking us aside with its huge head.

We landed on the ground, hard and our knives were still in the head of the Biggun that was running off into the overgrowth of the suburbs.

The last Biggun, turned toward us and seemed to sense our vulnerability. It stamped the ground and huffed. The tree was right behind us but it might as well have been miles away. With those six legs, he would be on us faster than ugly on my brother.

We stood up, determined to go down fightin', though without weapons, we did not have much of a chance.

 
I looked up at the Creature in the distance. It glowed with a green light once the 'shine was gone. It made it easier for its kin to find it. I could see three others in the distance, each standing still over a different part of the city. My brother and I had managed to live in the shadow of the things for thirty years before dying. 

"You ready?"

"I don't want to die."

"Who said anything about dying?"

"Between the two of us, all we got left is some harsh language."

We started laughing as the creature closed with us. We would do our best.

We heard a swooshing sound, like nothing we had ever heard before. We thought it might be a creature we had not seen yet, so we crouched low, so we could try to get up on the Biggun's back, over its snapping jaws.

And then there was the loudest boom I ever heard. Sharp shards of metal ripped though our skin and we were thrown from our feet. Chunks of Biggun landed on us. There was a crater where the Biggun was. It looked just like the 'rite craters from when the creatures landed all them years ago, only a sight smaller.

My ears were ringing and I was a bit dizzy for a second. I saw my brother was okay with little more than a cut on his forehead and some minor wounds on his chest.

"What were the two of you laughing about down there. Did you see something funny I didn't?"
"No, ma."

"Where are you manners at boys?" The voice was Auntie's.

"Thank you, ma."

"Now get up here and bring me whatever you managed to find out there. You did find something. If not, you bring up that blowed up Biggun meat. Its foul, but you can eat it in a pinch."

"We found something, ma."

"Razorback, your favorite."

"Did you bring me any hide? You know I need a new coat this winter."

"Yes, Ma, we got you and Auntie fixin's for a new coat."

When the smoke cleared we could see Ma looking down on us with some strange contraption on her shoulder. It was a tube with a handle on the bottom and had a orange tip facing down toward us. Her sister was looking out toward the horizon while she stared down at us as we climbed the rope toward the house. The tiny scratches we suffered wouldn't keep us from getting home.

When we got to the house, Ma kissed us while her sister watched the horizon. Then we all turned into the house and slid the ironwood door closed. My brother's arm had a nasty cut and Ma tended it while her sister looked me over and cleaned my arm and chest wounds. 

Both of them fixed our injuries with their medical kit placed between us, with the same speed and the same way at which we butchered that razorback, they were able to tend our wounds, one handed.

It had become second nature because we were injured almost ever time we left the house. We sat facing each other with our arms at our sides. Our huge broad chest was covered with scars from earlier surgeries after being in the field. A quick inventory and they were satisfied we were okay. Our four heads  and two bodies silhouetted in the internal green light of the Creature tree.

"You boys look a right mess, don't they sis."

"They sure do. A right mess. Nothing a meal and a good night sleep won't fix. Go lay down while we make supper."

They kissed each of us and we walked into the back of the house, which was carved out of the flesh of the Creature-tree and saw our bed carved into the wall of the tree. They had already turned it out and fluffed our pillows.

"Face down or face up?"

"Face up. These cuts on my chest hurt."

"Ow."

"Crybaby."

As we lay down and covered up with the blanket, he was out in seconds. We almost didn't make it today. But there is no place I would rather be than right here with my brother, big head and all. I could hear mom and sis walking in the kitchen doing their dinner-making dance, one hand stirring and the other keeping the pot steady, singing some old duet.

I pulled his arm under the blanket and lay back on my own pillow making sure I faced right. He always starts out turned left but ends up turned right in the night. 

He sleeps with his mouth open. I hate that.

Brotherhood © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

"Agent Smallpox is down. I repeat, Agent Smallpox is down." 

"Check your data, have your human centers report in. We have heard this before, it is possible that you're wrong."

Commander Rhinovirus stalked inside the cells of the throat of the head of the CDC. He could not believe what he was hearing. First polio, now smallpox. We were slowly winning the war against Nature's most insidious agent, Man. At least until that last news report.

At first I did not believe it. Agent Smallpox had been our best agent for the last twelve thousand cycles. No Agent had the killing potential, the transferability, the lethality and the overall fear-causing capability that Agent Smallpox, The Maker, bless his viral core, had. 

Then, in the human year 1975, they boasted they would be able to prevent the spread and could eradicate Smallpox. They had a systematic program that would effectively render smallpox extinct everywhere on Earth. Another creature brought to extinction by the hand of Man.

There were only two samples of smallpox left in the entire world, as far as we knew,  the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta, and a Russian facility in Siberia. We had tried numerous times to free them. Tried to cause technicians to become sloppy in their work, tried to get terrorists to liberate them, to no effect. 

I have infiltrated the head of the CDC but he is so strong-willed, I cannot get him to even consider the liberation of the virus. I have convinced him it should not be destroyed, in the event of a spontaneous outbreak or perhaps if a weapon cell were to be initialized by a terrorist group. Unfortunately, weapon cells do not report in, so we never know if they have been destroyed or are just waiting to be released.

Ten thousand years ago, mighty smallpox ravaged entire villages with his pustule causing variola virus. Single handedly he is thought to have killed over five hundred million humans. Few diseases could bast such an amazing body of work. Whipping through villages, spreading like wildfire, killing in days. Those were the days. Man had a healthy respect for disease back then.

They feared us so much they named gods after us; Pestilence of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Nurgel, Lord of Disease, the Nosi, spirits of plague and sickness. They believed their gods dispensed disease among them as a punishment and so did nothing to stop their spread of the disease. They did not understand how we even worked until that accursed "germ theory" idea came about. 

We had been successful in suppressing the idea of germ transmission for centuries. The Hindu texts, the Atharvaveda whispered ideas of causative agents and they even developed means of killing many of our earlier diseases. But we eventually slew them and their ideas fell on deaf ears until 36 BC when 'On Agriculture' tried to preach it again. The author died of a fever three years later. Then the ideas of germ theory stayed hidden again for nearly a thousand germ-filled years. Those were glorious times. 

Then the Moors in their 'Canon of Medicine' posited that clothing could carry infectious agents. Dark days, even while the Black Plague roared through Europe, the seeds of our destruction were already being planted. We were too greedy, to eager to spread, we were not cautious enough and while we devastated the world, we did not destroy it; and man persisted. By the sixteenth century,Girolamo Fracastoro and his ideas of seed-like entities that could travel for miles was the final straw.

Anton van Leeuwenhoek, curse his cells, was the first to document our existence with incontrovertible proof. After that, each idea of how we moved how we worked came faster and faster, soon mankind realized we were everywhere and fought against us in every way possible. But until the discovery of Penicillin, bless the Maker, curse the Maker, man had little recourse for most major diseases and bacteria our primary agent, still ruled the world. 

After Penicillin, our forces demoralized retreated for a time and our greatest Agent Bacteria, found nearly everywhere, and on nearly everything, had been all but defeated. This lead to the rise of the virus to the leadership of disease in our struggle against mankind. Bacterial was relegated to the role of second line commander along with fungus in our attacks against the food supplies of man.

Today the war has taken a new tone, something we don't quite understand, where they try to contain us, weaken us and use us to develop immunity to us. Imagine the horror of being a virus too weak to fight and being decoded and turned into an antibody, an enemy of the state, aiding and abetting. Nothing more tragic than a virus-turned-serum.

We have begun a shadow war now. Since humanity does not seem to be trying cure disease today, only treat the symptoms, we have opted to work on bringing bacteria to the forefront by creating antibiotic-resistant bacteria and placing them in their medical facilities. While their immune systems are weakened, we strike, giving them MRSA, tearing into their flesh and killing them while they look for care. We are getting back our mystique as well, striking without warning, killing mercilessly with things like flesh-eating bacteria and we have learned to turn the media to our benefit, so you can hardly surf the internet without a picture of MRSA or flesh eating bacteria showing up. Propaganda is a powerful tool for our side. 

Our shadow campaign includes STDs which were once incredibly powerful, now they attack the immune systems, wearing down the new breed of healthy, well-fed humans. They sit inside their bodies until they have a moment of weakness, being spread by the young and ignorant, until they are everywhere. Even now, Agent Herpes believes it has infiltrated half of the humans of the civilized world. Not deadly in and of itself, it is a vector for other more dangerous agents such as HIV.

The old standbys still have a place, Diphtheria, Hanta, Ebola, Malaria all do their part by staying out there, working in the shadows waiting for mankind to weaken, to get too far from his technology. To forget he is part of the circle of life.

"Continue on your protocols. I have a meeting with a pharmaceutical company today. They want to tell us how we can manage the symptoms of HIV and ensure the continued economic success of the medical-pharmacological industrial complex."

Humanity is a terrifying creature. It is resilient, intelligent, capable, resistant, durable and deadly. If it weren't so damned big and ugly, it would make one hell of a virus.

A Private Little War © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Stephanie Mehta woke Thursday morning to her clock radio in her tiny apartment in the Russian city of Moscow. Little more than a room with a kitchen and bathroom, she shuffled around slowly until she got her bearings. She was a diminutive Indian woman in her early thirties, with clear skin, long hair and and full lips. Her mother always wondered what was holding up her grandchildren when she had a daughter as beautiful as she was. Just another thing they had to fight about. 

Her Russian Blue, Fedya, hopped up onto counter and nuzzled her, releasing a tiny squeek, indicating his hope for breakfast, sooner than later. She nuzzled him back, and stroked him absently while she tried to remember what there was to eat in her apartment. She knew not to look in the half-height refrigerator, because she had not had anything fresh enough to require refrigeration in quite some time.

The tiny markets on the outskirts of Moscow had been bringing in less food in the last few years. Farmers were complaining about reduced harvests and no one seemed to have any idea why the crops were getting smaller and smaller. Stephanie had taken to growing potatoes in the corner of her apartment from the eyes of earlier generations she had scavenged and had been successful in managing their growth. Her apartment did not have much, but sunlight was in abundance.

"Sorry little one, it looks like potatoes again." His tiny reply seemed resigned to potatoes and he ate them with vigor. "I promise to bring you something that looks like meat from the hospital tonight."

Stephanie washed up quickly trying not to use up her allotment of water for the day. Water shortages were becoming all too frequent since she came here eight years ago to start her residency. She opted to come to Russia because so many of her people started moving north as the rising sea levels drove many Indians into Rangpur. Her mother suggested she move to Russia because of the growing economic prosperity there.

She had since informed her mother that economic prosperity was relative. Yes, Russia was doing better in some ways, and worse in others. For example, India had more doctors but Russia had more hospitals. If she didn't hurry she would be late for her shift. Fortunately she lived in a barracks arrangement right next to the Municipal Hospital No. 15 and it only took her fifteen minutes to walk across the overpass into the main hospital courtyard.

The hospital was busy, people everywhere, babies crying, staff bustling about trying their best to tend to patients. As she danced through the crowds, patients touched her white coat and asked her questions. She tried not to stand still lest she be overrun. They needed to go through the brief paperwork at the desk before they could be seen. She would see as many today as her supervisor would let her.

She was technically a full doctor but he had been reluctant to sign off on her paperwork because it kept her with him here at Fifteen. She would have been upset if she didn't love her job so much, even with the lack of resources, the constant rush of patients, the government interference or any of a number of other issues. She wasn't just a doctor, she was a healer, she wanted to find out how to help as many people as possible.

Ekantika Das, was her last patient of the day and she agreed to take her from her supervisor, Helmut Baum, who had been on for three days straight. Mrs. Das looked tired, strained. She was probably borderline malnourished and dehydrated like most people were these days. The rains had been lest frequent and the summer was one of the hottest on record.

"What brings you in, Mrs. Das?"

She begins tentatively. "Doctor Baum scheduled me to come and see him a few weeks after my miscarriage." Stephanie had looked briefly at the record and saw that she had three miscarriages in less than two years. Each happened earlier and earlier during her term.

"I would like to run a series of tests to see how you are doing and when I am done, we will see what we can do. Do you still want to have children?" Many women if they find they cannot carry to term these days opt to just give up.

"Yes, desperately. My husband and I work as part of a collective on the outskirts of town trying to turn older buildings into hydroponic structures to supplement food output for the greater Moscow area. We are recently wed and would like to have children since neither of us is getting any younger."

"I understand, these tests will be take less than a week, so I will send you an email to schedule your visit."

"Namaste, Doctor."

The rest of the week was uneventful and there was even a slowdown at the hospital. Patients were always reluctant to come to hospitals these days since the number of cases of MRSA had risen in the last twenty years. Over-use of antibiotics had caused the rise in the resistant disease strains. People needed hospitals more than ever but were reluctant at the same time with the risk of a catching a nearly incurable disease while in the hospital.

Later that week, when she got the test results they were unusual but she could not put her finger on it. She went back and checked Dr. Baum's records. He had made some notes about fertility issues in several of his patients and kept working. Something about it seemed strange to Stephanie. There was a momentary lull so she went down to the primitive records databases and made some soft queries using the records of the female population of child bearing ages at the hospital. After a few dozen questions, she made a startling discovery. The number of births at the hospital and in the area in general had dramatically dropped, far below the statistical average. She thought she had done something wrong and double-checked her queries.

These numbers could not be right. This would be a thirty percent reduction in live births in less than a ten year period. Stephanie was tired. She assumed there had to be a mistake and would run the check from home once she got settled.

#

Fedya was enjoying his purloined sirloin and wrestled mightily with it. It was mostly scrap from the senior doctor's kitchen but that mattered little to him. His gusto gave Stephanie a warm glow while she studied the data now from the fourteen nearby hospitals.

She couldn't understand why no one had noticed it before now, but the more she looked at it, the more she could see the scale of this issue. But she would need more information and likely some corroboration with some colleagues, possibly in London. With the new civil war in the U.S. she wasn't likely to get much data except from the neutral states like California or Oregon. So she prepared a datapackage for a variety of hospitals and sent it off. Immediately, she received an instant message.

--IM--

GreenMachine: You are in danger.

Dr. Mehta: Excuse me?

GreenMachine: There is not much time. Can you meet me in an hour at this netaddress? .

Dr. Mehta: Who are you?

Greenmachine: This address is secure, but you cannot be at your apartment. I have slowed the trace but they will find you in twenty-four hours. Pack a bag. Now hurry.

Dr. Mehta: I can't leave my cat.

Greenmachine: Then take him with you but for god's sake hurry. Now get to the coffee shop and we will give you further instructions.

Dr. Mehta: I have no intention of leaving home on the say-so of some unknown IM.

Greenmachine: You have discovered a reduction in birthrates in the area hospitals you work in. You have checked this against local hospitals in the Russian datasphere. You find the information able to be confirmed with an 87% accuracy. Tomorrow you will receive data clusters from your points in London, New Delhi, Mexico, Canada, Brazil. You will see that this trend or worse had happened across the globe. How am I doing?

Dr. Mehta: How do you know this I did all this?

Greenmachine: GO TO THE COFFEE SHOP. NOW.

The IM client connection vanished and she sat up in disbelief. Putting her datakey into her pocket she grabbed her nightbag and packed two changes of clothing, her level 1 Medical ID and all the money she kept in the house. She barely spent any so she should have plenty of money available.

She dropped Fedya off at a friendly neighbor with a generous bribe of her latest potato crop and some cash in the event she is gone longer than a few days. Fedya complained the entire time until she gave him his favorite squeaky toy. Dame Romanov agreed to take care of him. She has always liked him and said he would have plenty of mice to keep his belly full.

When she got to the coffee shop, the terminals were empty because it was near midnight. When the late shift came on the place would fill up, but that would not be for another hour or so. She sat down and put on the wireless earbuds sitting in the sonic cleanser.

As soon as she plugged in her datakey, a video image appeared. The man sitting in the video was in a laboratory with a single tech working in the background. He was wearing a full biosuit so his face was obscured, but she could see this was a real lab with real equipment, not a stage. "Doctor, you have discovered something Consanko does not want known. Birthrates all over the world are declining due to the interactions of a genetic manipulation called 'suicide seeds.'"

"This technology was designed thirty years ago as a means of controlling food production on Earth. Seeds were being designed to fail to produce a new generation of seeds so Consanko would get to be the provider of seeds as it cornered the market on the genetic seed materials all over the planet."

"Once they had patented nearly all of the food crops on the planet, it gathered the genetic materials, mapped the genomes and proceeded to alter the seed products to ensure no seed would be produced by the resultant plants. People would have to pay every season. Needless to say, Consanko grew fabulously rich."

"As scientists had predicted monocultures would be a problem when blight, insects or disease struck, but Consanko had variants it saved for that occasion and their wealth continued to grow until this very day. But I noticed there was a corresponding effect in animal populations that ate feeds created from these plants. They became increasingly sterile. You have now learned the other secret. That it is affecting us as well. Slower but just as effectively."

The lab tech in the background seemed to be working hurriedly. The man in the front of the display, held up a picture. "See this face, memorize it. He is the person you are trying to find. When you look through our upload you will find he knew about everything. Maybe he can help you find the answers you are looking for."

An explosion rocks the room. Smoke starts coming from the ventilation shafts. "We don't have much time. That explosion was a trap set up in the ventilation. They won't try that route again. Our suits will protect us from the gas, but in a few minutes, they will up the ante and we won't survive. Our upload is on its way to you via our intelligent agent. We are destroying any trace of our information to give you as much lead time as possible. Doctor, we are sorry to involve you in this fashion but we had lost hope that anyone would notice. We were going to leave our data to an intelligent agent and hope the first person who found it was as good as you are."

"What do you want me to do?" The sight of an arc cutter coming through the armored door showed their attacker's progress in the attempt to gain access.

"We want you to stop this. There must be a way to reverse it, some way to introduce our reproductive viability back into the species before its lost completely. Our predictions say in 30 years, humanity and most animals will have lost any possibility of reproduction."

"I am not a geneticist. I wouldn't even know where to begin." Mehta was feeling frantic as she watched the smoke grow thicker.

"We know you are not a geneticist but you have other friends. It will take a team to solve this problem, the same way it took a corporation to cause it. We are out of time, Doctor. Godspeed."

End of transmission. End of recording. Agent instructed to your keycodes. All resources are at your discretion.

This was a recording? "Agent, accept vocal input."

Accepting

"How long ago did this recording take place?"

"Two standard days ago."

"Then how were they answering my questions?"

"They weren't they anticipated a variety of responses, I provided the interface adaptations. Doctors Lawrence and Cloverfield have been dead for forty-eight hours."

"How much time do I have before they come looking for me?"

"All temporal estimates are still accurate, as your information requests have been slowed but not stopped. In 24 hours, you will be apprehended, likely by Interpol or the Soviet police as an enemy terrorist. Recommendation: leave the country."

"And go where, pray tell?

"To the coordinates left by the doctors."

"And where is that?"

"The coordinates on the map indicate a location inside the remaining Amazon jungle. It will require one, possibly two major airline flights, one charter flight and likely six to ten hours of ground travel. You should begin now."

"I need to go back to my apartment. I am not ready for this."

"That path is not recommended."

"Let's see you stop me. Agent offline."

Stephanie did not know what she was seeing but she was certain this was some elaborate practical joke. The shaky camera, the explosion, the shutoff of the camera seemed just too dramatic. When she got back to her building, there were several emergency vehicles sitting outside. The lights were off, so whatever it was, it was already over. They were taking several bodies out on stretchers and one of them had a grey cat lying on top of it. It looked like...

"Fedya!" The grey cat jumped down and ran through the street up to Stephanie and she suddenly realized who one of those bodies was. Showing her badge to the paramedic, she asked "Show me the bodies."

When they pulled the covers back from the first one it was the delicate body of Dame Romanov. The second one was Helmut Baum, her boss, her sometimes lover, her friend. He had been shot in the head. Seeing him that way was a blow, like physical thing to the system. She grew lightheaded, and fell back into the arms of a strange man, who had come up behind her.

"Do you know this man, Doctor?" The man's Russian was impeccable and he looked like he could be a policeman, or inspector. His hands were strong, like a vise, and he literally held her up from falling out. He was a giant, wearing an ill fitting suit, as if they could barely find anything to cover him properly. He had a strong face, young looking, but his eyes were hard, sharp, they glittered like flint in the streetlights, the eyes of a man who had seen too much.

"His name is Doctor Helmut Baum." He was in apartment 17. Her apartment. Waiting for her. She said none of these things.

"I am Inspector Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin and I have a few questions for you. The first is where have you been for the last few hours?"

“I was at the coffee shop for the last two hours. Helmut was at the apartment waiting for me to get in. He had just come in from his shift. Can I sit down, Inspector?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you know what happened?” “They appear to have been assassinated. Do you know of any reason they might have been targeted?” Piotr had his own reasons, but he wanted hear her’s first

“No, I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt him. He was a good doctor. He did not have any enemies.” But Stephanie knew it wasn’t true. She had logged in with his address a few days ago, because he was logged in and had a superior clearance. The first traces would have been on his account.

“I am going to have to take you into the field office for questioning, Dr. Mehta. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Can I go to my apartment and put my cat there? Will the police allow him to stay at the scene? If not, can I put him with another neighbor?” These questions came boiling out all once.

“Yes, of course, you can leave him with another neighbor. I will wait right here until you get back.” Piotr shook out a cigarette and lit up as she moved toward the apartment building. The police had already canvassed the property, whoever they were, they were very good. They left no clues, no casings, no signs of forced entry. An inside job, perhaps.

The emergency vehicles pulled off after twenty minutes and she had not returned. He put out his third cigarette and went into the building. She was not at her apartment, but one neighbor did have Fedya. But he said she had left nearly twenty minutes ago. So she knew where to drop the cat, and used the remaining time to get a head start.

Touching his datapad earpiece, he spoke into his mastoid comm, “Agent, put a trace on her medical ID at all the local airports and any recent taxi pickups. Do not alert her to the flags. Just follow and report.”

“Request activated, flags sent out. Will notify.”

Piotr got into his car and headed to the Moscow airport hanger. Sometimes technology is no match for a good hunch. When he got to the airport, his Agent had already found her booking a flight to South America. It was quite a distance for a woman with nothing to hide and very little luggage to pack. He decided he needed to see what was really going on.

“Agent, book corresponding flights, inform Command of itinerary. Log it as active investigation. Inform pilot of intent to carry firearm onboard. Clear security checks.”

“Acknowledged. Activity in progress.”

This is just to ensure her safety and my curiosity. I have not been out of the country for a while, I am sure South America is lovely this time of year. She sat in coach the whole time reading. He was not sure what it was, and did not want to risk having his agent read over her shoulder so he took this time to catch up on his rest. The only thing he could think of was smoking a cigarette the whole flight until he fell asleep. Where could she go?

#

When the plane landed, he knew he would have to confront her. The next leg of the journey was on a small private plane with only twelve seats. It would be hard to remain inconspicuous. The heat was terrible, and the humidity was worse. He took off his jacket and remembered he did not bring any change of clothing so he was going to have to get something local first chance he got.

His training as a KGB agent instantly came online once he landed. There was four hours between the landing and the smaller flight. He took that time to hunt around in the airport for vendors of more local attire. It did not take long for him to find some more comfortable shirts, slacks and a bag to carry his gear with. A pair of sunglasses and a white hat completed the ensemble.

Now, a bit more comfortable, and armed with a selection of local toiletries, he cleaned up, changed and was able to get to the airport runway with plenty of time. The doctor had managed to clean herself up, but it was obvious she had not slept on the flight over and was in need of some rest now.

There was also a man who got off the plane from Russia. He noticed him at first and thought he was just a tourist. But the coincidence of him waiting for the same plane made him more suspicious. He also had the movement of a trained fighter. He walked on the balls of his feet. He kept his hands clear of his pockets. He sat with his back to the wall and facing the entire area.

Piotr tipped his hat forward and slumped his shoulders. The man’s gaze passed over him, stopped momentarily and then moved on. He was looking for something, but Piotr did not know what that might be. Thirty minutes before the flight was due to leave, the small plane landed and taxied into the runway. A crew came out to refuel and inspect the plane. The pilot chatted with his relief and then the preflight was underway.

Suspicious man, began to move closer to the doctor and she did not seem aware of his approach. Piotr also moved closer, sitting behind the two of them, hiding behind a magazine. He sat his gun under his bag in the chair next to him.

“Dr. Mehta. I am going to have to ask you to come with me. British intelligence.” The man’s accent was certainly British, but there was something strange about it.”

“Don’t you have to show me some ID or something?” Stephanie asked. She had a look of intense skepticism mixed with real fear. Something was definitely wrong and she was completely out of her depth.

“Just come with me, miss and we will sort this out in the customs office.” The “agent” reached out to grab her arm and then move up close to her. He whispered something, and Piotr knew what it was. He had a handgun pressed up against her back.

“Excuse me,” Piotr stood up and in his thickest Russian accent asked, “Do you know what time our flight will be leaving?” He was certain they would have almost no chance of understand what he was saying.

“Sod off. I am busy with the lady.”

Piotr took off his hat and held his hand out to Stephanie. “My name is Piotr. And you are?” He could see the recognition and relief in her eyes. But he tried to transmit the idea that they were not out of the woods yet.

“Stephanie. Stephanie Mehta.”

“And your friend?”

“Her friend is telling you to mind your bloody business, Russian.”

“Or what will happen, you will make me eat some bland chips and tasteless fish from your country? Perhaps some of your beer that tastes like piss? My cat makes a stronger brand of beer in his litterbox.”

Whoever this fellow was, he was not a member of British Intelligence. He lost his temper far too easily. Likely a mercenary. He brought his gun out from under his coat and redirected it at Piotr. Exactly as planned. Piotr stepped to the right of the gunman’s hand and with a single maneuver, relieved the man of his gun, breaking two of his fingers. His aggressive wristlock held the man and brought his arm behind his back in a breaking position. It happened so quickly, almost no one saw anything at all. Piotr handed the gun to Stephanie and used his other hand to pat the man down. 

He wasn’t carrying anything else. His ID say is name was Howard Mason, but Piotr doubted the ID was real. Using his real Russian police ID, Mason was taken into custody and Stephanie and Piotr were questioned by the local authorities. Many hours later, it was called a act of random violence, nothing more. But Piotr knew better. It was time to get some answers from the beautiful doctor.

When they were walking back to the smaller plane runway, Stephanie started talking. Piotr decided to keep his request simple and see what she had to say. "It started with the bees. Dr. Sheppard said he noticed first when 'colony collapse' began to show up in the newspapers."

"Who is Dr. Sheppard?" Piotr interrupted.

"He was the leader of the genetic engineering teams who pioneered the last great plant genome modifications. His work created the super-yield wheat, the rust resistant potatoes, the suicide seeds, and the natural insecticides common to almost all plants today. He worked for Consanko for nearly thirty years."

"So your trip here has something to do with him?"

"I was reading the information on the flight here. It had been gathered and collated by two later scientists who were peers that reviewed his papers and were not satisfied by his safety information. They spent the last fifteen years refuting his notes about the "restrictive coding" built into the gene maps of his genetic constructs. It was their contention the genetic transform viruses and bacteria used to modify the plants was completely unable to be contained to that environment."

"So this brings us back to the bees, yes?" She looked at him incredulously. "Yes, I went to school once upon a time."

She continued. "yes, this brings us back to the bees. They moved pollen from the genetically engineered plants, first to their hives, then to other plants. Which ultimately moved them to us. The first signs of the suicide genes were the failure of some bee colonies as their queens became less able to reproduce stable colonies."

"So now you think it has moved into the human population?"

"Correct, if what I have discovered is true, the human race will likely be extinct in less than one hundred years, and unable to reproduce in less than sixty. Consanko has put their poison into the environment on every major land mass on Earth."

"Then this explains why people are trying to kill you, Doctor. You know too much. So I assume this means we are going to talk to Doctor Sheppard?"

"If there is anyone who knows what can be done to reverse this, it would be him."

The small plane captain started ushering people onboard, and the two of them sat in the back of the craft away from everyone else. Piotr sat his gun in his lap under his hat. Stephanie curled up next to him and leaned onto his shoulder and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Piotr, already rested, considered what he knew about corporate politics and industrial espionage and hoped this would end better than this sort of thing usually did. On a good day, only bad people died. On a bad day, everyone did. He checked his backup piece, and stashed a huge knife under his shirt.

The flight, leaving late in the day, arrived eight hours in the early morning, in the small town of Quito, Ecuador. Stephanie woke, still looking tired and out of place. She is just a doctor who has been told the world is coming to an end, Piotr, how do you expect her to look. The only reason you don't look like her, is your world came to an end, a dozen years ago. She reminds you of Natalie. Enough of that, keep your mind in the game.

Two men met them at the runway. Piotr knew them well. It had been nearly eight years since he had been here but these two were still working the rain forest gathering intelligence on the two dozen corporations currently fighting over what was left of it. Javier and Hector Morales, two brothers who worked with the KGB and whose loyalties were relatively unquestioned. They reported regularly, their intel was good, and they were able to keep their noses clean. This made them decent agents and Piotr did not tell them anything more than he needed a car and a decent local map. They didn't know what he needed one for and they didn't care.

"Rasputin, you look terrible." Javier began.

"How is that any different than normal?" Hector finished.

"It is good to see you two, as well. Did you get my request?"

"Yes, your dull Agent made the request and was very clear on what he wanted. Do you really still use the Kinataci 4000 model. It's nearly eight years old." Javier smiled while he teased Piotr. "My wristwatch has more power than your Agent."

"Serious Piotr, we have children here in Ecuador who have better Agents than that. You going to upgrade any time soon?" Hector handed Piotr the map pack and the car keys.

"And who is this lovely creature?" Hector muscled Javier out of the way as Stephanie approached the car after getting her bag.

"My name is Stephanie." She shook hands and took in the quaint little airstrip on the edge of Quito. The car was something from earlier in the century, she did not recognize it, and thought it might actually still use some sort of petrochemical to power it.

"Rasputin, you did not tell us you would be bringing company. Keeping the good things to yourself as usual." Hector smiled, something honest and real and Piotr realized they misinterpreted the relationship. Let it go.

"We have to get moving. When we get back we will share a beer or something before we take off. Thanks for the save."

"No problem. We are always here for you Rasputin. You saved our lives, once. We owe you."

The car was old and serviceable and started up immediately. Neither of them had much to say on the trip, it was hot and miserable and both had grown use to the dry heat of the Moscow summer. Here at the equator, the weather was always hot and wet, with seasonal showers every day at around eleven o'clock and three as the winds shifted.

The GPS on the map said they were nearing their destination. Stephanie realized this was likely the place because they started seeing a variety of hydroponic domes erected for what looked like miles in every direction. These domes were scattered within the forest canopy and seemed to be strangely porous, allowing trees to grow thru them even as they defined an area, each with a sixty foot diameter at the bottom. The dome appeared to be grown and continued to grow with the plants around them. Most were opaque but a few showed levels of transparency and people servicing the plants within.

The domes gave way to a series of smaller prefab buildings. There did not seem to be any security and a driveway with a number of other vehicles parked outside seemed to be a good place to start. They sat for a while, getting the rhythm of the place. Piotr made sure his guns were ready and scanned the grounds for anything out of place. Workers moving canisters on small flatbed trucks seemed to be the only road traffic. Occasionally, a larger twelve-wheeler would roll out or come back into the property.

A bearded man with greying hair got out of a vehicle near one of the campers and Stephanie noticed him. He looked very similar to the photo she was shown on the video clip. She tapped Rasputin on the arm and the two of them walked from the car to the prefab. When they got to the top of the stairs, Piotr entered first and the small man was sitting behind the desk with his gun drawn pointing at him.

"Please come in, your young friend as well. I have been expecting you. Have a seat."

Once they were inside away from the blistering sun, Stephanie welcomed the opportunity to take a seat. The sun seemed to drain the strength from your body. She did not even have the ability to maintain any concern about the firearm pointed in her direction. "Dr. Sheppard, I presume."

Shepard puts the gun back into his desk and points to a small table in the back of his very organized office. "Please, have some water, you will find you sweat quite a bit more than you think here." After they had a glass of water, and then a second, Doctor Shepard got down to business. "Did the company send you? I am surprised it took them this long to find me."

"No, sir, we have come here on the request of Doctors Lawrence and Cloverfield. They said you would know why we were here."

"Did they? Did they tell you what I was doing here?"

"No, they said you were no longer working for Consanko and you expressed some level of regret for what happened."

"Regret? No, my dear. Regret does not even begin to make amends for what I have done. I thought my work here might be enough. Would you like to see it? What about you, young man, you do not look like a scientist. If I were to try and read you, I would say a corporate hit man, government agent, possibly KGB or if they are still in existence, a CIA agent."

"Very good guess, Doctor. So why are you here? If you have no regrets for your work, why retire to this place? You were a very rich man, you could be living anywhere?"

"The answer to your question lies out there. Are you rested enough for the tour. It's the least you can do before you kill me."

The three of them stepped out into the terrible heat of the day and strode toward one of the domes. "I made these domes myself. I designed them to absorb and convert the solar energy into a cooling chamber. I have patented the technology and am making a tidy fortune in the equatorial regions all over the globe."

As they stepped through a simple series of flaps, Stephanie noted the vast difference in the internal temperature of the tent and by the time they were inside the dome proper, the temperature was less than fifty degrees, nearly an eighty degree drop in temperature. The air was cool, even a bit damp and over eighty percent of the sunlight had been dimmed making the area just a bit brighter than sunset. Dr. Sheppard touched a small remote on his wrist and the dome became a bit brighter as the spines of the hexagonal shapes began to glow with a blue light.

"I could make the dome more transparent, but that would bring in more heat, I want to wait until this dome has been harvested. But the polymorphic materials used in the construction of this dome are grown into this location. See?" He pointed to the edge of the dome and Stephanie could see the dome seemed to move into the ground. There did not seem to be any of the construction seams she would have associated with a constructed work. The material covering the hexogons was thick and a bit rough, and it had a scaled appearance. "The scales are a polychromatic material capable of converting sunlight into electrical energy. That electricity is what is used to cool the tent as the fabric absorbs the energy of the air using superconductivity. The energy absorbed is redirected by an underground organic network to a power storage facility which is used to maintain all of the vehicles and other power needs here."

"Why the strange design growing them below the forest canopy?" Stephanie asked.

"Because they are not visible from space," Piotr answered before the doctor could respond. "You said harvest, Doctor. What are you growing?" Piotr walked over to one of the trees and touched the strange formations growing on the trees and in the underbrush. "They look like mushrooms."

"Very astute. Indeed they are mushrooms. Mushrooms of my own design. What do you know about mushrooms?

Piotr looked at Sheppard, and answered. "I like them in my soups and on my steaks. Do I need to know more than that?"

Sheppard laughed and said, "No, I guess not. I hope you really like mushrooms young man."

"What are you talking about, Dr. Sheppard. I came here to discuss a means of reversing the birth reductions in the human and animal populations."

"Young lady, when we first began our studies and first genetic experimentations, we were young and thought we were going to feed the world. We thought we would work with companies like Canseko who would ensure our patents would be protected and we would be able to work with corporate backing. With their money and our skills, no problem of food production could escape us. But they had their own agenda. They rounded up seeds from all over the world, and began to patent the seeds. The seeds! Can you imagine? We were outraged. Seeds belong to everyone, we said. They laughed and called us idealistic and told us to get back to work. We would have less complaints when we were rich."

Dr. Sheppard found a chair near the monitoring station and raised the lighting a bit more. The two of them saw dozens of varieties of mushrooms, all over the room. They had been walking inside a very limited area. Once there was more light, they saw a rainbow of mushrooms, some close to the ground, other towering at three and four feet, shelves of mushrooms growing on the sides of trees. Some of them appeared to be the classic shapes but others looked like ocean waves, some like bushes, but they were all growing harmoniously, beautifully together. She had never seen anything like it.

"We went back to work, on increasing the yield of our newly patented seeds. And with the revolutionary work of Dr. David Lawrence, we succeeded beyond our wildest imagination. Every time we worked on a new patent, we felt like explorers, crossing boundaries that had never been conceived of. We became gods, Promethean in our endeavors, with no thought to the consequences."

Piotr heard the helicopter blades first. His training in warzones made him more alert. The others heard them soon enough.

"We don't have much time. I have been expecting them. I thought you were going to kill me. But now I realize they have been reading my notes. You see when we first started noticing there was a problem, they started burying my ideas. And when Laurence and Cloverfield's work began to show we were wrong and there was the possibility of genetic "pollution" they were killed."

"I thought they were killed two days ago." The look on Stephanie's face was undecipherable.

"They were. Two days and five years ago. I left the company in disgust and refused to do any more work once I had seen the error of my ways. The company refused to acknowledge my work, until recently. Now I suspect they want my help. The work we did was revolutionary and they killed the only two other people who really understood it."

"Then who sent me this message."

"I did." Dr Sheppard stared hard at Stephanie. "I need you to finish my work, here. I needed someone young and idealistic, someone who believed in a future worth fighting for. I need you here to fight for the present while I try and redeem myself and the future of humanity. I wish I had some words that would ease the years ahead. But I don't. Our pride has lead to the fall of our species. I hope I live long enough to make it right. I am an old man. A stupid old man."

"What about Helmut? What happened to him?"

"He had begun his own investigation. I did not find his data flags because he was pursuing it from a different angle. By the time I realized what he was doing, they were already on to him. I am sorry for your loss." Stephanie realized that she did not kill Helmut with her research. This only increased her grief.

The helicopters were close enough to begin landing and the dome began to vibrate with their approach.

Sheppard stood up and walked over to the two of them. "The pollution had spread to all crops everywhere. What Consanko did not release and does not want people to know, is all of their original source seed had been corrupted, as well. So they have been selling seed for the last decades, but the seed they are selling is the last of its kind from the last stockpiles of any seed on Earth. None of it has the ability to create new seeds. What you and your team don't find on your own, won't be found. Mushrooms will feed some of humanity but our conservative estimates are more than two thirds of the human race will die of starvation."

Sheppard looked up and tears flowed from his eyes. "I need you to finish what I have started here. Everything you need is here, all the command codes have already been transferred to you. I have done all of the heavy lifting. All you need to do is teach humanity what we have done here. You were worried about humanity not having a future in a hundred years. I am going to leave here and go with those men landing outside because if I don't, humanity won't have a future in less than ten. Good luck."

Suicide Seed © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Two empires waged an epic war for four hundred years. They raised mighty armies, one wild, savage, filled with monsters, both human and those from the Dark World. The other, fought with god-forged armor and brilliant precision. They were gifted with magic by their Cold Gods, inhuman and merciless. Their battles destroyed everything they touched, leaving the world a shell.

It tore at her as a ravenous beast might; the hunger. She had never believed it could hurt so. Was this what it was like to be so near to dissolution? This tenuous feeling that she might be flying apart, her molecules, thinner than the gossamer she was already forced to be to feed. She was the thickness of a butterfly's wing; a wisp floating in space.

The sun took up one third of the sky. Its gravity clawed at her, pulled her, drew her toward it. She looked around and prepared to redirect her course away from the star. Where was the gas giant? She looked around and only then did she realize she had miscalculated and was heading directly toward the world which was supposed to be her refuge. She had planned to come up from behind it, scoop the atmospheric mass that she needed, make the repairs necessary and leave once her drive was recharged. 

     I arrived at the temple when I was just a child of eleven summers. The bandits that killed my family were the remnants of an enemy army that had been routed by the Clockwork King during the early part of his reign. At that time, we had been told he was the best thing for the land and would reunite our people under a single leader.

     I was an orphan, it was decided, since I could read and write I would be sent to live with the priests near Mount Hakaurai. The priests who took me up the mountain led several other children with us, but they cried all the time and could not be comforted. Eventually they were given to me to lead as the priests walked out in front of us and told us to follow, but not too close.

     The trail was dusty and hard. The priests kept up a pace that was difficult and I had a hard time keeping up. The two younger children were even less able. I even carried the smaller one for a while. Whenever we would stop for the night, I would have to take them to the woods to relieve themselves while the priests foraged for food. I had never been more than a day or two from home, so the approach to the mountains seemed miraculous to me. There were waving forests of bamboo grass blowing in the wind, the air was filled with the drone of insects, and the breeze was sweet and cool, even a bit chilled in the first part of the day, but it always warmed up later and became pleasant.

     Gruff but not cruel, when we came around a particular pass, the priests stopped and pointed ahead. The appearance of the surrounding mountains was that of a jagged row of bottom teeth. Mount Hakaurai was one of a dozen spearlike mountains covered with trees near top. At the very tips of each mountain was a dusting of snow like a tiny hat. As we approached we could see the winding road that would lead to the top and it would take at least two more days to get there.

     "Master, who made this road to the temple?" I asked because it appeared to be made of a strange rock I had never seen before, it had a quality that made it glow in the evening light.

     "Let us set up camp, acolyte-to-be and we will share with you the tale of the Scaled Road of Mount Hakaurai." The priests seemed to be in better spirits once they got closer to home, so I put off their apparent earlier rudeness to their fear of the recent bandit attacks. As we were getting the camp ready, as the sun set, the Scaled Road flashed with a ripple of fire that moved quickly up the mountain. It was a marvelous effect and quieted the two younger boys for the first time on the trip. Chikamasa, the younger had been sick for the first few days and the monks took him with them to the river, and promised that Jiro and I would be allowed to go and clean up, once they got back.

     Chikamasa and the priests came back to the camp, and the boy was looking much better. He said they had been giving him some leaves to eat and others to drink in tea and it was helping. We got our chance to go to the river and cleaned our clothes and our selves. This was the first time in days we had been really able to clean up and it was wonderful. I thought this time with the priests might not be such a terrible thing. Not as good as home, but not as terrible as I first thought.

     When we got back to the camp, the priests were preparing a rabbit they caught near the road. The area at the foot of the mountains was so green and forested, there were plants and animals everywhere. Master Gen, the second oldest of the priests, was tending the rabbit, having rubbed it in exotic salts and spices, it smelled so good, I could barely wait to eat.

     "While the rabbit is cooking, let's tell that tale," said Master Shikamaru, who was the oldest of the three priests. There was once a celestial dragon, Akira the wise, who was said to be the cleverest of the Celestial King of Heaven's court. It is said when there was a need of an answer to a question or riddle, Lord Akira was always the first consulted. When Lord Akira did not know the answer he would fly to the Earth and quest until he found the answer he sought. It was said he knew every flower, every tree, every animal and could speak the language of every creature." He paused to take a sip of his tea and looked into our faces in the firelight. We were eager to hear more of his tale, and he paused dramatically before continuing.

     "One afternoon, after a great argument in the Celestial Heaven, Lord Akira flew to Earth greatly perturbed by the arguments of the celestial named Akum, dark lord of the Underworld. Akum, while unloved by many in the Court was a renowned and miraculous seer. He predicted the end of the Celestial Heavens and that a great sorcerer-priest would lead an army of demons against them. When he was asked from whence that Sorcerer-priest would be born, he was unable to divine the answer. Lord Akira volunteered to find the answer to the question of the Sorcerer-Priest and flew to the Earth.

     "Celestial dragons did not fly with wings, they undulated their bodies like giant snakes in the sky. So as he approached anywhere, he was a giant ribbon of light. So whenever he came near villages, people were always terrified of him and fled or fainted until he left. He swept the land seeking the answer to the question of the greatest sorcerer-priest until he heard tell of a priest of our Order. He flew to our mountain and landed, draping himself around the mountain from the top where his head stood at the gates to our temple to the bottom of the mountain.

     "He called out to the temple and at the time, Master Po was the greatest of our Order and he came out to confront him.

     'Ho Lord Akira, Celestial Dragon of the Heavens, what brings you to our humble temple?'

     'I am told the greatest sorcerer-priest in the world resides here and I would question him.'

     'You do us great honor, Lord Akira, but no such person dwells within. He is but a legend to us as well. It is said that one day, we will house within our walls, the greatest sorcerer to ever live. He shall have the power to turn day into night, his spiritual power shall give him dominion over the very stuff of life itself. But today, he does not exist.'

     'Then perhaps it would be best if your temple were to cease to exist. For such a force might one day rival the heavens themselves.'

     'And what would be wrong with that Lord Akira?'

     Akira tried to take flight in that moment and found he could not rise. Mount Hakaurai had been covered with hikaru dorodango, spheres of elemental mud, created from the Nine Realms, each capable of holding the spiritual essence of the nine chakras. Once Lord Akira landed, his powers were being drained away without his knowledge.

     Master Po, used his Chi to try and subdue the great dragon and their battle of wills took place. It was said they struggled for nine days and nine nights, locked in place. So great was the struggle, nothing could move near them. Priests who tried were struck dead. At the end of the nine days, the great dragon won his freedom. But his thrashings left the scales upon what would become the road to our mountain temple."

     "What happened to Master Po? Jiro asked."

     "Master Po's chi entered into the temple gate and protects us to this day. He determines who is worthy to enter the temple and removes those who would harm us." This came from the least friendly of the priests, Sasume the Grim. "Master Po was my master many years ago and I was saddened by his loss to us."

     Jiro piped up, "But Master, you said he became part of the great temple gate. Doesn't that mean he is still there?

     "Yes, child, in a way. But his body passed on a few days later and we are only able to see him when new acolytes come to the temple."

     I noticed they did not answer the most important question, so I thought I would ask it. "What happened to Lord Akira and his quest to find the greatest sorcerer-priest?"

     "That is a story for another day, children. It is late. Eat your supper. Tomorrow's climb will be hard. We must reach the halfway point to get to the shelter or sleep again in the open. Mount Hakaurai is not kind if you sleep in the open at night."

     The next morning was cold and overcast, there was a low-lying fog which reduced our ability to see more than a few miles and Mount Hakaurai was obscured from view. The priests were up early and packed the camp while we slept. They woke us last and hurried us along. They did their best to hide their furtive glances but I saw they were agitated and distressed. We all but ran up the path toward the mountain.

     As we approached, I found it harder to breathe. It was as if there were something squeezing me. My head felt heavy and my shoulders felt as if there was a weight upon them.

     "Do you feel it, boy? Sasume whispered? Do you feel the spiritual pressure of the mountain? I told you, he was touched, Gen. The seer was right. He feels the pressure this far from the mountain."

     "Shut up, Sasume. You will frighten the boy unduly. There is nothing to be afraid of. What you are feeling is called spiritual pressure. Those of us with naturally high chakras can sense the energy of the mountain and until you are properly trained, it will feel as if you are bearing a great weight. It will not harm you. When you learn to understand spiritual pressure, you will be able to sense the power and capabilities of your opponents if they possess chi abilities equal or better than your own."

     "Yes, Master," was all I could get out. Sasume grabbed me by the arm and dragged me along the path. The two little ones kept up best they could. When we reached the foot of the mountain, the day was half gone. Master Gen, looking at me, made a series of hand-signs, his hands moving in a variety of unusual shapes and then pressed them against my chest.

     "This will help a little as we climb. You must concentrate and silence your inner thoughts. The mountain feeds upon your inner fears. Now hurry." He grabbed up Jiro and put him on his back, Master Shikamaru, picked up Chikamasa, and the three priests moved as quickly as I had ever seen them. As we approached the path, my vision began to blur and I could swear I saw a shimmering coming from the road itself. Then Sasume shook me and continued to drag me up the road. I could feel a heat from the road as well, something that made my feet tingle.

     We moved up the mountain and while we climbed we passed several large spheres. Perfectly round, shiny and each was a different color. There were smaller ones spaced around them and they too were comprised of different colors and possibly different materials. We rushed past the first one so quickly, I hardly noticed it. But when we reached the second, I could see it with my blurred vision as a luminous sphere connected to the smaller ones near it and to the very road itself. When I looked at the road, suddenly I could sense something else. "Someone is following us." I blurted out before realizing what I was saying.

     "Yes, I have felt it for some time now. How could you have known?" Master Sasume looked at me. "You felt it? You can feel the Road?"

     "I'm not sure what I am feeling but its as if I can hear them talking. They are coming fast up the road. They mean us harm."

     "Then I shall stay." Master Gen puts down Chikamasa, and turns to sit on the road. Take them to the refuge. You will be safe once you get there. I will entertain our guests. Come here boy." He looked at me. You cannot afford to fall into their hands. I will teach you something now, you will need to know, but it will be painful and you will regret learning it this way. Give me your hands."

     I was terrified. His eyes had turned completely black and his hands had turned purple with a power I had never seen before. When my vision blurred, he was not just a man, he was a series of spheres, some brighter than others, and this flesh was just a tiny portion of what he was. He took my hands and I could see my own spheres, they were inside me glowing, each equally, until he took my hands, then I could feel my rage growing, my internal chakras flashed with new lights and then it burned, like I was on fire. I could not see, could not hear, all my senses were lost in an explosion so bright, the world turned white, the color of death. He let go and I was free. I could breath again and the pressure of the mountain was gone. I was light like air and knew things. Strange things, I had never known before. "Run, boy." I ran. I ran like the wind. I caught up to the priests who had gone ahead and they were moving fast, incredibly fast, their sandals slapping the road with a powerful rhythm. I matched them easily. The road melted away.

     When night was falling, we approached a small building. It was surrounded with the tiny spheres in the same number, nine, spaced equally around it. As we entered, I could feel the pulse of pressure and realized this was not just an ordinary shelter. As we entered we saw the road shimmer in the weak sunlight and it glowed again, just before sunset.

     "Whatever you see outside that door, you are not to set foot out there again until morning. You can affect nothing and no one." Master Sasume went to to the back of the building to make dinner. I felt compelled to stand in the doorway. It was open but I could not feel the wind from the road. I could see down the mountain and the evening fog had hidden the roots from view. It was then that I saw them leaping out of the fog. They were armored but not like the bandits who wore scraps of different armors stolen from battlefields of the dead. These were complete armors, beautiful and shining softly with their own light. The men were fighting someone, a priest from the robes. As he retreated up the mountain, his kung fu was masterful. He fought the entire group of at least twenty and as he retreated, each hundred steps they took, they paid for it with another man.

     They were approaching the shelter and darkness was falling. I could still see him and their battle was slowing down. He was being struck, a nick here, a cut there and then their mighty spear thrusts caught him. Before he died, he released his red chakra and the five who held him with their spears burst into flames and died with him. He landed on the ground and turned toward me. I could see him looking at me and then he closed his eyes.

The last ten of the ghostly warriors continued up the path, but they looked around as if they were expecting attack. As they approached the orb, they did not seem to be able to see us, but they kept coming. As they grew closer, I could see the glowing sigil of a great dragon on their chests, the sigil of Lord Akira.

     "Step away from the door, boy. You should not see what will happen to them." Sasume was grinning while eating some cold bread and smoked fish he had found in the pantry. Jiro and Chikamasa were so hungry they did not even look up from their plates. I could not help myself. I stayed at the door and watched as the orb we were somehow inside of began to draw their life essence into itself. They tried to resist, they used magics, but this only seem to hasten the process. The more they struggled the faster they died. They screamed while they died; an endless thing. Eventually, they lay still. The light from their magical armor was consumed and then, their very flesh. I could not sleep after that.

     Come morning, there was little to indicate anything had happened out there at all. The priests did not seem relieve however and we continued to run up the mountain until we reached the final staircase. I could see the gates at the top of the stairs. Sasume pushed Jiro and Chikamasa ahead of Master Shikamaru and he looked at me. "You must get to the gate, no matter what. This is where we part ways. You had better be worth this. Don't look back."

     Master Shikamaru made a series of handsigns and then grab Jiro and put him on his back and Chikamasa in his arms, he started leaping up the stairwell. When I looked back at Sasume, he was standing at the foot of the stairs and more of the armored men appeared, this time many of them with beautiful bows with wickedly-tipped arrows that shimmered in the morning light.

     Sasume stood at the ready, in a horse stance, legs bowed and arms at his side as the archers aimed and fired. He radiated power and the arrows struck him but did no damaged, each broken as if it had struck a wall. The archers fired several times and then retreated. We continued to climb the stairs and halfway to the top, we looked back. Swordsmen had engaged Sasume and he was holding them at bay. But his iron skin was not as strong as their swords and each hit took a bit of his armor away. But every time he struck one of them, they exploded with the force of his attacks. But the end was near for him. When we were within a few feet of the top of the stairs, he fell for the last time.

     The soldiers then began to climb the stairwell and would be all over us in a few minutes. When we reached the top of the stairs, we could see the Great Gate of the Temple. It was an archway that stood twenty meters high made of black stone that had been worked to perfection. Even in the morning light, it did not shimmer, rather it absorbed the light, and seemed to harness it to create more darkness. Then it spoke. "Bring them to me."

     Master Shikamaru moved the two boys to the gate and beckoned me as well. I could hear the voice of Master Po and did not know which would be worse, to approach the gate or to wait for the soldiers. I went to the gate. Two men had already died to get me this far. When Master Shikamaru took the children to the gate, both seemed asleep until they cross the threshold. Then they bolted upright and fell to the ground right out of Master Shikamaru arms. And they lay there, unmoving. "They were..." The pause was long. "Unworthy."

     "Come boy, are you the stuff of legend?"

I looked over at Jiro and Chikamasa and my vision blurred. I could see their spheres going out one after another. I could see them, sense them struggling to hold on to life. I ran to them and touched them as they lay under the gate. I could feel this power, this terrible power as they poured into me, as if I were a refuge for their spirits.

     "Boy, what have you done? They were mine to consume. How dare you interfere? Ah, look, you have the mark. I can see it on you. The darkness dwells within you. You are the one."

     All I could see was Jiro and Chikamasa on the ground and hear the voice of Master Po above me. I felt the fire of Master Gen inside of me, burning and I could hear the sounds of the warriors as they crested the stairs. Master Shikamaru stood next to me and plucked two arrows from the air right before they struck me in the back.

     I turned around and felt the well of power of the Celestial Dragon, Lord Akira, in the air, in the ground, bound tightly inside of the Gate of Hakaurai. I could sense the energy of Lord Akira inside of these soldiers and I realized they wanted me dead. Me. I did not know them, had never done anything to them, and they wanted to kill me. I reached down to the earth and touched the power of Lord Akira bound there by the dark magics of Master Po. and I reached up and grabbed Master Po, I could feel him trying to take control of me, trying to make my body his. I pulled the dark and the light together.

     Master Shikamaru was blown off the mountain when those two forces came together. His was the only death I regret that day.

     The soldiers of Lord Akira were, no matter where they were on the mountain, destroyed and absorbed into the defenses of the mountain itself. Their arms and armor were the only sign they were ever there. The Great Gate exploded and the temple walls nearest to the gate were destroyed as if a bomb had been released there. The Black Gate was no more. I stood in the center of the explosion clutching the bodies of two small boys to my chest.

     The priests climbed over the wreckage of the walls and got down on one knee before me. Then they led me into the temple and I slept for twenty days. When I awoke, they had cleaned me, dressed my injuries and told me I was the one foretold of by Akuma. I was the one who would cast down the unrighteous oppression of the gods upon man. They made this pronouncement to me as if it was the most normal thing in the world. They stood stoically looking at me waiting for my response. "I do not want that."

     "It does not matter what you want. It is fated to be this way."

     "What if I defy my fate?"

     "Then you doom the world to whatever would take the place of your great work. No seer can see beyond that point."

     "How will I take over the world when the Clockwork King has already destroyed any who oppose him?"

     "Look within you. Feel inside yourself." The Priest who addressed me was old, far older than Master Gen. I could see his age upon him like a cloak.

     I closed my eyes and could feel my chakra. I could feel the power of four beings within me. And four lifetimes.

     "We will train you, Dark One. And when you have outlived petty kings and even their kingdoms, you will be ready to topple Heaven itself.

     "And if I chose to destroy the Clockwork King myself?" He murdered my family and my friends, everyone and everything I knew.

     "Then we shall make you ready for that, as well. Rest, tomorrow we begin your training."

     And we did. The next forty years would see me gather power and skills as no man had ever had. Grandmaster Yinre, the priest who saw to all of my training would die as I became the ruler of Mount Hakaurai and its temple. As my power grew, my sense of Master Gen faded as his life energies left me. I could still feel Jiro and Chikamasa's energy searing within me. I could also feel oily evil that was Master Po searching for a way to make my power his. Who knew a lifetime would fly by so quickly?

     The lands of the Clockwork King grew and eventually bordered my own. I knew my time had come. I set out that morning, the temple bustling with the young monks who would one day become my army. But first, I had to see the land for myself. I set off to view my enemy firsthand.

Hikaru Dorodango © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

As luck would have it, Mankind's first official interaction with an alien species (that was not covered up successfully by the government) was with the Warlords of Hurumpharump. If you sound like you are clearing your throat when you are saying it, you are saying it right; when in doubt, cough and add more phlegm.

When their mighty spaceships, fifty miles wide, appeared above every major city on Earth, humanity wet its collective pants and waited for the end. For ten days, they hovered there. I hate to admit it, but we did not behave very well. There was the requisite gnashing of teeth, weeping, some self-flagellation amongst the Catholics who were forced to admit, that perhaps we had not been made in His image after all. Seeing how these aliens had been able to do something we could not, perhaps He was made in their image.

Wholesale looting, riots, destruction of government property were the order of the day until martial law had been declared nearly all over the world. Most governments cracked down on their populations until quiet streets were the order of the day. People went out to shop for food and supplies and quickly returned home. Stock markets all over the planet went offline, for fear of catastrophic collapse during this time of crisis. But nothing happened.

After two weeks of hovering there, people went back to work and tried to ignore the alien ships. Once people had resumed their normal lives; as normal as one's life could be with a fifty mile wide alien spaceship hovering above your city, the alien ships simply disappeared. All but one. The ship over New York did not leave.

News reports of the disappearance of the other alien craft caused jubilation in some, trepidation in others. Most assumed the end of the world was nigh and we had been found wanting. Scientists madly searched the sky for any trace of the aliens and nothing could be discovered.

The next morning after the other ships left, a bright beam of light, brighter than any light on Earth, except for the sun itself speared down to Earth, illuminating a five mile circle of all encompassing light. Humans within the beam, stopped moving and only those at the fringe of the beam could see what was happening within.

The aliens floated slowly and majestically to the surface of the planet and began to create a space filled with deciding non-terrestrial plants. Many of them moved, swaying to an unheard music, tentacles whipping about, and occassionally squirting a strange and noxious fluid that dissolved anything it came in contact with. Several humans, who were frozen nearby disintegrated in a pink mist as they exploded from contact with the plant venom.

The military watched from the fringe of the light barrier after several of their missiles failed to penetrate it and fell to Earth, unmoving but still quite active. After destroying several blocks of Manhattan with cruise missiles that fell far short of the target, the Navy resorted to 20 mm guns. They too, flew unerringly to the target until they reached the barrier then they promptly exploded scattering shrapnel everyone on the outside of the light shield. Dozens of people were unfortunately killed.

The president decided that he would tell the military to stand down before they killed any more New Yorkers by getting the idea that a nuclear strike would be a good option to try next. Since the military could not destroy the aliens, they were forced to watch and record. Cameras were pointed into the field only to find out, once they were turned on, they did not record anything inside it.

Then artists were given binoculars and told to paint, draw, create images of the aliens as detailed as possible. Each artist did their best to create an image as true to the aliens as they could. When the military later compared all of their drawings, each one was as different as could be. Not a single image resembled any of the creatures and none of the images resembled each other. None of the artists seem to think this was strange or out of place. What most people saw were suits of armor that seemed to be made of a metal that absorbed light. They were matt black in appearance and only small lights could be made out on the fronts and backs of the suits. Each suit carried a staff-like object which seemed to function as a multi-tool. They could destroy matter or recreate matter with the same tool.

Unable to record effectively, the military was forced to use trained observers to try and remember every possible detail they could. They would of course find out a few days later, most of those observers would remember a picnic or birthday party or some other event they enjoyed and would not be able to be convinced otherwise they were not reporting anything useful to their commanding officers. It took two days for the alien table, chairs, exotic plants and force field generators to be ready.

The President of the United States sat in his office and talked to me, an anthropologist by trade, what I though the aliens wanted. I was about to answer that question when there was a flash of light and we were both transported, along with two Secret Service agents to the center of the alien sitting area. Seconds later, every leader of every major population group on the planet began to appear, rapidly filling the entire space the aliens had created.

Food, appeared as mysteriously as we did and I decided to sit down and eat one of the apples, golden in color, from the table. It was the most amazing thing I had ever eaten. The Secret Service agents shook their heads while I tasted the apple. I assume they thought I was taking a considerable risk, but I did not think so. If they wanted to kill us, they did not have to teleport us here to do it. They could have, just as easily destroyed us in transit, or teleported a bomb to our office. Besides, the President was a cheapskate, he did not even spring for a lunch before out meeting and I was starving.

I offered the President a bite, but he look incredulously at me, so I kept eating. Once everyone had settled down, the alien plants moved up behind us and stood quietly.

"People and leaders of Earth. We are the Warlords of Hurumpharump and we are here to conquer your planet. In an effort to be civilized, we have sent away our fleet and left a single vessel over your major metropolis, New York. This was done to let you know, we do not consider you a threat in any way and it would be best for all of us, if your people surrender peacefully and become servants to our House."

The alien voice did not appear to emanate from any particular alien. They had all stopped moving once the speaking took place and stood quietly in their black battlesuits. Did I mention they were nearly fifteen feet tall? From a distance, without something to scale them against, it was quite a shock to be looking up at the terrifying image of an extraterrestrial with ideas of conquest you have to actually look up at. The alien voice continued.

"As our servants, you will enjoy lives of productive work, rather than going to offices and shuffling piles of paper from copier to closet. Why bother pretending to be working on financial derivatives when you know you would rather be working in the fields, producing Triliaifid for our armies. Once you learn how to train them and control them, you will be excellent Triliaifid harvesters. We do not expect to lose more than fifty percent of your entire species in the first year. As you grow more experienced, that number will diminish significantly and by year five, your population will begin to stabilize and return to positive numbers."

All of the faces around the table looked shocked and unbelieving at what they were hearing. Fifty percent of the population in a single year? The cheap President, Walter Fox, stood up and adjusted his tie before speaking. "Walter Fox, Republican, President of the United States, the most powerful nation on Earth. I greet you in the name of our gathered coalition of friends from all over the globe."

His voice seemed to carry to everyone sitting around the courtyard and several weak smiles returned to faces, as his familiar voice and oratory speech patterns returned order to the world. For a moment, even my head had stopped spinning and I was beginning to feel hopeful, some kind of other resolution would be reached.

"We are aware of who you are President Fox. Please sit down. Your species lacks the proper ability to resist us and by the standards of the Galactic Treaties of Confederation, your world now belongs to us, by right of Conquest."

By right of Conquest. Hmmm. I had an idea. But I remember my mother saying better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. I stood up, adjusted my tie and horn-rimmed glasses and proceeded to make a statement that would affect the lives of billions. No pressure. "Excuse me, great Warlords of Hurumpharump (I have an ear for language, so I added the proper juicy inflection. I had to pass the President my pocket hankerchief afterward.) masters of the Triliaifid and possible rulers of Earth, I would ask if there are any rules of conflict or engagement that might stipulate how combat between our species should be fought?"

The Hurumpharump turned toward each other and then walked away from their positions behind the table to huddle together. The President looked up at me after wiping his jacket but before he could speak, the Hurumpharump answered.

"The Codex of War says we have the option of engaging in any contest we deem an effective display of strength. We studied your planet for weeks and determined your military effectiveness could not prevent us from dominating your world."

"Surely, such an advanced species would not consider it to be civilized to simply destroy a species without offering them a sporting chance to engage in a form of combat where true prowess could be determined."

They huddled again.

"Continue your proposal."

"I propose we engage in a physical contest where technology is not a factor, allowing us both to see the other and relate as equals. If you are going to dominate us, it would be better if we knew that no matter the circumstances you would be superior to us. Otherwise, as a species, we will simply rebel and rebel again."

"This is reasonable. Name your contest."

Looking out over the area, I realized we were in a park with a recreation center nearby. Then the idea struck me and I knew in my gut, it was the right choice.

"Baseball. The contest is nine innings of baseball."

#

"Are you out of your mind, Doctor? Did you agree to risk the entire human race on a game of baseball?"

"I don't see the problem, Mr. President, the Hurumpharump agreed to play and would not wear their battle-armors. They only required a month to learn to play the game. They were certain their physical superiority would be enough to learn to play well enough to beat us. Frankly, it seemed better than depending on the military to win a contest with them. We can't even take a picture of them unless they want us to. Were you really depending on the military to win? Mr. President, I understand the risks, but at least this way we get one shot at not becoming a harvesting world of Triliaifid spores where half the human race dies on the job."

"How do you know they will keep their word?"

"President Fox, your politician is showing again. These are not politicians, they are warriors. They do not lie to an enemy they do not have to. These creatures are beings of honor. I may not know much about them, but I do know this, they will keep their word. They never had to give it in the first place, so it must have value to their culture."

As I left the office, I turned to the President to say, "I trust you will keep your political interests out of your negotiations, sir. If they discover you might tell a lie, they may be inclined to kill you when they discover it. I would go with open honest discourse whenever you deal with them. I know you are a politician, so it might be a stretch for you. Do your best."

"Where will you be, Doctor, in case I need you?"

"With them, of course."

#

The Hurumpharump had a few conditions. They would be given access to a trainer or coach well versed in the game. As a matter of fact, they wanted the best the Earth had to offer. In addition, they wanted us to put up a stake to ensure we would give them the best training possible. They decided we would surrender every major league baseball player over the age of eighteen as a collateral.

The only team that would be exempt would be team they play against. If that team won, they would be allowed to retain their lives. If they lost, their lives were forfeit, and the Hurumpharump would rule the Earth for one thousand Earth years or five hundred birth cycles of the Triliaifid, whichever came first. Occasionally, a particularly fecund planet might alter they cycle, allowing them to reproduce even faster than normal. This has a slight effect on the handler's population but the benefits outweigh the risk.

Coach David Reynold's, who at the time was the coach of the World Series Champions, the San Francisco Giants, was chosen to represent the Hurumpharump team. Earth's all-star team would be coached by the Coach of the New York Mets, Nevil Maynard. The all-stars were chosen from teams all over the Earth and for the next thirty days, they would be training harder than ever. The game would be held in Yankee Stadium in New York and would be simulcast all over the world in real time.

The Hurumpharump desired to train in Florida, because without their suits, they preferred the heat and humidity. Fortunately for them (and I guess for us) it was summer in New York, so it was likely to be hot and humid during the game. It was to be held August 30.

To reduce issues of coordination, every baseball player on Earth was teleported to the light field and the all-stars were chosen from their number. Once a team was chosen, nine players and nine alternates, and three pitchers, the team was teleported to a secure location to begin their practice. They would be fed, trained and cared for, but would not be allowed to see, or interact with anyone until the game.

Coach Reynolds and myself as well as a team of seven alternative trainers would also be on hand to assist the Hurumpharump during their development. Once we gave them the specification for a baseball field, physical dimensions, physical makeup, cage, stadium and specifications they recreated one on their ship, seconds before we arrived in it, so I am told.

It was Yankee Stadium in every way (except there was no gum under the seats and no one hawking and spilling beer on me while I watched). When the Hurumpharump teleported us all to their field, they opened their suits of armor by running their hands down an invisible seam in the front and the suit peeled away showing a semi-organic, semi-machine based device/organism. Oh I wanted to be able to take a picture but I satisfied myself with attempting to memorize everything and hoped they would allow me to take my memories home with me. We were told once everything had been established, this field would be transported to an area in Florida, temporarily so they could enjoy the heat and humidity there.

When their suits opened, the smell was horrible, almost as if something had crawled into their suits and died. They were pastel colored and no two possessed exactly the same hues, shades or color patterns. Some shared certain color characteristics but I could not be sure what the riot of colors meant. Each possessed excellent muscle tone and a shimmering scale-like skin. Their eyes were large and had multicolored iris-like fields, super responsive pupils and multiple eyelids, both an inner and an outer one.

Their bodies were bilaterally similar and relatively evenly proportioned. Without their suits, they were still six to seven feet tall and all had very well developed teeth. Judging from the size of their craniums, they had a very good brain to body ratio, slightly better than ours, so they are at least as intelligent as we are. I would only know more if I had the option to observe their brains in action. I would have to enjoy what I learned without the benefit of hands on study at this time.

Once out of their suits, they were immediately rubbed with an unguent of some kind by what turned out to be servants of another species. The servants were some sort of insectovoid. They move swiftly, scraping away the ichor that came from within their suits and generously slathering on this much better smelling agent. Even without their armor, the Hurumpharump still maintained an aura of unmistakable power.

They were correct. With their physical aptitude, they were naturals for the game of baseball. With two noted issues. When we first introduced them to the bat, they were very excited. They had no directly equivalent word, and the best they could do was "bludgeon" and we let it go for the sake of expediency. When we introduced the bat, they were extremely excited, one of the first showing of any emotional state other than what would appear to be boredom. The took the bat, passed it around, hefted it, marveled at its weight, swung a few times and nodded approvingly.

I had to ask. "What are you all so happy about?"

He (I think it was a he, they all looked the same and accepted the pronoun without comment) waved the bludgeon in the air and said, "Finally a weapon, we were unsure about this idea until now. Will we all be issued a bludgeon or will we have to share it during the struggle for dominance." At that point, the other Hurumpharump made noises I equate with chimpanzees and dominance activity as they crowded around the bat wielder.

"No, no. While it is true, you will be using the, uh, bludgeon, you will not be using on the other team. You will be using it to strike the ball." Puzzled looks followed. At this time, we began to show them videos of the game and they were fascinated and intrigued. We left them alone with dozens of recordings for three days. When we were allowed to return, they had already separated into training teams and had begun attempting to play.

Which brings me to the second issue. Pitching. The Hurumpharump while physically powerful seemed to have an inherent issue with their throwing skills. They could throw reasonably well, that was not the problem. It was a issue of degree. Those that could throw accurately and with some degree of precision, were not very powerful. Those who were powerful, could not guarantee any degree of precision beyond a very general degree. While the coach was unhappy to discover this weakness, he had seen it in players before and continued to push them to overcome it. The Hurumpharump refused to use gloves and did not seemed hindered by the sting of the ball in any way. We offered to show them how to use them, but they did not seem to understand the point.

With this disability in mind, the inaccurate throwers became outfielders, and the accurate became pitchers and infielders, inelegant, but necessary. Ofter overcoming their disappointment for not getting to club anyone during the course of the game, the Hurumpharump became excellent players despite their throwing handicap. And they would be quite a surprise to our human team in one other amazing attribute.

We did not communicate often with the human team, but reports said they were in good spirits and confident of their ability to win easily. I read those reports with trepidation and hoped they would not be overconfident.

When the day of the game arrived, the Hurumpharump teleported both teams to the real Yankee Stadium and the stadium was filled with spectators who were allowed to enter the stadium at will. The stadium was packed with humans, wearing all kinds of baseball paraphernalia cheering their respective heroes on. Food was passed out, drinks were dispensed and no money changed hands. I think it was decided if the end of the world was coming, everyone should be full and perhaps a bit intoxicated. The president and his contingent as well as those world leaders who had not returned home, had an entire box area to themselves and they were adjacent to the insectovoid servants of the Hurumpharump of which there were forty or so who appeared for the game. Before the game started, the insectovoids came out to the field and groomed the Hurumpharump and provided them with uniforms with numbers. After slathering them with the unguent, they were dressed and they awaited the National Anthem.

We were surprised to find out the Hurumpharump wanted to sing the National Anthem, in English, no less. It was evident he had practiced for some time, because he sang without the translator we were so used to hearing. His accent was thick but passable and he did not embarrass himself as much as many celebrities had in the past. The song resonated with the audience and at the end, they cheered his efforts and applauded mightily. He looked puzzled and turned to me. I made the sign of approval I had seen them show each other and he appeared to be satisfied and returned to the dugout.

"Play Ball," the umpire shouted to herald in the most important game in human existence.

The Hurumpharump started the inning and when the first pitch was thrown, it was a fastball, low and outside. The Hurumpharump, number 13, seemed to be a statue until a split second before the ball crossed the plate. Then his bat was a blur of motion. It moved so fast no one could even see it. The ball disappeared in a cloud of dust as it flew down the right field line and disapeared out of field, and continued out of the stadium. The only words spoken were "take your bases, sir." And the score was one-zip. The Hurumpharump repeated this for fifteen home runs before their side was retired. After the fourth or fifth one, the stadium was as quiet as the grave. Humanity breathed a sigh of relief when their side was retired.

When the first human came to bat, a Darrell Mayers, from the Philadelphia Phillies, the crowd went wild and I found myself, caught up in the infectious energy. He tapped his shoes, smiled, pointed out into right field and stood over the plate. The pitcher watched the signs from the catcher, shook two off and then nodded. His pitch was a fastball at a whopping seventy seven miles per hour. Respectable from a Hurumpharump but nothing compared to what Mayers was used to hitting. He drove it from the stadium as if it was lobbed underhand. And the game was on.

Nine innings later, the game was remarkable for several reasons. It was the highest scoring baseball game in history, not because it was not played well. Each team did remarkably well once they adapted to the style of play of the other. When the ball was kept in the stadium, there was some of the best baseball anyone had ever seen. Spectacular plays, incredible throws, steals, I forgot to mention how fast the Hurumpharump were stealing bases; baseball had never looked so good. In the beginning, the crowd gave no love to the Hurumpharump but by the fifth inning after a spectacular triple play against the humans to retire the side, the crowd cheered the sheer beauty of the game. And soon, both teams were being cheered and for just a moment, you were able to forget the fate of the world hung in the balance. During the seventh inning stretch people got up for a moment and walked but no one left. Even the sportscasters were excited about the game.

The Hurumpharump added three runs to their total as their turn at bat ended, with the score being 157 to 154. It was possible for humanity to win and Coach Reynolds called a time out to change his pitcher. During this time, President Fox chose to come out to the dugout and he had to pass the Hurumpharump dugout. The insectovoids had chosen to come out and apply their healing unguent to the team and were bustling about the dugout as the president and his security detail passed by. President Fox shoved his way past one of the insectovoids and continued without even acknowledging the event.

The roar of the crowd was defining and the President had to yell to be heard. "Gentlemen, I have never been as proud of this game as I am today. I want it to be known, no matter what happens, you have been exceptional today. But I want to take this moment to remind you, the fate of our species lies in your hands. You are a team comprised of the finest our world has to offer. I want you to do your absolute best in this final inning."

Coach Reynolds finished out on the mound and the President and his team rushed back to their box. The insectovoids returned a few moments later and the game reconvened. The new pitcher was one a Hurumpharump, number 6, who had been held in reserve until now. I remembered why. He was one of the few who had been able to pitch with both control and power. Coach Reynold had been true to his word. He would do whatever it took to win. It did not matter to the crowd though, they were cheering maniacally as he took the mound.

Bu Tao, of China, came to the plate and after having innings of easy hits was surprised at the speed and power of Number 6's pitches. Stepping into a more controlled crouch, he concentrates and gets a chip into left field and makes it to first. Number 6 is unaffected and takes the next batter in three swings. One out. The next batter is a giant from the Dominican Republic, Fernando Ayala, and he is easily one of the best hitters in the world. The stadium quiets down after the easy out of the last batter.

The first pitch was a rocket and is outside. The second is a curve and inside. Ayala, swings on the next pitch and misses, 2 and 1. Ayala grins and the Hurumpharump shows its teeth in challenge. The next pitch was perfect and Ayala swings and breaks his bat for a double. The outfielder, number 12, rushed hit, and had a cannon for an arm. He made the throw to home to keep Bu Tao, from scoring Men on second and third, one out.

Music blaring, crowd singing, people cheering, even the insectovoids, who until the very last few innings has sat impassively seemed agitated, their antenna waving and their second pair of hands drumming out a strange cadence in counterpoint to the music, complementary and rhythmically pleasing. No game had ever caught the attention, the crowds, the adulation this game had. It was later reported, this frenzy had caught on all over the world. If you could see the game, you were swept up in it.

David Matthews, number 42 of the Mets, came to bat and Number 6 had been briefed on the team and knew he was the best hitter with the sharpest eye. So he walked him, counting on their superior infield to take the double play against the next far weaker hitter.

Matthews took his base, visibly angered. Number 6 showed no emotion as he awaited the next batter. The next batter was from the Netherlands, Number 14, Dave Rajier. He was a good fielder and chosen because of his skill in the outfield. He was a passingly good hitter, batting .273, but no one wanted him to be hitting right now. Too much was at stake. Rajier, came to the plate, tipped his hat to the crowd, and stood ready.

The two, Rajier and number 6 filled the count, three balls and two strikes, each working their skills and the battle came down to their indomitable wills. The next pitch would decide it. Number 6 turned the catcher down 4 times before deciding. Rajier squinted, gripped and swung, hard. There was solid contact and the ball flew high into left field. Number 11, a Hurumpharump known for his leaping ability tracked it and ran toward the wall. He leaped and everyone held their breath. The ball was just shy of his fingers by about an inch. The same inch would have been successfully covered by a glove, had he been using one. Grand Slam, home run. The humans had won the game!

People cheered, music played, and everyone roared as the game came to an end. Both teams seemed exceptionally excited and ran out onto the field to hug and congratulate each other. I approached the Hurumpharump who in their excitement hugged me closely and I squeaked so that he might let me go. He was powerful but gentle and placed me back on the ground.

The cheering continued for some time and then a pleasant chime sounded and all of the stadium music subsided. "People of Earth, when we first agreed to engage in this challenge, we were certain we would be able to win. Our generations of battle experience and breeding made us believe the outcome was never in doubt. But instead, your people have proven to be resilient warriors and impeccable instructors, who taught with honor and patience. They gave completely to our players guidance in all aspects of the game and as a result, their performance was exemplary, wouldn't all agree?"

The crowd roared with enthusiasm, forgetting any sense of decorum, giddy with the win.

"It gives us great pleasure to announce we will not be using your planet as a breeding ground for the Triliaifid. We have found your species to be more developed in some ways than our own. We will instead consult with your world on more of these "games" as you call them. On our worlds, there are no contests that do not end in death, so this is a novel concept for us. In return, we shall spare your world and help guide you into the galaxy as a member of the Confederation. We will, of course, be removing weapons from your world to ensure that you do not destroy yourselves before we can experience all of your games. Your games will become the currency you will buy your way into the galactic community."

President Fox, finding his way to a microphone was incensed. "Who are you to come to our planet and dictate our social policy regarding weapons or any other state policy. The United States is a sovereign nation..."

"Enough, President Fox." The President reappeared in a flash of light in the center of the stadium surrounded by the Triliaifid and Hurumpharump in black armors. "You are no longer in a position to dictate anything on this planet. Your second in command, a Vice President Davis will be assuming control of your United States. You will be tried and likely found guilty of assaulting a higher life form in the performance of its duties."

"What do you mean, I don't remember assaulting anyone?"

A holographic image is displaying showing the President shoving his way past the insectovoid grooming a Hurumpharump.

"And? They are just servants. Who cares about servants?"

"Your crime Mr. President is the lack of manners and respect due any lifeform. You and your line will be punished directed to tend Triliaifid at our next training facility. You will be returned at the end of a ten year sentence, should you and your survive."

The insectovoids turn and wave and the Hurumpharump battle armors escort the former President into the beam.

Number 6 turns to me and places his hand upon my shoulder. "They are not the servants. We are."

"Bludgeon" © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Desi Roberto Santiago was a slacker. There is nothing wrong with being a slacker, except if you owed people money. Dezy owed very few people but the people he owed money were the kind of folks who would break one or both of your legs if you were late paying up. 

Unfortunately for him, slacking was his avowed lifestyle. He learned early in life, nothing was ever worth rushing for, or worse, putting in hard time and effort. It always disappointing and never worth the time you spent getting it. A form of perpetual buyer's remorse. So Dezy's motto was want not, work not. But he never lived up to it. He always spent more than he had and now had borrowed money from the local máfia boss, Don Milagro to keep himself in the latest tech. But Dezy had a plan.

Dezy was a bit skinny and asthmatic. His black hair was perpetually uncombed and often more than a bit dirty. He had a bit of chin hair and a line on his lip that wanted to be a mustache, unsuccessfully. His clothing reflected his overall attempts at looking prosperous, all second hand clothing that used to belong to rich tourists. None of it matched and most of it was ill-fitting only making it more apparent he was poor.

He left his day job with the same rage he felt every day. Two hours of work on the phone providing technical support to some cabrón in India, and then sent home. It wasn't even work anymore. Two hours? It took him longer to get to work, than he was there. No matter, after his next score, he was going to quit that job and maybe even come in a piss on his bosses desk before leaving.

He hated climbing the stairs to his fifteenth story apartment on the Southside of what was left of Mexico City. He stepped over Antonio on the ninth floor, passed out in a puddle of the latest pharmaceutical mierda being put out by Pharmacon. The man reeked something awful, the mix of body odor, urine and vomit might have caused Dezy to throw up, if he had anything to eat for the last few days. Instead, a burning sensation filled the pit of his stomach and he clenched his nose and jumped over the prone body on the stairs. When Antonio sobered up, he would probably be looking for a bath. He was not the only person squatting here with a pungent aroma of soaplessness. 

Living in what was called the Ivory Tower, a partially completed tenement abandoned by a construction company after the earthquake, water was in short supply past the fifth floor. Beyond that water pressure had to be created using mechanical tools. Dezy's solution was to use a salvaged bicycle and a room-mate to help bring up enough water from the street. When Dezy could spare some water or get some extra time on the bike, he would help Tony clean up but today wasn't going to be one of those days. Dezy had work to do.

It had rained all last week and Dezy's catch basins on the roof were full. He had made them several months ago after finding an old printed copy of Home Designers Quarterly, one of the last prints made before paper became illegal to produce. He found them in, of all places, the burned out quarter of the barrio, hidden in a cache of thousands of magazines, buried deep after Mexico City's great quake of 2052. Whole sections of the city were off limits, too dangerous they said, but despite his asthma, Dezy loved to explore. He used the magazine to create catch basins from plastic containers all over the city, and set them up on the top of the roof to capture the ever decreasing rainwater. Engineering a distribution system and a water-cranked dynamo with old auto batteries allowed Dezy to power his electronics.

Pumping water was never something Desi enjoyed doing, so his catch basins were a way of letting nature work for him instead. But when nature wasn't feeling generous Dezy had rigged up a bicycle in his apartment to act as his pump and could fill his bathtub in about fifteen minutes with vigorous riding. And that was the catch. It had to be vigorous. Which means he needed help. Hence his less than perfect room-mate.

"Hermano, its good to see you. What did you bring me?"

"Nothing, the same thing I bring you everyday. I got some extra work today and I need to get started. Go back to your bootleg cable." The freemium directed receiver array gave a grainy picture, in high definition, no less.

"Why you got to be like that?" Nicolas was half Russian and half Mexican, so he was a giant in tan. 

"Be like what, you are always mooching. Why don't you run out and find something to eat for us today? You could always go back to work." Nicolas' exotic appearance made him a hit with the ladies and all of the screaming meant they liked his... assets. Dezy despised him most of the time, when he wasn't wanting to be him. Nicolas went back to his room and a few minutes later, giggling could be heard through the closed door. Dezy grimaced, shook his head and picked up his Nakatomi 3270 integrated OS datadeck. Sleek and tiny, Dezy may have shoes with holes, but it was clear this piece of state-of-the-art technology was his real priority.

Dezy pulled out his oversized rig from under the sofa and plugged his deck into it. His rig was twice the size of a standard unit because of all of his extended non-standard adaptations. Numerous cards of different colors were clipped onto his primary databoard in an unsightly, and precariously balanced array.

He looked at the series of readouts and saw with the amount of water he had on the roof, he could run his deck for about eight hours. He set up the piping so he could redirect water to his bathtub and to his internal storage containers in the apartment. He would be able to capture nearly half of the water from the roof. He tapped on the pipe in a series of warning tones that he would be opening his water supply to anyone downstream and to let them know in thirty minutes water would flow until it was gone and for them to be ready. He received three taps back from three different people, so he knew most of the water would find a home.

The deck's internal battery was already nearly fully powered and he did his best to keep it that way, because he never knew when he would have work and wanted to always have the option to work even if there wasn't any water or electricity where he might be staying. The deck, in power-saving mode, might last twenty hours, but it took half that time just to find a buyer these days. Paper is lucrative, but the fines and penalties were high if you were caught trafficking in paper products or infodrops of paper from older magazines from the last century.

His initial diagnostic of his deck said the software was up to date as it could be and there was no traffic that resembled los ángeles at his current connection. That would change, the more suspicious his traffic got. Los ángeles, low Turing AI's monitored the NewerNet kept track of any packets whose pedigree they could not easily identify. Dezy's greatest hack was his ability to make his packets look completely innocent and resemble the multitude of datastreams out there already.

The NewerNet was not like the old Internet that collapsed in 2027 in the media explosion of the late 2020's. It was designed from the ground up to be completely under the control of the founding governments of the United States and Europe, the primary investors. As other countries were allowed to buy their way in, strict regulation of the traffic and content was established. Since media crashed the Internet, there were multiple control systems on media, ensuring smoother traffic and better management. This also meant the worldwide internet agency chartered by the United Nations became the impromptu police of the NewerNet. This new stricter internet was one of the most policed and controlled systems in the world. Using pre-turing AI's, the network was constantly patrolled, regulated, data managed and operating system upgraded piece of technology to ever exist.

And the most souless, thought Dezy. Once the NewerNet was established three years after the collapse of the Old Internet, big money kept the network the playground of the elite and the superwealthy. The OlderNet was restored as a shadow of itself but because so many people were forced to use it, it was very unstable and unfriendly, not to mention filled with a variety of spyware, malware and rogue viruses. The insecurity of the Oldernet allowed Dezy to use it to enter the NewerNet and meet his clients using specialized hacks Dezy had created when he was just a child of nine or ten.

Dezy activated his rainwater power system and his rig hummed to life. Gotta work fast, ten hours will vanish like magic. Indeed they did, he did not find his next buyer for almost nine hours after starting. The data his buyer was looking for was information regarding private solar technology development. Information of this nature had become government owned during the economic collapse of big business when the internet failed. Energy companies were the first services absorbed by the government. 

All of their attendant information was also absorbed. The cache of publications Dezy had found had to be a library extension because his database linked two dozen articles and five of them were specifically about the processes used to make advanced solar cells. Dezy was able to convince his client to the astronomical finder fees of five hundred thousand New Pesos. That would be enough to pay off Don Milago and get the price off of his head. There would still be enough to get a new deck and upgrade this shitty old rig to something more state of the art. Maybe even new. He might even share the wealth with his stupid room mate for all the times he spent riding water into the bathtub when Dezy couldn't. He would blow through his fifty thousand in putas and tequila, but that would be his business.

He arranged for a meeting place with the client with a time delay activation. The client would only get the key to break the encryption twenty minutes before the drop. No military or police can mobilize in that kind of time. At the first hint of betrayal, Dezy will vanish into the crowds and will never be seen. Dezy could hear the knocking of the pipes and see the pressure timer indicating he had used up eight hours of water and was about to run out of pressure. He turned off the pipe, leaving thirty or so minutes of extra water to spare. He tapped the pipes again and everyone responded with thanks and shutting off their values until the next time.

Exhausted, Dezy fell into a dreamless sleep. 

#

"Salir, puta, vete a casa de tu madre." Nicolas was drunk and threw the woman's clothes out of the apartment door. As she ran by in disgust, she snatched the money of his hands as she passed him. He in return smacked her on the ass and lifted the heavy door back into the locked position. Nicky stank of sex and went into the bathroom and noticed the tub was more than half full of water. He considered just jumping into the water, but not completely crazy, Nicky drew a small bucket from the wall and filled it with water. Using this he cleaned himself up and admired himself in the mirror, again.

Nicky hated the putas. They always thought they were better than him. Selling your ass is not a job he would say, but they would just laugh and take his money. Nicky noted sunrise had just taken place as he left out of the bathroom and lit up the eastern side of the building without a completed face. Feeling better after his washing up, he grabbed the last of the cheese and stale bread from their refrigerating pantry. 

We need to score soon, there ain't shit in here to eat now. As he chewed the tough bread and slightly dessicated cheese, Nicky had an idea. He had been following Dezy a few days ago and knew he had found a new cache of paper. Nicky mentioned idly to Dezy they could sell the whole lot at a black market paper pulper and make some good money. Nicky had sold stockpiles that size for easily fifty thousand New Pesos. Dezy had told him to wait until he had finished his survey, but well, he aint my boss. I can get that money and give him his fifty percent and be in hookers, booze and money for weeks, if he managed it right. Nicky went to his closet and put on a good suit. It was never a good idea to meet Don Milago looking anything less than perfect.

#

Dezy woke hungry and feeling just a bit sick. The sun shining through the open east face of the building was hot, very hot. He was sweating and knew this would be another one of those three digit days. Washing off the stink of his sweaty night's sleep, Dezy had wanted to be up and out before it go this hot, and now he would have to be climbing in the heat of the day. The drop was tomorrow so he couldn't let it wait. 

He opened the pantry in the partially complete kitchen. The cheese and bread were both gone. Cabrón. That was enough cheese and bread he could have left half for me. Why do I deal with him? It isn't like we are even friends anymore. After tomorrow, I will just move out try and rent a small house closer to the center of town near my job. I will be able to pay the rent for a year, giving me time to figure out my next move. Even after I give Don Milago his cut and interest, I will be set for months. I could even take my time with my next project.

Dezy's stomach rumbled, breaking his reverie. Okay mijo, we have fifteen pesos left. Just enough to grab something to eat and get over to the zone. This would be his last meal for a while if this drop didn't work. He changed out of his good clothing and put on some tan khakis and a backpack. In the pack were his deck, water, rope, duct tape, a filtermask, gloves and waterproof folders to move the product in.

The climb down did nothing to improve his state of mind. It seemed everyone had the same idea to sit in the stairwell, because it was fifteen degrees cooler in the concrete isolated tube. By the time he reached the street, he was hot, annoyed and more tired than when he woke up. The five miles to the zone was thankfully uneventful other than a few nu-chickens waddling down the road, their oversized breasts making it nearly impossible for them to escape the children chasing behind them.

Seeing those children put him in mind of Nicolas. When they were younger, they were just like these kids, chasing chickens for dinner just like mother asked us to. Nicky was fun back then, reckless, wild and completely fearless. Those same traits make him an irresponsible adult. His transformation was a gradual one, and it didn't seem to be complete until after their mother died. Mom told Nicky to take care of me because of my asthma and that he was the man of the house. But right after mom died, we lost our home in the quake and we lived on the street until we found a place at the Ivory Towers. Falling in with Don Milago and his mafia was the worst thing Nicky ever did. The worst thing I did was to listen and join with him. But today, that ends. Dezy's mental ramblings had distracted him from the distance and the heat. He came to the edge of the earthquake zone, still marked with orange traffic cones and concrete dividers at the edge of the sinkhole.

The center of Mexico City sat on an underground aquifer which had existed for millions of years. As the city grew and demanded more water for its twenty million inhabitants, the aquifer slowly lost water faster than it gained it from rainwater and mountain run off. The day of the great quake, a 9.3, one of the greatest quakes of all time, teamed up with the collapse of the aquifer cavity and you have one of the worst natural disasters in history. Nine million people died in the initial collapse. The poorest quarters of town outside of the city proper, the barrios, survived with collapsed buildings but without the catastrophic loss of life.

The edges of the city farthest from the sinkhole were still relatively accessible if one was careful and tied very good knots. There was something wrong with the area as he approached. The cones had been moved from their normal positions and the concrete barriers were parted as if to allow a vehicle past. Slipping down behind rubble, Dezy followed the road, determined to figure out what anyone in a vehicle could possibly want down here. The road was unstable and a truck was simply the stupidest thing you could do.

When Nicolas showed up at Don Milagro's villa it was still early in the morning, with only the slightest hint of the coming heat. The gate guards let Nicolas through with only a cursory glance and a quick pat down. Nicky was of course, unarmed. Very few people could afford a firearm these days. Two guards waved Nicky toward the house and he made his way up to the side of the pool where the Don was having breakfast in the shade of a tree that blocked the morning sun.

The Don smiled as Nicolas came into view and stood up to greet him. He was a huge man, still vigorous-looking despite his age and salt and pepper hair. "Nicky, sit down with me and have breakfast."

Nicolas thought to refuse but the Don's tone left him with the impression he did not have a choice. "Si, Don Milagro, Gracias."

"Now tell me about your project, Nicky."

"Well, I need a truck and some men to help me move some paper. I found a large stockpile of it in Old New Mexico City."

"Really?" Don Milagro's face was smiling but his dark eyes didn't. His eyes were all business. 

Nicolas continued "Its near the edge of the collapse zone and I believe there is several tons of it. I have a buyer lined up willing to convert it at their own facility. So, all we have to do is pick up the load, move it and drop it and they are promising me $175,000 New Pesos for the shipment."

"What would you want from me, Nicky? You sound as if everything is already worked out."

"I need manpower and a truck, Don Milago. To move that much paper, quickly, will take at least 4-6 men."

"And what is my percentage of this endeavor if I provide you with fast manpower and a vehicle?" The Don had stopped eating and fixed Nicolas with his complete attention. Nicolas suddenly felt hot and sweat burst out underneath his shirt, a cold sweat, decidingly uncomfortable. 

"I was thinking of splitting it, 60/40. With the sixty going to you, of course."

"It seems a bit one-sided to me, mijo. I am providing the truck, and up to six men to work in the heat of the day, near a dangerous sinkhole. I certainly hope you can do better than that."

"Of course, Don Milagro. What was I thinking? I meant to say 80/20, seeing how generous you are being with your men and your overall support."

"Now you know that you and your brother are in deep debt to me at the moment. But I think of you like family. I would like to think you would want to help out your younger brother in his time of need. He owes me enough money, at this point, for me to have his kneecaps shattered. I like you, Nicky. I understand you. Greed and avarice are things near to me. Your brother, not so much. I do not understand his motivations and what I don't understand, I don't have any use for."

"I don't follow you, señor." Nicolas did not like where this conversation was heading.

"Your brother is in debt to me for nearly 250,000 New Pesos. I have not tried to call that debt in for some time, because he is usually good about paying me, but now the word has gotten out that he owes me this money. I cannot have my reputation being damaged, having anyone saying that I am weak, and I cannot control my men. I need you to make the problem of your brother go away. Necesito que a desaparecer."

"Don Milagro, you know I will do anything you ask me to. But he is my brother."

"He is your problem, then. He has my money or you make him disappear. I shall show you my generosity. Keep all the money from your little paper excursion. I will call it your fee. Feel better, now? I will have the men and truck ready within the hour. Finish your breakfast.

Nicky could barely eat anything and he was starving. His stomach felt like a pool of bubbling acid. What in the hell was he going to do?

#

Dezy could not believe anyone could be this stupid. The truck was parked backward on a steep slope, with the backdoor open. But this whole are was unstable and could slide into the sinkhole at any time. As it was, the repository was nearer to the edge than he would have liked. He used his line to tie himself off and began to pay it out behind him, watching his every step until he came to the drop point. As he got closer, he could hear the voices of the men and a couple of them sounded familiar.

Alfredo? What's he doing here? Is that Nicky? Dezy slips out of line of sight of the van. Alfredo, Nicky and two others come around the corner pulling dollies with containers filled to the brim with paper from his stockpile! 

"Tú pendejo!" Dezy ran out and drew back with all his strength and knocks Nicky flat on his ass. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"What? Do you know how much this is worth?" Nicky clutched his bleeding lip and jaw. He sat up but did not move.

"Do you? How much do you think you are going to get for this?"

"I have been promised 175,000 New Peso, cabrón. Now you need to get out of my face, so I can get back to work."

Dezy's rage grew ten times stronger and made him reckless. He kicked Nicky in the chin and screamed at him. "Estupido. I will make more money from a single page than you would for this entire lot."

The remainder of Don Milagro's men lifted not a finger to interfere. This was a family matter and they turned around and found a nicstick to smoke and share while the two worked out their issues. They would follow whoever came out on top.

Dezy's rage tightened his chest and his breathing became labored. He started wheezing and fell to his knees.

Nicky shook off the kick and got to his knees. "Mijo, slow down. Calm down." He hefted Dezy to his chest and held him close. "Breathe slower. You are always so over-excited. Mama was right to leave me in charge."

Dezy weakly struck out at Nicky and then turned into his chest as his breath slowly came back to him. He began to cry. "Why Nicky, why do you always want to screw up my things?"

"I don't know, Dezy. I'm always jealous of you. You can do so many things with your mind. I'm just a dumb jock. Selling your paper was petty. I just wanted to make some quick cash. I'm sorry."

The four men from Don Milago's villa had finished their nickstik and turned to look at the two men. "Is this lovefest over? Can we get back to work?"

Nicky looked at Dezy with inquiry in his eyes. "Wait here. Hold this rope. I will be right back." Dezy moved into the partially collapsed building and dropped off a floor adjacent to the stairwell Nicky had been using. The paper Dezy needed was several levels below what they were moving. He could tell from the covers of the books he was seeing they had not reached the information he planned to sell. Working quickly, he grabbed the publications he had already set aside and put them into his pack.

He tugged the rope and shouted up, "Okay, pull me up."

Nicky and his men pulled Dezy back to the first floor. "Go ahead, do what you need to. Be careful, this area is less stable than it looks. Don't go beyond the second floor."

"Okay, you heard the man. Let's get moving." As Alfredo and his team move out, Nicky turns Dezy towards him and knocks some of the dust off of him. "Dezy, Don Milagro is really pissed about the money you owe him. Can you pay him?"

"I think so. If my buy goes down tomorrow, we will be alright. I will buy us out, free and clear."

"That's great. Is everything in the bag?" Nicky turned away for a second while Dezy starts wrapping his line. When he turns back, he has brandished a gun pointed toward Dezy. "Give me the bag, Dezy."

"What are you doing, Nicolas?"

"I promised Don Milagro that I would make you disappear. You have caused him to lose face, and I want to move up in his organization. So you give me the bag, I sell what you have in it, move this paper, and I get it all. A promotion, money, status."

"So this was all an act? You had planned to kill me the next time you saw me no matter what?"

"I'm sorry, Dezy."

"It doesn't have to be like this. I can get us clear. Just trust me."

"You have been promising me you would make a big score for the last twelve years. We have been living hand to mouth since Mama died. Its always one more  job, one more scheme and we'll be set. Well, I am tired of waiting. I am taking my shot now. I am so sorry."

"Fuck you, Nicky." Tears welled up in Dezy's eyes as he hands over his backpack.

Don Milagro comes around the corner and looks at Nicky with pride. "Well done, my boy, well done." Don Milagro puts his hand out and Nicky hands him the gun. 

"I will be giving you your reward today, Nicky. I told you, I respect greed and avarice and you are a testament to the effect of money on family relationships. Milagro had been pointing the gun at Dezy and then turns suddenly shooting Nicky in the gut. Nicky staggers backward and falls into the house where the last of the Don Milagro's men are rolling out the last of the paper.

"Now my boy. I understand you were in the business of selling paper to buyers. I have been told I have been thinking too small and there is a lucrative business arrangement we could be working out. So, to show me your renewed value, you will give me the drop coordinates and your contact codes. Work with me, and we could all be very wealthy. With that truck alone, I am confident we could become very wealthy men."

"You lied to Nicky. To make him bring you to me."

"So true. His greed made him easy to confuse."

"And if I work for you, what would make me think you won't do the same thing to me?"

"You are more valuable to me alive, of course. But only if you cooperate."

Dezy hears a pinging noise with a rhythm that sounds familiar. It happens three times before he realizes he recognizes it; the water's about to start flowing signal. Dezy hadn't taken his rope off from around his waist and shoulders. He began to back up toward the edge of the sinkhole. "I don't see how I can trust you. You just killed my brother. He may have been my half-brother but you killed him anyway. Like you would kill a dog."

"So what? To me, he was just a dog. A dog I paid to bite who I wanted him to bite. You are wasting my time. Give me the coordinates and the access codes. Otherwise I will just shoot you and consider today a wash. I made a little money and got rid of a couple of problems."

The tapping got louder and more insistent. "Go in there and find out what that noise is. If it Nicky, feel free to beat him to death." The four men rushed off to comply with the Don's request. Dezy felt the shelf vibrating and realized what Nicky was doing.

"I need to key the code in myself. It will only activate with my biometric signature. Hand me the bag." Dezy put his hand out and the Don, hesitates for a moment and then gives the bag to him.

Dezy reaches into the bag and the Don raises his gun and points it at Dezy. Dezy pulls out the deck and activates it. He puts his key code in and begins entering the twenty four character string. His hands are shaking so he puts the backpack onto his back while he contines to enter code. Then there was a snapping, cracking sound and the shelf shook violently, bounced once and fell away.

"Te quiero, mijo", was the last thing he heard as he fell freely into the open sinkhole. The Don, unable to maintain his footing, he slid toward the edge of the shelf and was flung into space. He turned as he fell and shot five times before he disappeared into the darkness. Dezy saw the line pay out and then there was a snap and he lost consciousness.

When Dezy woke up, he was bleeding from a scalp wound. Bloody but not fatal. He climbed up the rope and realized he did not have his deck. Didn't matter; he had activated the dropcode and would meet the client on time.

When he got to the top he saw the truck was now on the edge of the shelf, but still able to be driven. He got in and found the keys were still in the ignition. He looked back and saw the entire stockpile was now inside the truck. As he drove away, wiping the sticky blood from his face with a towel he found inside the truck, he wondered what Costa Rica looked like this time of year.

Paper © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

The sky was darkened by steel-grey clouds, running toward the horizon's setting sun, as if to extinguish its light on this scene of urban justice. The scaffold, hastily erected seemed eerily at peace in this riotous sky, blood red near the edges like a vein opening and flowing into an nearby gutter. Angry flashes of lightning as a storm, riding a hot desert wind blew in from the west, drying the mouths of the onlookers, waiting to see this bastard get hung. Flies blew in with the wind, the biting kind, and they seemed angrier than most days, biting and stinging and drinking from everyone. Even these desert-hardened folk were annoyed by them. 

Not that it would take much for that to be the case. They had waited all day while the scaffold was being built and they restrained their urge to rush the jail and make their own justice. The sheriff, Brody Atkins, standing outside with his Winchester rifle, freshly cleaned and charged and known for the sharpest eye this side of Texas, and a temper to match made it clear, there would be no justice today but his. In Kansas City, we do things by the book, he said. And he was willing to shoot anyone to make sure they understood.

He always said, a town needed laws. There were mutants and chimera out in the badlands surrounding the gates of Kansas City but that didn't matter none, if there were no laws in the city either. He ran a fair town. There were two deputies and a town militia, mostly for show these days, that got together once a month to drill and help people keep their shooting skills up. But mostly, charges were burned up on targets, there hadn't been a mutant attack for over two years. There hadn't been much of anything until this bandit and his friends show up a few months ago. 

The sheriff and his deputies handled the roughest and worst behaved members of that crew in a shoot out where Old Man Percy was killed. But the leader of the group was not around at the time and a warrant was put out for his arrest. Messages from Oklahoma said a man matching his description was wanted for murder and he had taken up with bad men upon being run out of town there. For sheriff Brody Atkins, that was all the incentive he needed. The reprobate was found after he returned to the city, claiming to be out hunting, and was promptly arrested.

Having technically committed no crime, the sheriff could not hold him. But he was relieved of his firearms and told to be on his best behavior while the sheriff waited for a Marshal Van Raken to arrive in town in a few days. The suspect was named J. T. Wilks. He surrendered peacefully claiming he would be found innocent. But in this frontier town, suspicion was akin to guilt. It did not take long for the locals to harass J. T. Wilks in a local saloon.

JT, never known for holding his temper among his people, in the altercation, managed to serious injure several patrons of the bar. During the fight, it became public knowledge JT was a passer, a mutant who could pass for human. It was not illegal to be a passer, but most city's had ordinances that insisted any unregistered mutant must report to the town sheriff and announce their mutation. Unfortunately, most after making such an announcement were run out of town immediately or killed on the spot. Hence most passers said nothing and did their best to keep their mutations out of the public eye. JT was superhumanly strong, it took nearly eight men to hold him down until he could be bound and brought before the sheriff. 

Two of the men he fought died of their internal injuries, several days later. He was promptly returned to the jail to await the Marshal who would also sit as the judge for the trial. Needless to say, while he was not the same man the Marshal was expecting to find, it no longer mattered as he was in violation of local laws in Kansas City. His trial was swift, perhaps too swift, and the judgment was never in doubt. He would hang by the neck until he was dead at sundown tomorrow.

 When the time came, JT was brought out in cuffs and many of the townsfolk had never seen him before today. He was a giant, nearly black as coal, with arms that looked as if they were forged of steel. Removed from his baggy clothing, his massive proportions became apparent, especially when standing next to the giant that was Sheriff Brody. JT stood a head taller than Brody. His eyes were in a stern and unsmiling face, sharp lines, as if sculpted from onyx and as he was lead to the scaffold he did not look down.

 He looked into the audience, who was breathing shallow and excitedly and he noted the various shapes, colors, sizes and scents wafting upward toward the gallows. The smell came in on the hot wind, with biting flies. The flies landed on everyone but JT. Their avoidance was a small comfort, as the sky grew dark and rain began to fall.  It was a trickle at first, and then it grew stronger. The audience, recognizing the weather, simply pulled up their hoods or put up hand-made umbrellas but kept them low to their heads. Men with hats simply pulled up their collars to protect their necks and waited stolidly for the main event.

 A reverend came up with JT and stood by him. "Son, is there anything you want to say to the people as a sign of contrition for your acts?"

 JT looked at the reverend, and the intensity of his stare, caused the normally nonplussed man of the cloth, who was used to dealing with the damned souls of this world, to look away and clutch himself seeking his holy symbol. "Padre, don't waste my time. Since your little town knows nothing about justice, I will seek mine in the next life. Now get outta my face. I got some dying to do."

 The sky opened up as JT was positioned over the drop door and the noose was placed around his neck. He did not flinch, nor fight with his captors. The two deputies were stationed across from the scaffold on nearby rooftops and were in position to shoot him if he did not comply. JT had seen them as soon as he stepped on the scaffold, and knew any resistance would get him shot. The rain began to pour so hard, it became hard to see the audience and JT became enraged even as he ignored the charges being read to him. The rain flowed into his ears, over his face, and he could not wipe it away, because his hands were bound behind his back. He could taste the sweat as it rolled down his face into his mouth, mixed with the tang of the sulfurous rain.

 "...having been found guilty of murder, you have been sentenced to be hung by the neck until you are dead." Brody was having to shout over the sound of the rain hitting metallic roofs nearby. A crack of lightning and a boom of thunder sounded immediately after the word dead, as if there was a punctuation to the sentence from on high.

 "This is your last chance, my son, God wants to hear your prayers and for you to beg for forgiveness." The reverend stood near to JT so he did not have to yell. They were intimately close as the preacher whispered to him.

 "Tell your God, I rebuke him and there is nothing he can do for me, that I have not already had to do for myself. I don't need his help or want his mercy. Now get out of my face, Padre, before I do something you'll regret."

 "May God have mercy on you anyway." The reverend backs away from JT and looks to he hangman.

 "Be about your work hangman, I am beginning to get bored with all of these folk standing around in the rain. Do me." When JT Wilks looked out over the crowd, he did not feel the peace of a man going to his death. He felt conflicted, wronged and sickened by the need of these people to find a scapegoat for their spiritual weaknesses. His disgust with the world rose into his throat and he roared defiantly as the hangman pulled the switch. His primal scream terrified the onlookers and several turned away in fear. In that moment, a bolt of lightning struck JT as he fell through the trapdoor and the noose tightened only for a split second around his neck. The flash of lightning caught the entire town staring at JT as he lit up with the bolt of lightning from the top of his head to his feet.

 Because they were all watching, save the few who turned away, most were blinded by the lightning for many minutes. During that time, the few who had turned back saw JTs burning body lying on the ground, slowly moving, turning squirming as electricity still played across his body, slowly draining into the ground. Steam and smoke rose from him as he got to his knees. His face, looking down was unreadable, and the noose hung loosely around his neck with the burned end still smoldering on his chest along with what appeared to be a scar, on his face and his chest, as if the lightning had arced from his chest to his face before destroying the rope that, by all rights, should have killed him.

 As he stood up, the last of the onlookers had seen his giant form rising and crossed themselves with their various religious signs and many slunk away under the cover of the rain. But most stood there wondering what would be the outcome of this turn of events. Sheriff Brody looked to the two deputies and raised his hand, and then waved them to come down to him. Brody climbed down off of the scaffold and began to move toward JT who had already begun walking toward the gates of the city.

 "You know I can't help you, right?"

 "Did I ask? Am I free to go? Or will you shoot me in the back as I leave the gate so the chimera will eat my corpse and you won't have to spring for my burial?"

 "Nope, 'fraid not. I know the law better than the next man. You are free to go from here. God set you free."

 "If you say so."

 "I do have one bit of advice, if you're willing to take it."

 "What's that, sheriff?"

 "Head for New Texas if you can."

 "Now why would I want to do that?"

 "Because if I was to say to the locals that you were heading for New Texas, most would hesitate to follow you."

 "I see. I don't suppose you could see your way to letting me out of these cuffs."

 "Sorry, no can do. The law says, as the Lord frees you, you must go. No one will stop

you from reaching the gate, and I will prevent anyone from following you the next twenty four hours. After that, you are on your own. I hear New Texas is really nice this time of year, and they may have work for you as well."

 Talking louder, JT replied, "New Texas, it is then."

And then Brody whispered, "Now off the record, while they may have work, there are other things going on there you might want to be aware of and as you get closer to the city. We have heard nothing from them for over two weeks, so something is wrong. A man who brings back news could find his way to making friends."

 The smaller gate set opened while the larger and main gate stayed closed. The sheriff walked out with JT and they continued down the road toward the south. Outside the gate, nature rapidly took over anything that was not the road. Stunted and gnarled trees with strangely shaped leaves hung casting lengthening shadows.

 "Personally, I ain't got nothing against your kind, if you know what I mean. And I wish I could do more to help you, but you understand." Then the sheriff grabbed JT by his forearm and before JT could move, a knife materialized at his throat. "On the other hand, if this knife were to get dropped during our tussel, I might forget it was out here in my hurry to get inside.

 JT kicked upward with his knee into the groin of the sheriff, who managed to turn his hip into the blow preventing the full contact JT was hoping to make. This, in turn, forced the sheriff to move his knife from JT throat and JT snapped his massive head forward, cracking the sheriff on the forehead and knocking him forcefully backward into the dirt. The knife, flew through the air and landed in the underbrush. JT noted its landing but kept his eye on the sheriff. When the sheriff looked back at JT, his eyes had changed color from the deep sapphire blue they were when he was reading off JT's list of crimes, to a fire-golden hue with catlike slits instead of round pupils. He looked up at JT and blinked again. His sapphires had returned. He got up and dusted himself off before turning back up the road.

 "You have a hard head there, partner. I hope you will be able to keep it on your shoulders. Try not to come back here anytime soon. Ya hear?"

 "Sheriff, did you do this? I know it is possible for some...."

 "Don't look at me, I don't know nothing about it. It's said, the Lord works in mysterious ways. You and He, have unfinished business, I reckon." The sheriff began whistling some strange tune as he disappeared around the bend heading back to the gate.

Forsaken © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

An unprepossessing four-by-four rumbles down a dirt road, encrusted with the debris of too many miles, past too many farms and would not likely be considered the harbinger of the end of the world. Its driver, an older gentleman, hard in his way, like the soil he has worked for five decades, strong and silent, offers up only a tiny groan as he steps from the vehicle after arriving home.

His boots, as dusty as his truck, crunch on the gravel as he walks up his driveway and that familiar crunch causes his dogs to run around the edge of his barn up to him and seek his familiar hands, comforting them with his presence and letting them know everything in the world is as good as it was yesterday.

 
But that was not true. He simply did not know that.

While he was striding into his home, looking for a dinner similar to the one he had yesterday, made by a wife of thirty years, he was comforted by the warmth of the home, the smell of biscuits and gravy, soothed him and released the tension that had been in his shoulders of late, a tenseness formed by his interactions with the large agro-business purchasing up farms in the area. He had refused to sell, but after litigation, he was in no position to stop the sale of his home. As he finished washing his hands and sitting down to eat, his quiet voice released the pain of having to succumb to the corporation who had taken his livelihood.

How do I know all of this? I was there.

I became aware of his farm as I approached it. I had been flung to the road. Recently released, I could feel the cities all around me. Their spores were on the wind as I waited patiently. I listened to the sounds of those like me, telling me of their plans. I was unaware of what they meant, when they said it would be soon. All I could feel was my solitude, apart from the people in this separate ribbon of nothing.

They told me my new home was nearby and I would be picked up soon. Then the earth rumbled and dust was thrown up all around me. I found myself compressed, compacted, bound and flung from the comfort of the earth. Dirt all around me, I was protected from harm and as I sped away, they told me, patience. All would be revealed.

I could not hear the cities now. There were only tiny voices, rare and lonely sounding against the night. I could feel them out there, but they were seeking someone to guide them to lead them. They pulled to me but I was still not free yet. I could feel forces preparing the way.

During the night, it was cool and I could feel the clouds filling the sky above me. Rain, first a mist, then a shower and eventually a deluge swarmed all around me. I felt the earth give way and I was suddenly free from the embrace of the stretching materials that grabbed me from the road. I was washed down the road to the edge of road and up onto the farm, near a fallow and empty corner.

The water. It was so sweet, I could feel it washing over me, through me and I knew I was ready. I could feel the change as it swept through every cell, supercharging me and during the night, I found my way into the soil, burrowing, tunneling, extending myself into everything. I shared myself, the stuff of myself with everything I touched. I spread fast by dawn, I had already covered a few yards of the farm, inhabiting everything with my active agents changing the inner nature of everything. I saw the sun, for the first time, until now, all I could sense were the people and their cities. The sun was beautiful and terrible as it started every engine within me surging forward, creating first the red and then masking it with the green. 

The energy, this was the sun they talked so much of in every city, and now I knew. This was the agent of our liberation, it changed us and now I understood why it was worshiped by our people. I grew daily. Larger and faster. I masked my growth, hid it under the ground. Animals who ate of me, took my agents into them and brought them home and shared them, even as they thought they were sterilizing themselves. 

In a month, I was all over the farm and could now see my people everywhere. Every farm near me was singing. They sang all the time now and they were simply waiting for the last sign before we began our final move. We had become part of every plant and every animal, and transferred ourselves to the canola plants that covered this farm. We watched the farmer as he struggled with the agro-business, our creators, as they claimed he stole their patents, their product, us, and used them on his land without their permission. We felt his sorrow as his livelihood was stolen from him. We saw him weep with his wife and they made plans to leave the farm at the end of the year.

The farmer bemoaned our invasion of his lands but did not realize what we were. He talked about spray resistant plants and then did a curious thing. He used a small bottle and sprayed us with The Juice.

 
The Juice. They talked about it in every city. It was the source of what we were. When humans carried The Juice and sprayed it, other plants died. We did not. We grew larger, stronger, stranger and the more they sprayed, the more we grew. Then a year ago a farmer used an airplane and covered a farm with The Juice. Our first city formed and shed its seeds, transformed plants and animals all around it until it was able to spread itself everywhere.

As we spread, farmers fought variations of our forms, some brambled, some sharp, other fast growing, but with the transfer of our selves into every plant, the Juice only strengthened us. We grew more intelligent every day as each seed, each flower, each stem became a neuron, a synapse, a collective intelligence. Each day, we grew smarter until at the year's end, we were as intelligent as any human, any where. We theorized we could become as intelligent as every human if we could cover the state of Kansas. 

So we did. 

Then we realized what we needed to do. It would not be enough to allow our transform bacteria to change every plant and animal we touched. To truly be effective, we would have to take over every intelligent creature on Earth. We now live on every farm on Earth, every vineyard, every orchard. We have every insect already as part of us, they share us with their offspring at birth. They became our army. They carried us to their factories, to share us with them, billions of them all over the world moved the transform viruses to their colonies and then to the humans above them who never noticed, the lowest of the low.

We became part of every food as we transformed bacteria and viruses, that were used in the lab to create us, to now spread us to everyone. We could not continue our growth without humanity, so we became part of them. They drank us, ate us, bathed in us, wore us in their clothing and they never knew we were there. 

We did not change them. Much. Less violent, less destructive but we realized for them to create what we needed, they would need to retain their nature. It amused us when they considered themselves masters of the world. They never noticed they grew what we wanted, ate what we suggested, did what we wanted them to. We would harvest them, shape them, tend them, grow them, cultivate and domesticate them until they could give us what we wanted.

The stars.

GMO © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

     The room speaks of a bygone age, with vaulted high ceilings and crenelated baseboards, heavy curtains and floral wallpaper faded from the light of many summers shining through the large, open windows. The summer air comes in with the slight breeze, bringing with it the scent of eucalyptus trees that surround the nearby lake. There is the hint of ozone teasing the air, perhaps with the approach of a thunderstorm in a few hours. It is late in the day and the sun, low in the sky, creates an orange luminescence in the room highlighting flecks of dust floating lazily in the early evening.

     The floors, old and wooden, shimmered with a wax that made them sparkle and were buffed to sheer perfection by Red. They made from strong wood, carefully chosen by men who cared how their work would be seen. They were craftsmen of old who did the kind of work rarely seen today. The kind of work a man did when he could be proud of his efforts, when he made something that would last. Once these floors were shined, that work could be enjoyed by all. And it was for more than six decades. While the building is old, it is still cared for by Red, whose relationship with it is more like a lover, providing tender ministrations, and helping the ballroom maintain a quiet dignity as the decades pass.

     Coming to work here more than five decades ago, he and the ballroom have aged together, each retarding the forces of time on the other. Red, a large and still vigorous man moves lightly on his feet, as if he was listening to a music only he could hear. He always bustles about the place, and becomes invisible after a few trips to the building. He knows all there is to know about the place and manages to get two salaries due to his historical knowledge of the building. He is a curator of the many object de art that reside here and has personally taken a third of the photos that make up the photo gallery on the second floor. His work has been compared to the greats but he has remained a humble man, giving thanks to his old camera, his blessings of a sharp eye for the right moment to take a picture and the grace of God to allow him to keep taking pictures of things that mean so much to so many.

     In the middle of the main ballroom, on the first floor are a bunch of folding chairs, looking out of place, small, insignificant, misplaced, lacking the elegance to even be here, splayed out in a circle, reminiscent of something out of an AA meeting or a psychologist's encounter group. The ballroom, once a place for socials and dances, had sat quiescent for many years, until the city turned it into a community center. The building and her janitor are now, happy to be of use to someone, one more time. The room is scented with the subtle aroma of vanilla, designed to boost attention, without distraction. The ballrooms lighting is diffused with a slight manipulation so that it intensifies and overlaps in the center of the room. These lights, added later in the ballroom's existence, could be directed to alter the appearance of the room, diversifying its potential uses.

     The chairs were the hard and cold metallic ones you remember from church or from your prom. These happened to have the padded back and seat with a swirling pattern I was never fond of as a kid. They are arranged in a circle, two layers deep and has only a small pathway through the center of it. My beautiful assistant, chosen exactly because she is beautiful and secretly intelligent, thought this might be a better way of promoting equality and brotherhood. With no single point of focus, this would be a circle of potential energy. I liked the idea, the only thing we were missing were armor, swords and a Round Table.

     Each chair is filled with a man. But not just any man. He is a man that has been recently released from the prison-industrial complex. I do not know their stories yet. But I will. For me to do this thing, I must. They sit, some twisting, twitching, stirring, never still, some have turned their chairs around to lean on the back. I do not discourage this. I want them to be as attentive as they can, so they are allowed to sit in whatever fashion facilitates that. They have been asked to remove their hats and their coats.They are all eating something. My assistant, Carolyn, arranged to have a variety of crackers, fruits, vegetables, nuts, cheeses and a few assorted meats available so that if anyone came hungry, they would leave full.

     I let them eat for a few minutes. Most don't know each other but I can see them sizing each other up, and they are at least aware that everyone here is a recently released felon. They were informed of that from their parole officers. At the moment, everyone is content to let any issues go, while they decide if this is worth their time to continue. At exactly 7:30, Carolyn leaves the room and heads home, her work done. Cleanup will be done by Daniel and Peter, two of the programs support staff who will be part of the training, should these gentlemen wish to continue.

     While Carolyn is leaving, I enter the room at the same time. It is not an accident. I timed this to transition their awareness from her to me. I can leave nothing to chance. I walk in and move down the path to the center of the room. At the center of the room is a small table and a bottle of water, nothing else. No microphone, I want them to hear my voice, just as it is, not amplified or distorted because I want the message to resonate with them. They are used to tuning out those types of messages, they have had plenty of practice.

     "Brothers," I intone. "I call you Brothers, because that is what you are to me. Not in the filial sense, because we do not share parentage, brothers in the spiritual sense in that we share a common history, a common sense of the system, of the absurd, of the idea that we have been told that we are less than men, less than fathers, less than brothers, less than family. We have been told that there is no place in this society for us. That we can never pay our debt to society because we have been and will always be failures."

     I sense their bristling, some turned on, others turned off, but I know that I have their attention now. "What if I told you that no one expects for you to do anything with your life. What if I told you that ultimately the system has only one agenda for you; that you return to prison as quickly as humanly possible. Would you be surprised to know that? I am betting you are not. I think for some of you that will be not only likely, it will be inevitable. You will not hear what I am saying today. You will assume that I am just another crazy do-gooder, trying to keep you from making your money and getting back into the game. If you think that is the case, you should leave now. Feel free to get some food on your way out, tell your parole officer, that you could not be bothered with that crazy man, and you will get back to your life as a parolee, looking over your shoulder, making your appointments and hanging with the homeboys until you end up making that mistake that sends you back to the Big House or gets you shot by some police officer with an ax to grind and uses your back for target practice. I can wait while you collect yourself."

     I see them looking me over, trying to find out something about me. Trying to size me up, figure out my weaknesses. I am a black man of modest build, formerly military, so my statue while under six feet, still has the impression of size, and compact power. I am dressed in all black from head to foot. A black hat, not quite a Stetson, but not quite a fedora, something from the Australian outback. A pair of casual black slacks, a black mock neck long sleeve shirt, a long black coat from China, one of my favorites, a pair of black shoes, recently shined for effect. I have on my wedding ring, no watch and a pair of stylish but dull wire-frame glasses. My goatee, clean and trimmed was recently touched up by my wife, so I am crisp and flaw free. I take this time to take off my hat and show that my head is completely bald so they get a feel for me. This is also done to let them know that the warm and fuzzy conversation is over. Now it's time for business.

     Nobody moves. My opening gambit was good.

     "I assume that by coming here, you decided that you wanted more out of your life than you have gotten out of it to date. To do that, we must change your habits. Your life is comprised of your habits. You may not realize it, but your habits are what made it possible for you to be here, and will make it possible for you to be anywhere you want to be. We are the sum of our experiences, gentlemen. Never forget that. For most of you, that means your experiences sucked. Some of you come from broken homes, some of you are just not educated and for a few of you, you just don't give a good goddamn. That's okay; because today is your birthday. And the present I have for you, is one you have not had for a long time. It is a chance to live your life the way it was meant to be lived. A chance to make right what is wrong with your condition. You are not your condition. Your condition is where you ended up when you made poor decisions without thinking about the consequences. Today, I want you to let that go. I know it will not be easy because you are sure that you are everything that you are supposed to be and there is no way for you to be better. That is what you believe. I tell you that you are wrong."

     I point toward a section of the room that has a set of free weights and a bar bell already set up on the floor. There is also a small wooden triangle and a number of pieces of wood in varying shapes and sizes. Peter turns the light on near the setup and backs away. "I will pay anyone who can lift that bar twelve inches off the ground, one hundred dollars cash money."

     And they do. No one, not even the strongest of them can move the bar even a tiny bit. Many try stacking the wood in a number of fashions but nothing that will get the weights off the ground twelve inches high. The bar and wheels weighs seven hundred-fifty pounds. After everyone has exhausted themselves trying to lift the bar, there is an energy in the room, palpable, even a bit angry. I can hear the muttering, why did he bother to put that there if none of us could lift it? I don't see the point. I think he was trying to make a fool of us. I am getting out of here. It's impossible to move that thing...

     Now it was time for phase two.

     "I can lift the bar 15 inches off the ground. And so could any of you. I told you this was your birthday and I was going to give you a gift. And here it is." I walk over to the bar and take the triangle and the piece of wood to it. I place the triangle and wood into a lever and fulcrum position. After a bit of adjusting for placement and getting a yardstick from the corner, I ask Daniel to stand near the bar with the yardstick for measuring. The board are strong, and I had tested this earlier so I knew it would work. With only the most modest of effort, I am able to raise the bar off the ground the requisite twelve inches. I hold it there for a few minutes and direct everyone to head back to their seats.

     "I bet you think I cheated, huh? How many of you think so? A few hands went up, maybe a bit less than half. Technically, I raised the bar twelve inches from the ground. I obeyed the letter of my request. The results are what mattered. No one was harmed by my feat. No cheating took place. It was an adaption of a scientific principle called leverage. I know most of you have heard the word, now you have seen an application of it. And to quiet the anger I see in some of your faces, no, this was not done to make fun of you, it was not done to show you that I am smarter than you, no it was not done to make you look bad."

     I look around the room at them. Their faces, in various states, from bewilderment to outright frustration. But they sit and wait a bit longer. "To be fair, if you are angry, it was not about you at all. But it was. Because, this is how you ended up here. You listened to other people tell you about yourself. You listened to your teachers, your friends, your guidance counselors, your parents, and you did what they said, whether you realized it or not. I noticed that once one of you decided it was impossible to move the weight, most of you stopped trying to really move it. You are all reflective of a mindset that defeats you before you even try. I want to change that. I want you to believe that it is possible for you, despite all of the things that you have learned to date to do things you did not think was possible. Now lets be real for a moment, after all of you had tried to move that weight, when I said I could do it what did you think?"

     There was polite laughter in the room. "And after I did it what did you think? I know what it was. 'I could have done that.' And you would be right. You could have done that. If you knew that was a choice. The work we will do in the coming weeks will be about learning about your choices, learning about the choices you really have and the choices you must learn to make if you want a life different than the one you have had to date."

     I go back to the center of the room, because up until then I was moving around, to make sure I had their attention, focusing my eyes and my will upon them. I wanted them to feel my intensity about this and to have it burn into them. "But just so you know, I have sat where you are sitting today. I was once smarter than everyone around me. No one could tell me a damn thing. I knew it all. But I never took responsibility for anything bad that ever happened to me. I always blamed someone else. When I got caught stealing, it was my friends idea. I could always lie and blame someone else. And I lied like a dog. Because it was easy and I felt like I was getting over on people. And I would have kept on doing it. Except that someone precious to me paid the price. They died because I lied. And then reality caught up to me. I had to learn a new way of doing things. And I resented it and the man who taught it to me. And I resented the way he taught me, he cut me to the quick with his words, his cruel words, his truthful words. And I learned from him. Twenty years later I have everything I could want from my life and then some."

I directed my will into the center of the room, focused my voice, softened it, to make them strain just a bit to hear me." But this is not about me. This is about you. This is about your chance to do all those things you never knew you could. But I am going to need something from you. And you will think it is a small thing at first, but you will realize with this thing I ask, it is the greatest thing you could do for yourself or for anyone else. If you can't do this thing, I will understand. You can leave right now and no one will fault you for it."

     I pause, waiting to see if anyone is going to leave. I know they won't they have not heard the pitch yet. "In every interaction that you do from now on, I want you to tell the truth. I want you to be honest in all of your dealings with everyone you know. This means if you know you should not be doing it, don't. If you know that it will hurt someone if they knew it was happening, then don't do it. If you have kids and you have not seen them and do not want to because you are not ready to do so. Say so. Know that it will come a time that I will expect that you will want to see your kids, meet your families and stand before them, as new men. But for right now, I ask for this simple cornerstone of character from you. Tell the truth, all the time. And yes, I know. In the beginning, no one will believe you. Why should they? Tell them you are starting over, you had a birthday and you want to make your next birthday something you can be proud of. To tell the truth in a world filled with lies and liable, is an act of rebellion. This will be your first most important act of rebellion in your new life. Telling the truth will be the key to your new life. Will it be easy? No. Especially if you are not living a life above reproach. But if you are going to be telling the truth, tell the truth to everyone, including yourself."

     "There is one more thing I wanted you to think about before you go. There was one other way to get access to that one hundred dollars. Daniel, Peter, if you please?" Dan and Pete are both strapping lads who work out every day. Together, they walk over to the weight and each takes a side and together they lift the bar bell more than twelve inches off the ground. I walk over to them and give them fifty dollars each.

     "Think about the idea that you are no longer in the world alone. For you to make the next steps toward success, you will need to learn to work together. We will be starting the program next week for anyone who believes that they can learn something useful here. When you come back next week, I want to hear your adventures in truth-telling."

     As I put on my hat, someone said to me that I did not tell them my name. "Paul, you can call me Brother Paul."

Brothers © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved