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Die Demon Die!

By Ronald T. Jones

The Vrondak have no concept of revenge. Highly charged emotions fuel revenge and the Vrondak are not motivated by emotion. They do however understand reaction. If someone Fs with you, you F with them back meaner and harder, so hard it deters. And if your opponent is not deterred, he’s at least crippled or dead.

            Contact told me how an occupied world under Vrondak rule launched a rebellion that resulted in little more than a thousand Vrondak casualties. Less than a third fatal. Well, the Vrondak reacted. They deployed their capitol ships above a randomly chosen continent and opened fire. When their bombardment ceased, the continent had been irradiated, and a half billion inhabitants (60 percent of the planet’s population) no longer existed. Message sent. Message received. That planet remains a passive, compliant member of the Vrondak’s star spanning domain to this day.

            A cold reaction can be as effective as hot vengeance. The only difference is, a cold reaction is stale, but vengeance is sweet. I happen to have a sweet tooth.

            The abandoned warehouse was nestled on the outskirts of Midtown’s industrial district. No street lights shone, but the presence of a full moon compensated, bathing the structure’s dilapidation in a powdery glow. I drove up to the warehouse, my headlights off, parked and waited. A minute later, another car pulled up stealthily beside mine. I got out of my car and grabbed a black suitcase from the trunk. Two women emerged from the other car. Each retrieved a similar suitcase from their vehicle.

            “Good to see you, Adeline, Felecia,” I greeted the women. “Thanks for coming.”

            Adeline Stevens, a stout ex-marine with a strong jaw regarded me with obvious sympathy. “No need to thank us, Darren. We’d be here whether you invited us or not.”

            Felecia Conway nodded in vigorous agreement. A SWAT officer and helicopter pilot, Felecia possessed a razor sharp mind wedded to a sharper wit…qualities that attracted me to her. We used to date, but that’s a tale for another day.

Smack! Jeff Brenner succumbed to my stinging slap like a collapsing house of cards. He toppled off the folding chair in spite of the fact that I didn’t really hit him that hard, and crumbled to the floor, whimpering like a wounded dog.

            I thought about propping him back on the chair, but quailed at the idea of touching him. Hell, I didn’t want to be in the same room with this derelict. He stank of alcohol, marijuana, crack and a sordid medley of mind-altering garbage.

            He lived in a studio apartment overrun with dirt and clutter. I didn’t know how he managed on his own given his ravenous zest for self medication.

            I gave him a solid kick to the gut.

            Jeff yelped in pain and curled into a twitching ball.

            “I’m just getting warmed up,” I reminded him coldly.

            “Please…I didn’t betray anyone!”

            Now that really set me off. Contact had identified Jeff Brenner as the person who informed the demons about a demon slayer meeting. Time, location, all the relevant details the demons needed to launch an assault that killed thirty of my comrades. Aiding an enemy of humanity was bad enough. Lying about it just added insult to injury as far as I was concerned.

            I took out my Shiva blade and placed its razor edge against his throat.

            Jeff’s eyes bulged with terror, his breathing coming out in rapid spurts.

            “I’m not in the mood for lies. I have it on good authority that you tipped a demon off. Who did you inform and where can I find him?”

            There comes that critical moment in one’s life when everything hinges on a single choice. I could almost see those rusted gears working in Jeff’s head as he calculated the costs and benefits of the choices before him.

            I let my Shiva bite just enough into his flesh to encourage him in the right direction.

            He flinched. “All right…I…I’ll talk…”

            I drew the knife away and stepped back.

            Jeff rose to a sitting position. With a delicate finger, he dabbed at the minor scrape my blade left on his neck. “Baal.”

            I leaned forward, squinting. “What?”

            “Baal…that’s the demon I spoke to. I told him what I knew.”

            My gaze narrowed in contempt at this pathetic excuse for a human being. Jeff could shoot off at the mouth because his cousin, Ray, was a demon slayer. Unfortunately, Ray made the mistake of telling Jeff what he did on the side. As slayers, we’re not supposed to divulge our activities to anyone, not even close relatives. Now, as a result of Ray’s flawed decision, he and well over two dozen slayers were dead. The tragedy of it made my head swim.

            “Baal,” I mouthed skeptically. “The Baal?”

            Jeff nodded. “That’s him.”

            “The Babylonian deity? The one children were sacrificed to?”

            “The one and only.”

            Wow. He was real. I shook off my fascination and focused on the interrogation. “How long were you feeding information to…Baal?”

            Jeff shrugged. “Three weeks…a month maybe. Whatever Ray told me about missions, other slayers…stuff like that…I passed on to Baal.”

            “Let me guess,” I said, a fresh wave of anger building up inside me. “Baal didn’t act on anything you fed him until you told him about the meeting, right? That’s where he seized on an opportunity to eliminate a gathering of slayers.”

            At that point, Jeff dropped his eyes. The magnitude of what he’d done clearly, heavily dawned on him. The massive guilt I suspected he felt manifested itself in a cascade of tears.

            I watched his convulsions unmoved. “How did you get in contact with Baal?”

            “Through…his agent on Earth…” Jeff managed between sobs. “A guy named Ricker…he’s one of those devil worshipers…he works at a bar on Lake Street called the Rose Petal.”

            I committed this Ricker’s name and location to memory. “In exchange for your betrayal what did Baal offer you?”

            Jeff quieted down. He looked up at me through a tear stained gaze. “I didn’t want to do this…I mean Ray was trying to help me…he was trying to get me off this…stuff, recruit me…he wanted me to be a slayer…he figured it would end my addiction.”

            “What did Baal offer you?” I repeated. I wasn’t interested in hearing this man’s contrite rambling.

            Fresh tears ran down his face. “Any drug of choice.”

            I tightened my grip on my Shiva. It was a reflex motion. Slitting this snake’s throat would have been a nice follow-up on that reflex. “So that’s how much the lives of good men and women are worth to you, a fix.”

            Jeff looked away. “Ricker has one of those Hell portal things. I saw him use it once to bring Baal over to this side.”

            My eyes narrowed at that extra tidbit of information. It was potentially useful.

            “Are you going to kill me?” The addict asked in a low, pleading voice.

            I glared at him. “I don’t know.”

            I left Jeff’s apartment building ten minutes later, pausing to call an ambulance. The poor fellow was overdosing. He might have lived. He might have died. Part of me hoped he pulled through so he could be tortured by guilt.

            Later that evening I took a trip to the Rose Petal bar…

******

            The ladies and I ducked inside the warehouse. We opened our suitcases and removed our combat gear. Flexible, temperature-controlled armor, thinner than silk, harder than carbon.  Multi-spectrum optical masks, and diverse-terrain traction shoes. All rounded off by feather light flak vests made of a durable reactive material to supplement the armor.

            My scanner doubled as a beacon. I adjusted it accordingly and placed it on the floor. We were about to go to Hell. The beacon’s signal was our tether to home. Without it…well the idea of being stranded in Hell almost gave me pause.

            Contact opposed this mission. Despite being a renegade among his people, he still thought like them. He considered any operation conducted out of vengeance to be a wasteful exercise. I didn’t play down the vengeance part, but I convinced him that taking out a top demon was an opportunity that we simply could not pass up. It would deny the enemy leadership and foment disarray in his ranks. Any damage to a demon fell within mission parameters. Contact relented. After all, he couldn’t deny the logic.

            I took a red, crystalline device out of the suitcase and hooked it to my ordnance belt. It was a Hell portal activator. Its previous owner had disappeared. I estimate it’ll be a few years before his body is discovered. I’m thorough like that.

            Felecia stared at the activator. “You sure you know how to use that thing?”

            I hefted my combat assault blaster, peering through its sight to test the targeter. “I’ve had experience.”

            “But have you used one?” Felicia always did know when I was being evasive.

            “I studied a demonstration model,” I admitted somewhat meekly.

            Adeline cut an amused eye my way as she attached a blaster pistol to her hip harness.

            “Your faith in me is endearing,” I scoffed. “Stand back.” I tapped a sequence on the activator. Seconds later a beautiful blue glow pushed back the surrounding darkness like the parting of a curtain.

            The three of us stood before that glow until Adeline nudged me with her elbow and extended a hand toward the portal. “Gentlemen first.”

            I nodded, swallowed my trepidation and stepped forward.

******

            I didn’t know what to expect when we stepped through the portal. The popular view of Hell is a sweltering vista roiling with lakes of fire and brimstone, punctuated by the screams of ill fortuned souls destined to burn for all eternity.

            We actually found ourselves in what looked like the interior of a castle. It was a vast space with a polished marble floor and spiral etched columns supporting a high ceiling. Images covered the walls of this strange room. Ghoulish, frightening images straight out of human nightmares but undoubtedly suited to demon tastes. We walked past column after column until we entered another room, this one smaller, its walls covered with less terrifying motifs, mostly geometric shapes. I saw a few pentagrams embedded in the patterns.

            Yeah, I probably didn’t expect the fire and the suffering, but I definitely had not anticipated a place so antiseptic, so prosaic.

We strolled cautiously through the room, entering another room of approximately the same size with similar wall art. Except this room had a window with a view overlooking an immaculate garden. Trees and bushes lined pebbled walkways. Flowers of more varieties and colors than could be found on Earth highlighted sections of the garden.

            “Flowers in Hell?” Felecia muttered incredulously.

            “Must have bad been flowers,” I joked.

            No one laughed.

            The spirals of a distant city stretched across an orange-red horizon. A demon city. That was as much of an eye opener as being inside a demon castle.

            “Where do we even begin to look for Baal in this place?” Adeline wondered.

            As if in answer to her question, a procession of forty demons dressed in long white robes filed down one of the wider paths leading to an entrance into the castle. By my estimate, we were four floors up. We needed to get to the first level.

            I waved us toward the room’s exit. “Come on.”

            I was certain beyond a doubt that Baal was nearby. The portal wouldn’t have brought us to a place where he was out of reach.

            From the looks of that procession, the discipline of its formation, the in sync rhythm of its march, I had a feeling…

            We double-timed it through room after room until we came across a spiral staircase with gold colored steps. We dashed down the stairs, reaching a first floor that was considerably less cavernous than the upper levels. Shorter wider columns filled the first level. An arch-like opening fifty feet from our position led to the outside.

            The demon procession marched through that arch. I hid behind a column. Adeline and Felecia hid behind one across from me and we waited until the procession passed by us. We followed the demons, keeping out of sight, until they stopped before a pair of massive metal doors covered with pentagram engravings.

            Adeline detached a star shaped frag detonator from her belt. I knew what she had in mind.

            The doors opened up slowly with a low rumble that echoed through the room like a beastly growl.

            When the procession entered the room, the doors closed.

            “Your call,” Felecia said, pinning me with a steady gaze. “Do you think Baal is in there?”

            “What do you think?” I queried back.

            Felecia shook her head. “I have no friggin’ clue!”

            I shrugged. “Same here. Either way, we’ll be killing those creatures on their own turf.”

            Adeline held up her frag detonator. “Guess that’s my que.” The ex-Marine dashed from her cover. She slapped the detonator on the left door and scrambled for the nearest column.

            Within five seconds a bubble of flame, smoke and debris filled the entrance, leaving a gaping hole that the three of us rapidly exploited.

            High-pitched demon howls of pain and rage issued forth in the explosion’s wake.

            From her proximity, Adeline was first through the breached entrance. I followed close on her heels, leaping into a smoke filled chamber nearly the size of a basketball court.

            Demon bodies littered the floor and for a second, I thought the blast alone had debilitated everyone present. But just as many demons were either on their feet or rising. There must have been a good five hundred or more in the room.

            I flicked my assault blaster to auto, and sprayed neutron bursts wherever I saw a demon standing.

            Felecia and Adeline’s weapons spat death and the three of us inundated the chamber in a directed energy storm, riddling demons to shreds. I lowered my blaster and began targeting the wounded, pumping energy bolts into the dead and the living.

            An object zipped past my head, hit the wall and exploded. I ducked and spotted three more objects, long and arrow like sailing through the aperture from outside. Two of the arrows exploded against the wall like the first one. The third arrow hit Adeline in her gun arm. The subsequent blast sent her reeling head over foot a good twenty yards, where she crashed on her back.

            “We’ve got a response!” Felecia announced with admirable calm.

            A growing number of demons, some armed with bows, ran toward the room. The archers released combustible Hell arrows…the same arrows used in the attack on my fellow slayers. A biting sulfurous odor from arrow explosions filled the room. My mask’s filtration worked in overdrive to filter out most but not the entire stench.

            I ran to Adeline’s aid while Felecia fired on the demon archers. The ex-Marine barely stirred, testifying to the power of the Hell arrow that hit her.

            Something gripped my ankle, tripping me up. I torpedoed to the ground, but twisted about in time to see a huge demon looming over me. The thing bore a visage more bull like than serpentine. It was massively muscled with mottled gray leathery skin. Three horns, black as obsidian protruded from the sides and front of its head like twelve-inch sabers. Its small deep-set eyes emitted a dull red glow. The creature’s wide mouth stretched open in a snarl, made all the more frightful by teeth that looked like a hedge of daggers.

            “Baal!” I uttered, recognizing the demon from the description Jeff gave me.

            The demon moved in an eyeblink, swatting away my blaster before I could level it on him.

            “In the flesh, human!”

            Baal stomped hard on my midsection. Even through flak vest and armor, I felt that blow.

            The demon unsheathed a double-pronged sword, each blade longer and wider than my arm.

            I jumped to my feet, but was unable to avoid the bite of Baal’s sword as it came blurring in a downward arch. My left chest burned where double hell-forged blades actually penetrated the armor, cutting the flesh beneath. The sword’s impact threw me back to the floor as if a wrecking ball had hit me.

            Baal came at me again, sword raised high.

            I rolled just as his sword struck the spot I just occupied.

            By this time, a horde of demon reinforcements poured into the room.

            Felecia was mowing them down, but she couldn’t kill them fast enough. They just kept coming, surging over the bodies of their fallen brethren with savage, undisciplined fury.

            Baal swung his sword and I reared back. A blade tip nicked an area just below my neck.

            I leapt forward, my Shiva in hand. I meant to deliver a backhand slash, opening the demon’s throat. But Baal proved too damned quick. He crouched and instead my blade sheared through his left horn.

            Enraged, Baal blasted out an ear splitting roar. “You will suffer, human filth!”

            Suddenly he doubled over as an energy beam speared him in the gut. I turned to see Adeline rising, her blaster aimed at the demon leader. She managed a second shot, striking Baal in the chest. The demon stumbled backwards, losing his balance and falling.

            A mob of demons unscathed by our entry blast swarmed Adeline. She was clearly in bad shape. No way was she going to fend off that many attackers in her condition.

            I scooped up my assault blaster and pumped a spread of bolts into Baal’s body. Afterward, I ran toward Adeline, firing into a mass of demons surrounding her. Dozens dropped.

            “Felecia!” I called out. “Let’s go! I’m opening a portal!”

            Felecia back peddled toward me while maintaining a steady rate of fire in front of her. Hell arrows exploded at her feet or whisked past her. A few she shot out of the air.

            Every demon she targeted fell with sizzling fist sized holes in their heads and bodies.

I tapped my Hell portal activator and a familiar blue glow materialized behind us.

 Felecia unclipped a grenade and hurled it at the rushing demon wave. I did the same. Almost instantly a pair of fiery blasts shook the room. Demon bodies and body parts arched outward from the blasts in grisly spouts.

I grabbed Adeline, hauled her to her feet and headed for the portal. Felecia covered our withdrawal with deadly accurate shooting.

            I glanced back, thought I saw a larger than average demon with two horns coming to his feet amid a heaving throng of his fellows. But that couldn’t have been possible. I was sure I killed him!

            Too late to remedy the situation. The three of us had already fled into the portal.

******

            Felecia, Adeline and I recuperated in my house the next day. Adeline had suffered from a broken arm, shattered ribs and a mild concussion. I had a ragged incision across my chest. I tended Adeline’s injuries with a Vrondak medical kit. She was fully healed within three hours. A nanite rich salve closed my cut. After a few minutes I’d forgotten I had the wound.

            One thing I couldn’t forget…didn’t want to forget was failure. Baal was still alive. Of that I was certain. I failed to finish him off.

            “We struck him in the middle of his lair,” Felecia said as we sat on lawn chairs in my small backyard, drinking smoothies.  “We killed a bunch of his lackeys, shot him multiple times and don’t forget, you cut off his horn. You may not have iced him but you humiliated him. That’s payback.”

            “Not payback enough.” I appreciated Felecia’s efforts to show me a glass half full. But Baal’s continued existence clung to the back of my mind like a leech. I couldn’t let it go.

            Felecia leaned over and kissed me softly on the lips. All thoughts of Baal vanished instantly, displaced by the sight of a very attractive face. Needless to say Felecia had my full attention. “You need to stop punishing yourself. We just went to Hell, did some major damage and came back in one piece. That was our boldest strike. Celebrate it.”

            “You’re right,” I conceded, taking her hand and caressing it. “I’m doing too much moping. We should indeed be celebrating this victory.” I looked into her eyes, silently advertising what I had in mind.

            Felecia smiled, gently disengaged and stood. “Not that kind of celebration.”

“Come on,” I begged “For old times sake.”

“My flight leaves in two hours.”

“So does that mean that if you didn’t have a flight we’d spend quality time together?”

Felecia gave me a warm look, which didn’t answer my question. “It’s been good seeing you, Darren. Feel free to call us again when you need backup.”

             I watched her go into the house and sighed.

            Another failure. How much more could a man take?  I grinned and sipped my smoothie.

One of our crowd asked when they saw my dwelling designs, what kind of advanced beings could live there. I couldn't answer at that time, had no knowledge of the future. Seeing Darwin's theory as just that, there is no evolution except something effects the being enough to be imprinted in the DNA. Then the adjustment is moved along the DNA path. If there is other genetic support, then the weight of recessive or dominate mathematics play out. There are two over riding factors you have to consider. Just as cells split to produce a twin, higher forms reproduce after their own kind. If you cross or mix or mingle your genetic pools, then their is variation. Mutation is however a weakness in the outcome, like cancer. It is an abnormality.

Also if you manipulate the language so that the consciousness of the accepted normal thinking accepts abnormality as "another intelligent life form", even if the arrangement of structure is awkward to coexist with, then you understand why we are all so screwed up.

So having said all that, advancement of our species will only happen in our minds. The mind is the only place we haven't really embraced. We control the concept of mind via political, religious and intellectual content. We have in place taboos, prejudices, restrictions and fear. You can't open doors when fear says no.

The knowledge to those pathways are blocked, hidden in the misleading rights of passage business, mythic stories turned into literal religions and fear of the unknown, judgment, hell, madness, possession, death or horrific mutilation, and being outcast or killed by relatives. This is knowledge that is no longer shared or understood by community. Especially in today's social-political-religious construct.

The antidote is simply to change your mind, to repent. Hah! I thought you religious folks would jump! Relax, I been their 40 years, blinded by sincere faith with no knowledge. The cost of liberation is time and study to know history and facts. The ability to liberate is simple, change your mind. Because god becomes a concept and a construct and a prison if we are not taught correctly. We think our religion is worship and the ritual is worship, the awareness is the real worship. This brings out an acknowledgement and respect for the power and participation in that power. Don't get a tight head!

I know it is not as easy as it sounds. Our deep do do is in our DNA via our total immersion in this present living. BUT, a change in the thoughts is all it takes to begin the process. This is how revolution works. Not by sword or by might, but by my own spirit. A spirit that witnesses firsthand. This is why our ancient forefathers had initiation rights to channel a serious viewing of inner knowing. If you are not serious, you can not see.

An advanced being does not need a dwelling except to shield his physical form from adverse elements. It is to provide protection and security while in stasis (sleep), a place for the family cluster, a place to make and eat meals, store provisions and necessities, a place to muse and display trophies (be it game or handiwork). The form of the dwelling is reflective of the technology in common use and the knowledge of the builder to expand on that to meet real needs. We don't usually build our own dwellings, we rent, lease and buy used living spaces and adapt. The physical forms of homes evolve so slow and are not the mark of advancement.

Advancement is a state of mind. Always has been, always will be. It would be nice to live in a physical world as futuristically evolved as our dreams. Check out Paul Williams who in 1960 designed the theme building at Los Angeles International Airport. Ooh, a black guy designed that!?! Double ooh, his dreams were limited because the world was not ready for that, still not. We need to barrage the world with our futuristic visions to put it in their mind that retro is not helping us inspire to an evolved mind. The other world is into global destruction, not advancement. Who is your daddy/mommy now!

The idea of 'Meat' grown in a petri dish may sound unappetizing, but it may just be the answer for not only feeding the potential billions more of mouths to be born on this planet, but also the solution for animal protein in space.

Here's an article discussing this new and innovative solution for growing 'meat' via cultured muscle tissues rather than harvesting an entire animal....

Lab Grown Meat

Don't forget about my book "Squirrels & Puppies: Dark Morality Tales"

SCI-FI SCHOOL by Odis Chenault

ep.3 Aliens pt.1

Hello and welcome to the third installment of Sci-fi School.

If you want to be a productive member of a good Sci-fi relationship, you have to know your aliens.

Aliens is definitely too big a topic to cover in one installment. This time, I’ll just try to identify some of the major types of aliens. Alien’s can be broken into three main categories, humanoid, non-humanoid or entity. Members of these categories can also overlap.

Humanoid aliens have a human body shape. The resemblance can end there. Humanoid aliens can have the right number of limbs, but other things like color, number of eyes, fingers, etc can vary. Humanoid aliens can also posess any number of powers and abilities  A humanoid alien can be a human from another world or basically anything else that has taken human form. A recurring theme in Sci-fi is that of non-humanoid aliens taking the form of the indigenous life form to blend in or adapt to the climate. It’s also a recurring theme that some unsuspecting earthling finds out that his parents were aliens or that he is special in some way.

Non-humanoids are basically your monsters. If a non-humanoid either arrived from space or resulted from mutation it is considered Sci-fi. If you find some hideous, undiscovered creature in a dark lagoon in Africa, that’s horror. By the way, supernatural themed stories are rarely Sci-fi. They’re mostly Paranormal, Occult or Fantasy. However, I have seen ghost stories set in space. Non-humanoid aliens can be microscopic.

Entity beings are usually shapeless creatures. These beings can have a lot of power. They can be single beings or community creatures. They can be in the form of gas, crystals or pure energy. They can even be liquid. Entity beings can attack one person at a time or be powerful enough to destroy a planet.

Aliens can be common species thought to have originated on Earth. Whales, Dolphins, mice, etc. I once read a story about ants being aliens that crashed on Earth and have been working hard ever since to rebuild their ship. So as you can see, aliens can be anywhere, anytime and in any form.

Good luck out there.

If you liked this story, there's more in "Squirrels & Puppies: Dark Morality Tales"

A Tel Aviv Univ. researcher has developed surprising tool to measure our changing climate.

R&D Mag: Radio waves carry news of climate change

I am new to this forum and would like to introduce myself to the members\readers of BSFS. I am currently finishing a collection of 11 short stories entitled “When on Terra…” and am finally unveiling bits and pieces to the public.  Here is the first draft of the prologue from the volume that ties the stories into a unified whole.  I welcome any and all comments.   

 PROLOGUE

     A halo encircles the blue sphere; swirling white patterns and silhouettes of green and brown dapple its surface. Old Earth emerges from a curved horizon full of stars.   

    We decelerate.  We descend into the iridescent light.  

    A woman steps past me, the lace and crystal-bead embroidery of her dress flickers as she walks toward a man standing before the forward viewing glass. Her sensuous gait is enhanced by a mechanistic shudder, the carrier’s field generator shifts to acclimatize us to earth’s gravity.  Spinning around, the man returns the woman’s smile, and together they soak in the object of our journey.

    Bluish light streams into the concierge, drowning out any frivolity and muting the conversations of the multitude gathered on deck.  Terrae from all parts of the Fellowship, Na-Terrae of all shapes and sizes, Althumans, Mixegens, and other species both exotic and piercing in appearance - one by one they stop and look. The room feels silent; many are stunned by the reality of seeing earth for the very first time. 

    (None of us Terrae can imagine what life was like for our primeval ancestors who lived underneath gravity’s boot, who died without ever seeing their homeworld as it truly is in the heavens.  And yet, we are witnesses of what ancient stargazers, megalomaniacs, martyrs and imperialists only dreamt of).  

    I too, am overcome by the slow-motion vista before me.

   The opalescent halo darkens, becoming turquoise, dark blue, then violet, and finally pitch-black.  We’ve crossed over the terminator line.  The concierge-deck is plunged into anonymity as we pass from daylight into inky night.  Conversations resume, and the meaning of the words spoken have become indistinguishable again.  Radiant stars of all different sizes and colors, the great white milky-way, and the circling moon stare at us from the dark.    

    The earth’s cities, each separated by nocturnal space, rise in electric beauty to greet us. The dazzling shafts of light reveal street patterns of all shapes and length.  Some cities are covered with a vague backlit haze, while smaller points of light are immersed in the opacity of storm-clouds.   In the distance, bright flashes of orange then blue-white lightning arc from one cloud to another, illuminating terrain devoid of habitation. 

    Does every Terran on deck see the same planet as me? Do they feel the same sense of awe that I do?  We hail from so many different worlds of life. (Each of us has an agenda as to why we have come here).

    A voice directs us to take our seats… the rich tone of the command snatches me away from my reverie. 

    The creation before me is as much a tangible place as it is a tabula rasa.  The images that float inside our skulls, rife with the conceits and personal experiences of their creators, acclimatize our collective gaze upon this dazzling world.  My curiosity and hopes are intertwined with these fabricated images.  By design, the wanderlust beating within my heart is captivated by the imagery. 

    In my mind’s eye, earth is associated with pristine scenery, cities of unusual appeal and historic sites and idiosyncratic enclaves. Every type of architecture, entertainment and taste-bud tingling cuisine one could possibly dream of finds its literal translation here.  The innumerable attractions and sightseeing opportunities are near limitless.  It’s a living, breathing paradise that offers something for everyone. 

    Earth denotes much more than an ancient homeland – it signifies tolerance, a free-spirit ambience, an atmosphere of peaceful coexistence.  It is a magical place that celebrates diversity.  Of course, only the flavor of a blinding array of cultures and lifestyles can be presented on such a small scale.  But, it’s a tourist’s dream, the proof I need to know that all Terrae belong to a single community based on a shared descent from earth.

   Reality has set in… I must find a way of alienating my eyes from my preconceptions.  

   The changing colors outside the carrier are stunning… black to various shades of gray, dark blue, then light blue followed by a thin white line; finally orange and yellow blending to red at the horizon line. The moon sets like a succubus beckoning her prey.  We pass over the terminator line again, emerging from darkness into the light.

    The carrier descends through the atmosphere.   A bright light that exudes a wraithlike euphoria floods the concierge-deck.   We flow over a panorama of clouds, brilliant deep blue oceans, phytoplankton blooms and islands; brilliant colonies of blue green coral strut their sinuous forms before our eyes.  (A group of Terraphiles raise their glasses in celebration.  I find their antiquarianism distasteful.  They seem to be running away from their puerile sins).  I wonder how many passengers realize that earth is a park otherwise known as Terra-Prime, an artifact of historical conservation, a landmark, a world of strangers and even stranger conventions.

    The carrier assumes its place amongst a procession of transports en route for various termini.  I can feel the world change as mountains,  anticlinal fold structures and the dark circular patches of salt domes mar Terra-Prime’s perfection.  Irony abounds here – we come to earth yearning for a golden age of lost innocence, yet we have settled in areas that resemble our homelands located amidst the stars.  Even now, I can see pretentious architecture that defies gravity, structural fantasies animated by quantum singularities, facades that imitate archaic and exotic motives, and the abstract colors of bio-favelas.  There are places here that you don’t want to visit. 

    But Terra-Prime has it all: frenetic public markets, antiquarian interests, sensuous circuses, sybaritic luxury, off-center eugenic policies, a swag of fun-filled festivals and religious celebrations, covert sex industries, ravenous blood-sucking insects, genomeological gardens, outlandish home-makeovers,  fringe science parades, overzealous bodyguards, and propagandists of temporal happiness. Anything, any experience, perhaps even any being, can be had on Terra for the right price. 

   The carrier makes a series of S-shaped, banking turns to slow its descent speed as it begins its final approach to the runway.  I can see the starport; it’s huge and garish with dozens of terminals built in a variety of architectural styles. Contrary to popular mythology, there are no formulas here.   

   Each passenger will go to a different city – seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling, and connecting with it, imbuing it with clashing intentions: dirty little secrets and not-so-subtle malice, the heat of unquenched passions, unsolicited restraints, olfactory paranoia, hidden  teardrops, joyful renunciations, solipsistic conformity, a landscape of old hatreds and new misunderstandings, skanky liaisons, and financial success.  All of this fascinates me, like the spray of golden pixie dust during a spring festival, like the smell of blood after a hooligan bash.   Now I know why I’ve come here.

   We disembark.  As I join the throng passing through this enormous growth of metal and stone and glass, I realize what I am.  In the ancient tongue, I would be called a flâneur, a passionate onlooker of the millions of stories walking next to me, shoving me, bumping me out of their paths.  We walk through the port towards the light of Terra-Prime, the park that no longer resides within our dreams, but in its hallucinatory resemblance to our heterogeneity.

   The sign overhead flashes ‘Welcome to Terra-Prime.’

See "(source here)" in text below

CNN: Could moon landings have been faked? Some still think so
NYT: The Vocal Minority - The Moon Landing Was a Hoax
Time| Conspiracy Theories: The Moon Landing Was Faked

In the multiverse scenario a vast and diverse array of bubble universes fluctuate into existence inside a larger vacuum. A small fraction of the universes have physical properties conducive to life.

Simon Science Quanta Magazine: Is Nature Unnatural?

Composite image by NASA, University of Arizona The total mass of the “Bullet Cluster’s” individual galaxies adds up to far less than the mass of the cluster’s two clouds of hot x-ray emitting gas shown in red. The blue areas, which account for even more mass than the galaxies and x-ray gas combined, show the distribution of dark matter in the cluster

Simon Science Quanta Magazine: In the Hunt for Dark Matter, Promises to Keep?

Physics Highlights: Discovery of Ultra-Rare Decay at LHC

700th post on BSFS: enjoy!

Demon Slayer, Alien Killer

By Ronald T. Jones

I remember as a kid walking with my father through a neighborhood that wasn’t exactly friendly to black people. We were returning from a movie. It was the late show. The buses had stopped running and while my dad didn’t show it, I’m sure he was dismayed. He didn’t have a car at the time. So, we had no choice but to walk through a good stretch of this neighborhood to get to a street where the buses still ran.
Needless to say, we were subjected to a barrage racial taunts hurled by bigots in cars and on foot. A pair of ruffians in a slow moving pickup even tossed firecrackers at us. The pop pop of the firecrackers scared the hell out of my eleven-year-old self, but in hindsight, better that than the pop pop of a firearm. All the while, my father was a towering picture of calm as he walked along, seemingly oblivious to the hate flung our way. Me? I was anything but serene. A sick feeling churned in my gut that we weren’t going to survive the night. But something else accompanied that feeling, a weird exhilaration like the kind you get when you’re walking a tightrope with no safety net below. On the one hand I wanted out of KKKville as quickly as possible. On the other, I desired to indulge this tingly, adrenaline-edged excitement.
Fortunately, a sympathetic cab driver picked us up and rode us out of that danger zone free of charge. I would never know what our fate would have been had he not rescued us. But I do know that I wanted more than anything to revisit that exhilaration, bathe in it, taste it, breathe it. I do know that on that night, a warrior was born.

Decades later…

I was running late. That’s what saved my life. The reason I ran late was because aliens tried to kill me earlier in the day. Vrondak agents caught me slipping at my local grocery store. I had a day off from work. Another cover job, this time as a janitor at a downtown high rise. Contact had detected Hell portal activity somewhere in the building. He sent me to pinpoint it.
Up until that morning, demons were my only concern. Yes, I knew the Vrondak were looking for humans allied with Contact. I was forced to relocate because they discovered where I lived a month ago. But for some lame ass reason, I never thought they would actually find me.
Good thing I had my mini-blaster. It was half the size of the gun I normally used for missions, but just as effective.
I caught the woman staring at me in the bread aisle. She appeared early thirtyish, blond, good looking, nice body. I felt flattered. Not to sell myself short, but I wasn’t used to attractive women giving me that kind of overt attention.
Dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans, I wasn’t sporting my best look. After all, I was in a grocery store. Of course, I didn’t let that bother me.
She approached me, her gaze unwavering. That’s when I took closer notice of her. The woman’s face was void of any expression…inhumanly so.
My miniblaster was tucked in my waistband at the small of my back. My hand drifted in that direction. A hopeful part of me waved off a nibbling suspicion. A demon? No way. Just a woman who’s clearly interested in me. Yet I couldn’t just do away with my misgivings. And rightly so.
When the woman came within five feet of me, her right arm morphed into a long metallic blade. She leapt toward me, blade raised high.
Drawing on quick reflexes, I dove sideways. A blade stroke meant to cleave me in half collided with the floor. I whipped out my mini-blaster and sprayed my attacker with plasma bolts. Directed energy slammed into her chest, burning away her tight fitting blouse. The impacts knocked her into the bread shelf, sending loaves tumbling to the floor. She rebounded from that pummeling and came at me again. Realizing what I was up against, I reached in my pocket and took out a Dollar charge.
My opponent wasn’t a demon. I was fighting a Vrondak and not just any Vrondak, but a tactical biomech. An assassin cyborg configured to look like a human. Contact had briefed me on biomechs. They were swift, deadly and possessed a highly durable outer shell that made them impervious to most small arms fire. Damn! I wished I were fighting a demon.
I flung the Dollar at the biomech and dropped to the floor in a fetal position. A loud clap followed by a small shock wave washed over me. Smoke filled the aisle.
I jumped to my feet, blaster aimed in the direction of where I tossed the charge. The smoke dissipated enough for me to spot the biomech sprawled on the floor several yards away with a crater in her torso. I rushed to the prone assassin and fired multiple bursts into her body in case she wasn’t dead. The biomech’s mechanical components could be salvaged. I tried to inflict irreparable damage on her biological side.
Shouts and screams of panic rang out in the store. People scrambled to wherever they could find safety in the wake of the explosion I caused
I rushed to join the crowd, hoping to blend in.
But I knew the danger wasn’t over. There had to be other Vrondak nearby.
Shoppers streamed out of the store’s two exits. I was among them, hopeful that I could I slip out unmolested and report to Contact.
Not happening.
I spotted six large men (or Vrondak disguised as men) with dark glasses and crew cuts standing in the parking lot facing the exits. They were armed with large barreled weapons resembling chrome pipes. They raised those weapons and opened fire on the shoppers.
Bright crimson beams pulsed forth in searing, rippling currants, raking through the crowd. Screams grew louder, intermingled with cries of injury and the hissing sizzle of scorching energy striking flesh.
I hit the ground. Energy beams streaked above me, close enough to give me sunburns.
Bodies riddled with horribly fatal wounds dropped around me. A patch of concrete a few feet from my head erupted in a plume of hot gravel from a beam impact.
I felt more irked than alarmed by this situation. The biomech failed to take me out, so now her handlers resort to wholesale massacre of innocents just to eliminate one human? I was pissed.
I jumped to my feet and dashed back into the store, but not before loosing some return fire. I targeted the nearest Vrondak and downed him with a beam that took off his forehead. His companions turned their guns on me, sending concentrated energy blazing in my direction. I ran swiftly down an aisle amid a storm of enemy fire. Shelves shattered, soup cans burst, splattering me in a chicken noodle, cream of mushroom flavored rain.
Pausing briefly, I whipped out my cell phone and tapped an emergency code on the touch screen. I needed Contact to send reinforcements. I’d probably be dead by the time help arrived on the scene, but it didn’t hurt to make the call. After hitting the transmit key, I sprinted toward the storage room. Once inside, I looked for the dock. Chances were I could escape my attackers through a back exit.
There it was, twenty feet to my left a receiving dock with a truck backed in. I passed a couple of abandoned forklifts with crate loads of produce still resting on the prongs. The workers back here obviously wasted no time getting out of Dodge when the raucous started.
I opened the door next to the dock and peeked outside. A Series 12 Pacification Unit hovered above the docked tractor-trailer. PUs were Vrondak drones. Shaped like horizontal teardrops, they were semi-sentient like their biomech cousins.
I tried to duck back inside before the Unit spotted me. Too late. Its narrow end swung toward me spitting gouts of brilliant energy in rapid-fire bursts. I dove to the floor as the dock door was ripped to shards by a drone-delivered fusillade. As I scrambled to put distance between myself and the obliterated door, a Vrondak burst into the storage area. I pumped over a dozen shots into the assailant’s chest. He fell backwards without so much as a murmur.
I ran to the far end of the vast room, searching for other exits. Suddenly, a swathe of wall caved in behind me. A cyclone of explosive pressure yanked me off my feet. I crashed shoulder first into a stack of palettes filled with tomatoes. I shook off a bout of wooziness and forced myself to stand…or tried to. No way in hell was I going to drift into unconsciousness. My right shoulder throbbed in protest. I winced in pain. The Unit had fired a missile. I glanced behind me, saw more Vrondak entering the storage area and redoubled my efforts to rise. At that second, I realized I didn’t have my mini-blaster. I lost it in the blast.
The Vrondak assassins scurried cautiously into the room, wary of being picked off. If they knew I was unarmed their caution would very quickly transition to boldness.
If I didn’t find my gun I was SOL. I was SOL either way. I was trapped with no escape route in sight.
The drone Unit floated through the massive hole it created and maintained a holding pattern twenty yards from my position. Now I was really, truly SOL. Even though I was hidden amid a pile of broken tomato-smeared crates, my body heat would have shown up on its sensor like mud on alabaster. Plus, it wouldn’t have made the slightest iota of difference to the Unit if I were armed. My little blaster would’ve been as effective against its superhardened hull as spitballs hurled against a brick.
The drone settled its emitter squarely on my position. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing I’d bought the farm…
A second explosion shook the storage room. I opened my eyes in time to see the drone enveloped in a blanket of flame, hot fragments spewing in every direction. A piece of the drone rocketed inches past me, embedding itself in a stack of boxes.
Something jumped through the hole in the wall so fast I barely caught it. No…not something, someone!
A woman, attractive, athletic build, wearing stretch pants and a tank top. She bore a strong resemblance to Serena Williams, but what she held her hands was no tennis racket. It was a portable launcher of some kind. She landed effortlessly on her feet, swung the launcher on the Vrondak assassins and released a glowing projectile. Whatever that projectile was, it struck the ground in front of the lead Vrondak and erupted in a burning flash of light.
I hunkered down in my cover.
A moment or two may have passed when I decided to risk a peek…
“Darren Skye.”
I flinched at the voice and whirled about to find my rescuer standing behind me. Her unblemished beauty caught me off guard more than the abruptness of her appearance. I tagged her as a biomech from the vacancy in her dark eyes and complete lack of expression. I never knew Contact had biomechs in his inventory…assuming he had more than one. I was thankful the one in front of me was on my side.
The biomech wielded her launcher in one hand. She reached her other hand out to me and I took it, allowing her to pull me to my feet. I stared at her, feeling awkward. What does one say to an alien cyborg in a situation like this? I settled for a simple ‘thanks.’
“We must leave this place immediately,” the biomech said with perfect inflection. “I will take you to a safe house where you will be debriefed.”
“Good thing you were nearby,” I replied for lack of anything substantive to say. “Lead the way.”

The media described the event that occurred at the supermarket as a terrorist attack. Twenty-two dead, thirty-six wounded, massive property damage. The biggest question was, who were the perpetrators? A Vrondak clean up crew must have arrived in the immediate aftermath, because the news mentioned no alien bodies or pieces of that drone. Unless, government investigators discovered the bodies and put a clamp on the media.
And then there was the matter of my picture plastered on every news channel. Store surveillance video evidently captured my scrap with the biomech assassin. Strangely enough, the biomech’s picture was not on the news. So who retrieved the body? The Vrondak or the government?
Either way, my unwanted publicity was sure to cramp my demon hunting lifestyle.

My new biomech friend set me up in a small house on the north side of town. She was nice enough to stop at my apartment and pick up a few of essential items: clothes, weapons, books, my original Star Trek series DVD collection. I asked to go with her, but the biomech didn’t want to chance me getting hurt or killed in case Vrondak assassins were scoping out my place. She also obtained a new car for me. Authorities would be searching for a black male, mid 30s, driving a gray Ford Taurus with a dent on the passenger side rear door. My new vehicle was a shiny black Lexus, definitely a step up. I didn’t ask where or how she got the car.
After corresponding with Contact about the incident and settling into new surroundings…again…I hopped in my car and rode to the state border. About thirty of my fellow demon slayers were meeting in a cabin tucked away well off the beaten path of civilization. We all worked alone for the most part. But every two months we met to discuss missions, provide updates on demon activity and otherwise talk shop.
Boy did I have a story to tell my peers. They would have seen the news reports and assumed that the unknown terrorists who attacked the grocery store were demons. I needed to warn them that Vrondak agents were on the ground. I needed to tell my fellow slayers to watch their backs. A new front had just opened up in our war against the enemies of humanity.
That chance never came.
Four hours later, I drove on a narrow, winding forested path leading to the cabin. My scanner picked up a whiff of Hell portal activity. I stopped the car and got out. Opening the trunk, I removed a blaster and a mag rifle. I clipped grenades on my belt and added an extra combat blade to supplement my trusty Shiva knife. The enemy wasn’t going to catch me flat footed twice in a day.
I hiked about a forth of a mile through the forest until I reached the clearing where the cabin was located. I gasped. The outside of the cabin looked a wreck as if a tornado had passed by, gobbled it up and spat it back out. The ground was blackened and pitted with holes clearly gouged by explosive impacts. A battle was fought here. My scanner all but screamed residual sulfur readings. Even though, the scanner detected no demons near or far, I waited in the trees a few minutes longer, surveying the scene with my eyes. Then I dashed toward the cabin.
Its windows were shattered and the door torn off the hinges.
I eased up to the entrance, chilled by the absolute silence I encountered. A foreboding absence of noise.
I had to overcome a ton of reluctance before I dared peek inside the cabin. When I did the horror of what I beheld froze every function in my body. A full minute must have floated by before I remembered to breathe.
My fellow slayers, friends, comrades, brothers and sisters in arms, lay in pieces…literal pieces…piled in the middle of the floor. Blood and gore was everywhere, floor, walls, ceiling. The smell…I backed out, sickened, enraged.
I spotted something on the blood-pooled floor and picked it up. A sickle sword with intricate geometric symbols etched into the blade. A demon weapon, more powerful than any man-made cutting implement. Its Hell forged blade could slice through a slab of steel in a single stroke. Demons normally were unarmed when on Earth. They depended on their superior physical strength to victimize helpless humans.
The attack on the cabin was clearly a planned assault, which explained why the demons were armed. They were out to annihilate a group of slayers and they succeeded. I couldn’t tell how many demons died in this battle. The demons retrieved their dead. The slayers must have killed hundreds of the bastards before they were overrun. I held on to the sword and stalked to the back of the cabin.
That’s when I saw an intact body lying on the ground. I walked briskly toward the body, my stomach twisting in revulsion the nearer I approached. The victim was a man and he’d been skinned from waist to neck. His exposed flesh glistened reddish pink. His left hand had been hacked off an inch or two past the wrist. That was probably a consequence of close quarter combat. The severed hand lay several yards away still enfolding a blaster’s grip. His missing left eye may have been removed as part of the horrific torture his demon captors inflicted on him.
I recognized him. Frank Calhoun, former Green Beret. A big strapping, vigorous fellow, reduced to a mutilated carcass. I heard a moan.
I knelt down on both knees. Frank was still alive…barely. I shouldn’t have been surprised given his toughness.
I started to put a hand on his shoulder, but refrained. Even the gentlest touch would’ve aggravated his suffering. “Frank,” I said.
His good eye opened partially, settled on me and focused. “Darren…” He raised his head. “You…missed the party.” He managed a shaky smile.
“What the hell happened here?” I knew what happened, but I wanted details.
“Little less than an hour ago…portals opened up…twenty, thirty portals…” Frank paused and swallowed. “Demons came rushing out…like a goddamn flood…so many of them. They were armed with swords and some type of bow that fired explosive flame…we had no…warning…no warning…we fought them hard…took them out in droves…but they overran us…butchered us…tried to call Contact to send help, but the demons jammed our signal…”
Frank struggled to raise his body. He pinned me with a fierce gaze. “Let…Contact know that the demons are…are…becoming sophisticated…tell him we need to…recalibrate our hell portal detectors.”
“I forced a grin. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.” I took out my cell phone. “You’ll be the one filing that report. In the meantime let’s see about getting your injuries treated.”
I sent a transmission to Contact. My signal went through.
“A dose of advanced alien medicine will make you good as…” I stopped talking when I noticed how still Frank had become. He was no longer breathing.

So, Vrondak hit teams were active and the demons had upgraded their technology. It was foolish of us to think that we could operate so freely and not expect our enemies to respond in any way other than defensive.
I went back to the safe house later that afternoon, mourned my fallen comrades, and spent the evening reading intelligence updates on demon activity.
The next day I embarked on a mission. Contact reported an active hell portal on the south side…inside a church of all places.
You ask if it was too soon for me to go on a mission after my horrendous ordeal the previous day?
No. Not too soon at all.
When an opponent hits me hard, my first inclination is to hit back harder. The sooner the better. That’s what I was anxious to do. I wanted payback.
I’m going to slaughter every demon I can get my hands on. And if a Vrondak assassin crosses paths with me that son of a bitch is going to get the same treatment.
Demon slayer, alien killer. That’s what I am, what I was born to be.
Darren Skye…signing off.

I just received the menu for the next event on October 18th, 2013 to be held at the University of the District of Columbia and it is off the chain! Forget the Mediterranean fare we had back in 2009, new caterer Chrissy & Company is bringing the soul back to plain old wine and cheese soirees. If we are lucky, she might even recreate her signature sangria for us. A slice of her Chocolate Kahlua cake had several of last nights party goers scheming on selling slices on the street in NYC.

I'm so excited, I want to leak the menu, but I know I shouldn't - at least not until September. This is going to be a sold out affair with the best in today's writers of multicultural speculative fiction and you don't want to miss it. The reception will be Friday at UDC with more author panels and signings on Saturday at the Martin Luther King Library in Washington, D.C.

We will celebrate Speculative Fiction month in style with a great panel of authors, interviews, workshops and of course - food (and wine, my reason for living). Space will be limited at the Friday soiree. Early bird invitations will go out in mid August. Sign up for more information now. Go to BlackAuthorShowcase.com for more information.

Credit: see link @ end of post

NASA: Warp Field Mechanics 101, Dr. Harold "Sonny" White
NY Times: Faster Than the Speed of Light?
SPACE.com: Research Warps into Hyperdrive

SPACE.com: This artist's concept shows an unmanned NASA spacecraft approaching a near-Earth asteroid for capture and transport to a location near the moon.

House lawmakers debated NASA's 2014 budget today (July 18) during a meeting that saw stark partisan divisions over proposed funding cuts for the agency's science and space exploration programs.

ANTONIO

Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

Shakespeare, "Merchant of Venice," Scene III

#P4TC: To "Boldly Go" Was Never Exclusively a Business Incentive
SPACE.com: Proposed NASA Budget Cuts Spark Bitter Debate in Congress
Clara Moskowitz, Assistant Managing Editor

Hey Fam. Myself and my buddy Phil Brown have done a short film for Ron Howard's and Canon camera's Project Imagination. Please go check it out, login, leave comments and Vote for us to be one of the 20 finalists on August 19th. Go the link below to see the film. 

https://www.longliveimagination.com/gallery/video/596

Thanks
Mark Dudley
Imaginos Workshop.