BLOGS

My latest novel is available in print and as an ebook!

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/warriors-of-the-four-worlds/15539263

Our latest highlight is black supervillain Malice! Read all about her here

              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

Just working out some new properties as I get ready for convention season.. So here's the first preview .
of a concept I'm Trying to prepare a preview of for ECBACC:
Pencils by;
Jay Aquilera
&
Juan Frigeri

                         [b]        TOOL-BOI[/b] 
                        An Original Concept
                     Created & Written
                                       By
                     Robert Garrett@2010

Robert Garrett
Xmoor Studios
http://www.xmoorstudio.com
All rights and characters are trademarks of Robert Garrett for Xmoor Studios.

On December 31, 2010 at the stroke of Midnight around the world during celebratory events, hidden assassins burst into the room, killing world leaders and the worlds most powerful dignitaries, while at the same time the president of the United States was saved by man  who appears inside the White house with a message to President, a message that will spark an exploration of the secret layers of power in order to find what knowledge may have been hidden away - or what enemy may be finally willing to reveal itself…, introducing the remnants of an old civilization that was destroyed centuries ago slowly revealing secrets and hidden organizations, so intricately timed and managed….

In the shadows they whisper of men who don’t exist… Mythical assassins who play with the lives of the rich and powerful… They are the EBONATI… These assassins brought new battle tactics and philosophies of war with them

For Moser Sloane it means to have created the perfect assassins Guild… Reclaiming a forgotten heritage with a race extinct that was destined to conquer the world.

For A’ Meir it has become survival… Raised by killers, he chose life over death… For that he has been marked

The Ebonati operate primarily in the darkness a Covert guild of assassins that ingest ancient drugs within themselves allows them to jump to great heights, operate at super-accelerated speeds, and have superhuman strength.
The Nations of the world are in chaos. The Ebonati unleashed powerful drugs which almost crippled the United States. Then as the U.S. recovers, the world plays witness to the reappearance of an ancient African Tribe that few knew existed… The Wictonda nation has arisen and has begun to Conquer through the plans of their charismatic Leader Kali Mu’tu, the Overseer of the newly recognized Wictonda nation… Unbeknownst to most the Wictonda is the breeding grown for the Assassination Guild called the Ebonati… And they have laid siege to all of Africa.

“ My name is A’ Meir pronounced A’ Mir.., Names are important to people. I wish I knew my mine… Amere is the name I was given by the man whom I once called Father…, Father taught me everything about life… that paid for my education by the best scholars and tutors money can buy… The father who found amusement as I prowled the streets thinking myself a man plying my inherited trade of death to those who dared crossed my path… The father who taught me how to kill… Not just kill, but master every form of death, every nuance of action and reaction that could take a life.
The father who had lied to me for as long as I can remember… The father who proved himself just … Just a man… a vile… cold, calculating man who now wants to take the life he lavishly groomed and hoped to pass his torch…
I will never be father… For I have embraced life…And become a man… Yet there is one thing that I can not disavow that the man who was once my father left me… I am Ebonati… I am a TOOL-BOI”

"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

The batleth’s blade came within bare inches of tracing a deep and mortal groove across Kenneth Dumaka’s throat.  The Section 31 trainee fell backwards, converting his tumble to the mat into a smooth roll which he used to hop back on his feet.  The Klingon came at Ken with another slashing hook that missed by a wider margin.  Ken leapt to one side, avoiding the attack at the same time thrusting the tip of his own batleth toward his opponent’s neck.  Swiftly, the Klingon looped his blade about, knocking Ken’s weapon aside.  Adopting a double grip, the Klingon’s arms shot out.  He tilted his left arm and the batleth’s left blade tip dug into the human’s pectoral, before the latter could execute a block.  Ken grimaced.  The wound was superficial, but it still stung like hell. 

Ken hesitated for a split second before deciding to go with a mid level lunge intended to gut his adversary.  That was his problem.  He was thinking too much.  And he realized that when the Klingon’s foot lashed out, crashing into his chest as Ken was rearing back to implement his maneuver.  Ken went down hard, the wind all but knocked out of him.  The Klingon’s wild eyed fierceness glowed with the expectation of a very imminent victory.  Ken was at a disadvantage and he knew it.  The Klingon would pound and pound  relentlessly on the downed human in a mindless frenzy.  Ken would’ve been able to block a succession of blows, but unless he came back to his feet, he was essentially helpless.  Sooner or later one of those hammering blows would have bypassed Ken’s guard and this exercise would be over.

Ken reached into his boot, pulled out a thin, sturdy knife and lobbed it at the rapidly advancing Klingon.  The knife’s blade sailed a short gap before planting itself just below the Klingon’s left eye.  The Klingon let out a pained roar.  Ken exploited his opponent’s distraction by swinging his batleth at ground level, sweeping the Klingon’s feet from under him.  The Klingon landed on his shoulder.  Ken raised his batleth and brought the blunt end down in a chopping motion upon the Klingon’s head.  The Klingon’s motion ceased.

Ken took a quick breather, then stood.  He bent down, plucked his small knife out the unconscious Klingon’s face and tucked it back into his boot. 

                “Underhanded means to a victory,” Jutakkh, Ken’s batleth trainer, declared.  “A victory worthy of a Romulan.”

                “A victory by any means is worthy,” Ken tossed back with unapologetic swagger.  Of course for all of Jutakkh’s talk of Klingon honor, Ken saw clear approval in the grizzled warrior’s eyes.

                “Spoken like a true Section 31 veteran.”

                Ken and Jutakkh turned to see Howard Jordan entering the training room.  The slim, gray haired man moved with a fluidic energy belying his advanced years.

                Ken straightened.  “Howard.  This is a surprise.”

                “Of course it is,” Howard chuckled.  “It was meant to be.  I like to drop in on my recruits from time to time, see how they’re progressing.”

                “You can read the evaluations for that,” said Ken, letting the batleth rest on his shoulder like a rifle.

                “I could,” Howard admitted.  “But words on a pad don’t pick up certain intangibles that could be gleaned from first hand viewing.”

                “Intangibles?”

                “Yes.  For example.  I witnessed you defeat an opponent in a batleth contest where you introduced a non-regulation weapon into the fight.  The fact that you brought the knife with you indicated your determination to achieve victory, even at the cost of fighting fairly.”

                “I suppose I did violate the rules,” Ken said with a so-what kind of shrug.  “Am I to be punished?”

                Howard beamed amusement.  He and the Klingon trainer exchanged grins. 

                Ken’s deep, ebon face concealed the blush underneath for what he took to be some kind inside joke at his expense.

                “No, Ken, you most assuredly will not be punished for your initiative,” Howard praised.  “However, you will be required to do one thing, and this is related to the matter of ‘intangibles’ I spoke of.  You see, Jutakkh’s evaluation will state in neat professional prose that you prevailed over your opponent using an unconventional tactic no other trainee has used before.  While I applaud that, I saw a shortcoming in your performance common to all trainees.”

                Ken allowed his shoulders to slump ever so slightly.  “Howard, I’ve only been training with the batleth for two weeks…”

                “It’s not your batleth training, Ken.   While recruits are trained in the martial arts of multiple species, we don’t expect championship level expertise, just a basic knowledge of various forms.”  The older man shook his head.  “No I’m referring to what I saw-or did not see- after your victory.  I’m referring to what I see now, in your eyes, that intangible that can’t be conveyed through a report.”

                A stifling blanket of self consciousness settled over Ken.  “What do or don’t you see in my eyes?”

                “No killer instinct,” Howard replied, frankly.   “That’s what I don’t see.  What I do see is the Federation.  Federation mercy.  Federation compassion.  Federation fairness.  Those things shine like a spotlight from your eyes.  If you want to operate effectively in Section 31 you have to purge that light.”

                “It boggles my brain how you humans ever fought us to a standstill given your pacifistic leanings,” Jutakkh ridiculed with a perplexed scowl.

                Ken took a few seconds to study the Klingon.  He couldn’t figure out how it was Jutakkh ended up in the Federation, in the employ of its most secret intelligence arm.   The only information Howard offered was that Jutakkh was a disaffected former officer in the Klingon military.

                Hell, Ken thought.  If I was living in the Klingon Empire I’d be disaffected, too.

                Howard gestured with his chin toward the unconscious Klingon.  “I want you to kill him.”

                Ken frowned and cracked a smile, hoping the old man was afflicted with a bout of strange humor.  “Kill him?”

                When Ken saw no humor in the old man’s suddenly frostbitten eyes, his face sagged.   “Wait…I don’t understand. I won.  What’s the point of killing him?  That’s murder.”

                Howard glanced at the Klingon trainer.  “Exactly what I mean.  Intangibles.”

                Jutakkh exhaled a harsh grunt of agreement.  He snatched Ken’s batleth, walked over to the downed Klingon and cleaved the latter’s skull with a ferocious, well delivered stroke.

                Ken gasped aloud at this display of cold premeditated violence, provoking a disdainful snicker from the trainer.  “He yelps like a distressed crone over the demise of a holographic program. What will he do when confronted with an opportunity to butcher real flesh and blood?”

                Ken’s heart thumped madly as he watched his holographic opponent dematerialize in a digital haze.  He shared Jutakkh’s sentiment.  What would he do if faced with having to kill a real enemy in such a manner?

                Another hologram of a batleth-armed Klingon materialized in the training room seconds after the ‘dead’ one vanished.

                Jutakkh returned the batleth to the trainee.

                “A few more drills should purge that light,” Howard commented, ignoring Ken.

                “Either that or the darkness of death will claim him,” said Jutakkh.    The two moved off to the side of the room, leaving the middle occupied by Ken and his new, photonic opponent.

                Ken stared at the trainer.  “Jutakkh, what are you talking about?”  His eyes flicked to Howard.  “What does he mean…?”

                The hologram charged.

                Ken threw up his batleth to block the incoming blow…

Binghi attended Montego Bay Elementary school on 4th street. It was the year 2086. He was eleven years old now, and coming into his abilities. While waiting for his Papa to cook coconut lamb stew he decided to practice the "balancing" lesson from his fourth period mental physics class. He had already finished his homework, and changed into his playing clothes on the rug. If he could keep the papaya from falling this time, maybe he could finally impress the shy girl from Morocco.....

"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

My Apologies

My Amazing Aunt Raven is running around the universe again,  unsupervised,  buck wild with a crazy Rasta Hyena man who wears a short kilt as they  transport through different realities.  I tried to stop her. But, dang, the woman was determined to open wide and fully enjoy mystical life in her "retirement" years.  

I had to tell her story. And, perhaps, warn you:  when a sexy older aunt gets that "look" in her eyes. Run away or simply accept it and get ready for the ride of your life.

Oh man!

Those hot pants are killer.

She's got skills!!

See what happens at sbattle.com

Hello all,

My webcomic, Goatwater, is a celebration of the strange, an adventure in storytelling and a journey into the world of carnival, selective memory, visions and dreams.   Updated every other Tuesday. 

I hand paint everything, including the lettering with acrylics onto cotton rag paper.  So far, I’ve posted the cover on to the Goatwater site as well as the first six pages of the story and there’s much more to come. I am looking for feedback and regular readers of Goatwater as I develop it for the web and print. I release a new page every other Tuesday and I am working towards releasing a new page once a week. Just to play it safe, I would overall say it’s NSFW.  Enjoy and remember to bookmark the site.

http://www.tiffanyosedramiller.com/goatwaterbook.html

Tiffany Osedra Miller

Just wanted to drop this on you guys,

I was shocked to see as a writer I was included!

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bet.com%2Fnews%2Fnational%2Fphotos%2F2011%2F04%2Fphotos-top-black-graphic-artists.photo8.html%23flipbook&h=377db

Hello, Everyone,

I just launched a campaign to build a Safe House for Haitian Rape Victims as part of the OneWoman/OneHouse Haiti Project. There are several donation options available. If you choose not to donate to this effort, please help by posting a link to the site on your homepage and download a free copy of the Atlas and His Wife Poster proudly proclaiming the campaign theme "Art As A Tool For Social Justice". Follow the link below to the campaign homepage. Thanks for your support.

Safe House for Haitian Rape Victims

The Lift Every Voice Campaign Against Global Racism has called for a peaceful assembly to take place in front of the US Embassy on April 23rd, 2011. The gathering will be a ceremony of remembrance for the 30 million African men, women and children carried away to foreign lands as slaves in the Diaspora.  The demonstration is also intended to voice support for reparations from the nations that participated in and/or profited from the Transatlantic Slave Trade. A letter outlining these points will be delivered to the U.S. Ambassador in Thailand.

Heppp was rendered speechless with a shock that competed fitfully with his rage.  Live images were beamed from the All Seer cruiser to the holo-sphere and he still could not believe the veracity of what he was witnessing.  Hundreds of Protip fighters wiped out in.  One enemy vessel destroyed.  Just one!  The lopsided nature of this contest sent a numbing chill through  every Protip in the Ops Center.  Clearly, Heppp had underestimated these aliens, underestimated their technology.  But how could he have not have underestimated them?  No Protip, regardless of clan, could have conceived of facing a force of such indescribable killing power.  The Toooi’s sweep to dominance over much of the Protip domain had been of unprecedented swiftness, but it was a still hard fought campaign that cost millions of Toooi lives.

            If this enemy could impart such slaughter with just a few ships…Heppp sliced through that line of thought and discarded it like a useless appendage.  This dreary rumination on the aliens’ capabilities was a useless exercise in self-inflicted fear.  He would not allow himself to sink into that morass.  “Task Giver, send more Fangbolts to intercept the enemy in the mountains.  I want Mole bombers to join them.”

            “Site Keeper if I may.”  Itikkk lowered his upper body until his neck was almost touching the floor.

            Allayed by the Task Giver’s humility display, Heppp raised a hand, allowing the latter to submit a suggestion.

            “Thus far, no suborbital craft have been able to stand against the enemy.  Sending more craft, even Moles, would only be a repeat of past dismal results.  We should rely strictly on cruisers from this point on.”

            “The enemy ships are too fast for the cruisers to lock onto,” Heppp protested.  “Even the one they managed to destroy was only a result of luck.”

            “All the more reason why we should deploy additional cruisers against them.  The more firepower they can bring down upon those ships, the better their chances of having more luck.”

            Heppp emitted a faint musk of consideration.  It was actually a reasonable piece of advice.  “Deploy more cruisers.”

            Itikkk acknowledged and passed the order along.

            Heppp turned his attention to a screen displaying a live image of the eight alien ships in space.

            Why were they still there? He wondered.  There was no way the alien transports were getting off this planet intact.  And if they did, the Guardian station was not going to allow them to leave the system.  It made no sense for the alien commander to keep his ships lingering on the edge of Protip space.  No sense at all.

            The mountain’s snow capped peak erupted like a volcano.  But it was no geologic process that generated that immensely powerful blast.  The second and third transports in the formation were shoved off course by the resultant shock wave.  The second transport clipped the steep rockface of another mountain before its pilot regained control.  The third shuttle executed a tight incline that brought it within literal inches of scraping that same mountain’s surface.  A thick jet of snow and gravel boiled off the mountain’s summit in the transport’s hyper-velocity wake.

            Massive explosions from successive orbital strikes showered around the transports, turning sections of mountains into steaming spouts of flame and lava.

            The transports dove to a lower altitude, utilizing the deep depressions between the towering, craggy mountains as cover.

            Colonel Goshin wanted to look away, but some odd morbid compulsion kept his gaze tensely fixed on the outside view.  And quite a heart-hammering view it was.  Mountains flew at him.  His stomach coiled and he flinched when the pilot just narrowly avoided a collision with a wall of rock.  Not more than two seconds of clearance elapsed before the transport was on another collision course which the pilot skillfully averted.  All the while, hell from above continued to dog the transports, turning winding passageways into flame-choked, smoke-clogged corridors.

            A deafening crack reverberated like the bellow of an angry god inside the transport.  A piece of a mountain about half the size of the transport smashed against the vessel at a rocketing speed.  The shield easily repelled the contact, but could do little to sooth Goshin’s frayed nerves. 

            “Release EMDs on my mark,” the pilot transmitted to the other transports.

            Three seconds went by.  “Mark!” The pilot toggled a control and  two EMDs dropped from launchers at the bottom of the transport.

            The three other transports released their EMDs simultaneously. 

            Within a second of their deployments, the drones emitted a series of potent omni-directional bursts…

            Heppp jerked forward as if he had been struck from behind.  His eyes raced across the holo-sphere, searching in vain for enemy blips that simply…vanished.  He slithered through the Ops Center, glancing from screen to screen.  “What happened to them?  Where are they?”

            Itikkk went to the comm and established contact with an All Seer.  “We’ve lost visual and sensor contact with the enemy. Do you have them on your screens?”

            “No, Task Giver,” the cruiser captain replied.  “We have lost contact as well.”

            “You must have destroyed them,” Heppp speculated optimistically.

            “Unlikely,” returned the voice of the captain.  “Our engagement computers have verified no neutralizations.”

            “Nonsense!”  Heppp’s head bobbed with catatonic fury.  “Check your engagement computers AGAIN!”

            “It is possible, Site Keeper that the enemy ships are jamming us,” Itikkk ventured.  “If we can cut through it…”

            “Waste of time.”  Heppp snapped a command to the cruiser captain.  “Direct fire on the length and breadth of the mountain range, saturate it with orbitals.”  He looked at Itikkk.  “Contact every strategic missile base on this planet. I want fusion ballistics launched against those mountains.  If we have to flatten the entire range to destroy four blood-pissing ships then that is exactly what we will do!”

            The executive officer entered the bridge level conference room to find Commander Greggory intently studying probe-fed holo-feeds.

            “The transports have released EMDs,” Lian reported, coming around the table.

            “I know,” said Greggory.  “We have a good probe-track on them.”  He pointed to a projection of four icons moving across a realistic rendering of a mountainscape.  “They’re slowing down.  There’s a deep depression here.  The EMD pulses will throw off their pursuers.  The nature of the terrain will make it even more difficult for the Protips to find them.”

            “It’ll buy time.” Lian perched on the edge of the table, her lips pressed tightly in a troubled look.  “But what happens when the pulses subside and we still haven’t cracked the station’s network.  What then?”

            Greggory clasped his hands on top of the table, closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them.  He looked up, meeting Lian’s eyes with a steadfast optimism.  “That network will be cracked. I won’t permit myself to think otherwise.  I can’t.”

            Mushroom clouds oozed into the sky from a thousand fusion missile impacts.  The mountain range birthed a thousand more, layering pristine white peaks beneath a sooty blanket of fallout.  Six All Seer cruisers hovered above at the lowest possible orbit.  Lightning streaks of energy bolts blazed from their emitters stabbing downward in random strokes.  Bombardment missiles contributed to the storm, delivering fiery vengeance.  Perpetual explosions from an endless rain of ground and orbital launched projectiles bathed large sections of the mountain range in a thick, ashy haze.  Temperature levels elevated.  The spike in heat clashed with the frigid cold of high altitude to generate ferocious wind gusts that melded into a deadly tempest. 

            The transports rested at a low patch of rocky ground dividing two massive mountains.  A fusion missile struck the other side of one of those behemoths, causing enough breakage to initiate a rock slide.  Tons of dislodged rock drenched the stationary vessels.

            Colonel Goshin stared out the window, but couldn’t see a thing.  Visibility was nil, but  enhanced optics lit the way, cutting through the fog of devastation to present a clear picture of the outside.  Protip ballistics, launched from every silo across the planet, continued to pepper the range.  The orbital attacks were similarly endless. 

            “EMD pulse is holding,” said the pilot, checking console readings.

            Goshin slouched in his seat.  “That’s good to know.  Although, I think I’d feel better if we were on the move.”

            The pilot looked back, putting on a wry, confident smile.  “Moving only increases our odds of being hit or caught in a nasty blast swell.”

            “That could happen to us standing still.”

            “It could, but the odds of that being the case is less.”

            “Well if you’re not worried about it then I won’t be.”

            The pilot gave a thumbs up.  “That’s the spirit, Colonel.”

            A triple beam barrage raked the rockface several thousands yards up from where Goshin’s transport was idling.  An ionic blast front slammed into the vessel, buffeting it within an angry, scorching hot eddy.  Repulsor units flared from all sides of the transport, holding it steady until the driving effects of the explosion subsided.

            “I retract my last statement,” said Goshin.

            “Site Keeper.  The Clan Lord wishes to speak to you.”

            Heppp twisted around to face Itikkk.  “What does he want?”  The Site Keeper withdrew the question as rapidly as he’d posed it.  “Nevermind…nevermind.  Monitor the situation.”  Heppp slithered to the rear of the Ops Center and entered a private communication alcove. He tapped the receive panel and an image of a Protip adorned with silver head gear and a brilliantly matching star shaped pendant draped his around his neck, appeared on the alcove’s circular screen.

            Heppp lowered his body to near total floor level.  “Clan Lord Oppal.  I honor you.”

            The Clan Lord skipped the formalities.  “What is happening on my planet, Site Keeper?”

            “Nothing that I am incapable of handling,” Heppp replied with an edge that skirted dangerously close to insubordination.  “We are merely dealing with alien bandits who attacked us, unprovoked.  We have them under siege in the Lilk Mountains.  If they are not dead already, they soon will be.”

            “Unprovoked?”  Oppal let the word linger on his palette as if sampling a fine delicacy.  “It would seem the definition of that term has changed.  From my understanding, you ordered a number of these bandits killed before they in turn, attacked you.  How does their present assault against you qualify as…unprovoked?”

            A surging chill raised Heppp’s back bristles.  The Site Keeper suppressed a rising annoyance at his own fear. He loathed this intolerable position he was in.  He loathed those treacherous aliens who had succeeded in making him look like a bumbling fool.  Most of all, he loathed with all the passion and energy he could muster, the smug, arrogant face staring at him from the comm. screen.

            “Semantics, Honorable Clan Lord.  The situation as it stands now is that the aliens on the planet will die.  The ones in space will not dare cross our boundary.  The station holds them at bay.  The situation is contained.”

            “At the cost of thousands of lives thus far,” Oppal added with infuriating dryness.

            Heppp stiffened.  “They are more powerful than we anticipated…”

            “And this treasure you took from them,” the Clan Lord continued over Heppp’s attempt at an explanation.  “Were you going to report this to me, or withhold that bit of information as you withheld the fact that you are under attack?”

            “Clan Lord…I,”  Heppp had to calm himself.  “Clan Lord, the implication in your question is deeply, deeply troubling.  Of course I was going to report the treasure.  I was preparing a freighter to deliver your share.  Rest assured…”

            “That is the trouble, Site Keeper.  I cannot rest assured.  Not when the Toooi domain is under assault by a force unknown, with enemy clans lurking close by like expectant vermin waiting for us to expose a vulnerability so they can exploit it.  I put you on that planet because I thought in the very least you could guard our farthest frontier with some degree of competency.  Was I wrong in my thinking, Site Keeper?”

            Heppp dipped his body sharply, displaying outward gratitude even as the corrosive acid of humiliation burned inside him.  “No, Clan Lord. Of course not .  I am most thankful to you for assigning me to this post, but you must understand, these aliens come from beyond Protip space.  Their capabilities were unknown to us. But when we have destroyed them, we can comb through the wreckage of their vessels, unlock the secret of their power.  With that power the Toooi will be stronger than it has ever been and all enemy clans will either submit to our might or be smashed by it.”  Emboldened by his grandiose claim, Heppp rose to a height that suggested but did not overtly advertise equal status with the Clan Lord.  “You will be the most powerful Protip that has ever lived.” 

            It was the Clan Lord’s turn to feel the not so subtle brush of an implication. The thought of obtaining alien technology and using it to bring all of Protip space under Toooi dominance encapsulated him in a pleasing aura of intoxication.  That he would have Heppp to thank for this unexpected fortune...Oppal’s chin sagged at the thought.

            “You need not send a freighter to me, Site Keeper.  I will be arriving soon to personally retrieve my share.  I trust by the time of my arrival you will have resolved your alien problem?”

            Heppp was caught off guard by the prospect of a visitation by the Clan Lord.  He very masterfully concealed his displeasure.  “Of course, Clan Lord.”

            Oppal’s face vanished and Heppp slapped his tail against the floor in frustration.  Itikkk.  Slavishly loyal Itikkk.  Of course it was no surprise that the Task Giver would have blabbed to the Clan Lord about Heppp’s predicament.  And now that pompous twit was coming here!

I was asked, on the basis of my having written a pretty good book, to "help" write the script for one of the Chicago teams for the 48 Hour Film Project; a 48 hour contest where you have to write, film and post-produce a 4 to 7 minute film.

When our team had drawn its genre and went back to our headquarters to get started writing, we found out that the primary writer was really an actor, not a writer.  Well, I panicked, and then had a twenty minute nervous breakdown because I had never written a movie script.  So by about 8:30 I managed to get started on the script.  I finished at 5AM.  Here's the link to the short, Fallout:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SjZFPT2wfE

I managed to win for Best Script in Chicago's leg of the international contest.  I couldn't believe it, but in retrospect it's pretty cool...