BLOGS

I read the first issue of Damage Control when it first hit the stands back in the early 90's and asked myself, who would have thought about the wreckage of a superhero battle and the logistical nightmare it must be to clean up; someone who had a little bit of experience cleaning up after other people. I related to the comic immediately, and though I had no idea who Dwayne McDuffie was at the time, I was certain I would hear from him again, if for no other reason, he saw the world from a different point of view and was persuasive enough to convince someone to take a risk on him. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out he was black. Thus began my relationship with his work. I made an effort to find anything he was involved in and whenever he was involved, it was something I liked, approved of and respected his efforts to quietly bring change. I guess we will never really know the story of what it was like for him to deal with the challenges of working in the comic industry, but I am certain they were monumental, thus making his successes that much greater. He was versatile, he wrote the entire range of comics, from the magical to the super-scientific, pulp to space opera, his stories were logical, well-considered, and even when he missed the mark, it was never by much. The man was also prolific, he worked on a number of projects simultaneously, yet did not sacrifice quality. He could be counted on to tell solid tales and to make the most of the characters, their histories and always showed respect for the work that had come before.

His great respect for the history of comics allowed him to recreate classic ideas in new ways. Dial H for Hero became the wildly successful Ben 10 series spawning multiple iterations of the character, hundreds of new aliens, new ideas and spurring an entire generation into the ideas of space, science, aliens and the indomitable human spirit. His work with the Justice League managed to maintain the icons comfortably in their roles as the premiere heroes of their generation and still found ways to keep them fresh and evolving. The role of John Stewart, which has been so quietly pushed back in the comics, spoke volumes about the lack of heroes of color and McDuffie's effort to bring some parity in that regard. John Stewart was as heroic as any of the icons in this modern pantheon and the work of JLA will be considered a classic in animation for decades.

Static in both of his iterations (comic and later television adaptations) had all the hallmarks of the quintessential superhero, optimistic, serious, wisecracking and yet serious about wanting to make a change in a world that seemed to have forgotten how to change. Static's onscreen presentation gave young people of color a chance to see themselves represented in the heroic model as the leader, as the initiator, as a member of a family, with obligations to both school, friends and to their duties as a superhero. The animation also allowed McDuffie to address social issues that affected black youth and to show them the possibility of a life different than the one they thought was their only choice. I read an interview with him in the Atlantic last year and enjoyed learning so much about his personal views.

Dwayne McDuffie's passing is the loss of an industry giant. He helped to dispel the myth of there being no place for a black man in an industry dominated by whites. His work was always inventive, creative, but still respectful of the history of the genre. His greatest successes include the work on Milestone and Static Shock, creating black heroes with depth, dimension and character. At a time when no one believed there was even the potential for black heroes, McDuffie went about the business of making it happen. Twice nominated (as part of the team) for an Emmy for Static Shock, McDuffie gained the respect of his industry winning numerous prizes and nominations for awards.

Writer, editor, visionary, leader, dreamer, persistent, focused and undoubtedly a bastard from time to time, it would take all of these qualities for a brother to make a way into the comic and later movie industry, making Dwayne McDuffie a hard act for anyone to follow. And yet we must follow. He paved the way showing us we could not only make a difference, not only create something new, but to bring our stories, our views, our dreams to our children because if we don't, who will. Dwayne McDuffie inspired me greatly and I can say my current efforts to write heroes of color and to portray them in ways worthy of respect, not as caricatures is reflected in my own work.

We are great because we stand upon the shoulders of giants. Dwayne McDuffie was one of those giants. He will be missed. We salute you, sir.

Thaddeus
@ebonstorm

The Third Wave is Rising!

Most in the media want to characterize what is happening in the Middle East as something new but for a fact the upheavel is but the latest phase, the third wave, in a social evolution brought on by the information age. It is a phenomenon that may result in the end of the world order as we  know it. I outline my premis in my latest Podcast entitled "The Third Wave."

The talking heads and politicians want us to believe that higher energy prices is the biggest concern but I predict more far reaching and disruptive consequences resulting from the Middle-Eastern unrest. The old dictum that knowledge is power is true and there is no predicting how the long oppressed masses in Arab nations and around the world will wield that power.

Behold... The Third Wave!

E. Lewis

Other Podcasts can be heard at: www.elbertlewisjr.com/mypodcasts.html

   I would like to let everyone know that my completely rewritten novel "The Dawn of MAN" is now available from iUniverse and Amazon Kindle. I describe it has a hard hitting, fast paced and imaginative story of revenge, redemption, the bond of friendship and the triumph of man against overwhelming odds.

   In the near future, another war in the middle east, skyrocketing energy costs, the crash of the stock market and civil unrest will set America ablaze. At a pivotal point in history, the first black president will be tested beyond human endurance and the American people must overcome long held and deep seated fears to survive modern man's first contact with an alien species.

E. Lewis

      The oppressive heat of the summer sun hammered down upon the lush green landscape of growing crops. A hot breeze rustled the leaves of uncounted soy bean, corn and rice plants. Insects fleeing ravenous field birds flew in intricate patterns to save their lives. All was as it should be. The pulse of life within this unlikely oasis in so vast a desert beat with invigorating energy. Suddenly the breeze changed direction. The dueling birds and insects abruptly ceased their hostilities to lift off over the great fields as if fleeing a great fire. As the last dark speck of a bird disappeared from view the sun holding court in the cloudless sky grew dark. A tremendous shadow passed over the great mountain watching over the valley and reached out until it completely covered the life-bringing waters of the great lake.

      With the valley from mountain to lake plunged into darkness, stars now shed their pale light upon the land. The breeze once warm now grew bitterly cold and frost quickly took hold upon the earth. Row by row, field by field, the crops succumbed to the killing frost until all were wilted and frozen in death. High above, the stars wheeled over the dark land as the sun neither rose nor set. With each rotation of the great star-field in the black sky, the land below grew colder and the ice deeper....

      The sudden chill of the night breeze awoke the woman from her nap atop the Lake Dam. Night had come and during the long summer only here by the lake cool breezes brought welcomed relief. The woman rubbed away the goose-bumps from her cold skin and looked out over the land she had long claimed as home. All was as it should be. The stars held sway on this moonless night lending their pale radiance upon the vast fields of crops growing in the valley below. However, the woman’s vision let her know things were about to change. Something was coming... and soon.

      The quiet footfalls of a man leaping from boulder to boulder reached the woman’s ears. Few could hear the man’s approach and normally if someone did, those soft sounds would be their last. However, there was no malice bore by the powerful man coming toward her. Instead, he had come looking for her out of a husband’s concern. Once he reached the highpoint atop the natural dam where she sat, the man stood silent with only his breathing slowing from his exertions. After a long moment of silence the man asked, “Are you well my wife? You rest here only when you are troubled.”

      Looking up at the dark-skinned man and his dark colored skirt with only a wide belt and long fighting knife tucked through, the woman patted the stone next to her inviting him to sit down. With powerful grace, the man sat beside her with legs folded and back straight as a house pole. Though married for only a few years, the man was well versed with his wife’s moods and knew when something very important was on her mind. It was also important for him to keep in mind that the beautiful dark-skinned woman far outstripped any power he imagined. Though the Valley Elders ruled the people, it was his wife the Priestess who ruled the land.

       Her dark eyes catching the faint starlight stared at her husband and protector as she said, “My Husband, I need you to do something for me.” The man took in the serious look upon his wife’s face and replied, “You have only but to ask my wife. What great task would you have me undertake?” Taking his large callused hand in hers the Priestess replied, “A traveler will soon arrive. I want you to go meet the person and ascertain their intentions. Once you have done so, bring the person here to me. You must do this before the last rays of sunlight fall away from the earth tomorrow.” The man noticed his wife’s hand was unnaturally cold.

      Seeing the now hard look in his wife’s eyes the man asked, “Who could be of such importance to disturb you so?” Giving his hand a gentle squeeze the Priestess replied, “No matter what my husband, treat the traveler with the utmost respect!” Nodding his head in acknowledgement the man agreed. “Of course my wife, I’ll do as you command. Where must I go to meet this person and how will I know them?” Turning from her husband the Priestess said, “Go up the path following the lakeshore to farthest end where the River feeds into it. You will find the traveler there. As for how you will know the traveler, I cannot tell you. Use your better judgment. In fact, you should take the Chief of the Aesir with you. With his men gone off to bring back their families, I’m sure he’d be happy to have an excuse to leave the Mountain for a while.”

      Giving his wife a tender kiss upon her forehead the man said, “I shall return with your traveler before the appointed time. Your skin is cold my love. You should go home and sit by the fire.” Just as he turned to descend the dam, the man stopped stock still. The Priestess knowing her husband all too well said, “You want to know what should be done if the Traveler shows ill intent?” The man made no move as he waited for an answer. With a sigh, the Priestess said, “Again I leave you to your better judgment. However, take my spear if you wish. I may also take your advice and sit by the fire. Be very careful my love.” Giving no further sign of acknowledgement, the man leaped down the boulders to blend with the dark terrain. No longer able to see him, the Priestess looked up at the night sky and said, “I hope I have not sent them to their deaths.”

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Go to Night Time Traveler Pt II

She was Annabelle’s shadow, trailing the dark woman as she rode in horse drawn carriages, sipped wine on balconies, danced in chandelier lit ballrooms. But she always returned home to her quarter alongside the river.

Now the twin moons shined through twisted branches. The vampire followed their light down the dusty road to the juke joint. Unseen **** walked alongside her.

They stepped inside a wooden shack, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of frying meat… Annabelle felt the glances of the crowd and didn’t have to probe their minds to know their thoughts.

How she dress the way she do, when she don’t never do no work?

Where she been all this time, to come showing up now?

She still looks the same -- not a day older! It ain’t natural!

Envy. Curiosity. Fear.

Annabelle sauntered over to the far left corner to where Fatback, the proprietor, sat beside a tub of beer. A table of liquor and glasses was set up beside the tub.

The big, yellow man smiled up at her. “Hey pretty, whatcho want?”

“Moonshine.”

Fatback poured her shot of clear liquid. “That’s a mighty strong drink, little girl. Sure you can handle it?”

She favored him with a smile, and dug into the pocket of her dress for a crumpled bill. As Annabelle sipped her drink, she let her eyes roam over the couples grinding in one another‘s arms. Her eyes settled on one heavily built, brown man.

Fatback smirked. “That’s Roscoe, a married man. Not that you care.”

She sent her burning thoughts to Roscoe… his eyes found hers and slid down her body like butter.

He wound his way through the dancers, and after the briefest hesitation gave her his hand. “You wanna dance?”

Wordlessly she stepped into his arms and their bodies pressed together, his pungent odor in her nostrils, and slipped her hands down the hard muscles of his back.

At the front of the juke, on a crude wooden stage, a buxom young woman sang, accompanied by men playing the piano and harmonica:

             And just can’t get enough…”

Annabelle whispered in his ear: “I’m going home. Wanna come?”

He gave her a lazy smile. “We ain’t got to go that far… Let’s go outside.”

“You want me? Then meet me at the water pump behind my cabin.”

“Where --”

She put her fingers to his lips. “You’ll find it,”

She left him standing in the middle of the floor, staring after her. After the briefest hesitation, Roscoe walked outside. She was gone.

But her voice called to him.

It should’ve frightened him, but instead his desire swelled until he thought he’d lose his mind. Roscoe ran the length of the road, following her honeyed murmur… to the quarter. To her cabin...

Copyright 2008, 2009, 2010 Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson all rights reserved

From the Carl Brandon Society site:

The Carl Brandon Parallax Award is given to works of speculative fiction created by a self-identified person of color. This Award includes a $1000 cash prize.

"The Carl Brandon Kindred Award is given to any work of speculative fiction dealing with issues of race and ethnicity; nominees may be of any racial or ethnic group. This Award includes a $1000 cash prize.

"Nominate works published in 2010 by filling out the nominations form (opens a new window). The nominations period runs through February 28, 2011.

"Please spread the word!

"When considering works to nominate, keep in mind that by speculative fiction, we mean science fiction, fantasy, horror, magical realism, or any works that incorporate elements of these and related genres. Works do not have to be marketed as science fiction to be eligible for these awards. We welcome graphic novels for consideration."

For more information, visit: http://carlbrandon.org/awards.html

Lightning flashed.

The Archangel Michael waited. He heard the warning claxons, not activated since the Great Pogram, six centuries earlier and extended his senses to the Guardians at the Four Gates. Each had turned its attention skyward. They all locked onto a streaking meteor blazing brilliantly over the horizon heading toward the Celestial City. He moved toward the center of the city and rose skyward, his two wings slowly carrying him into the storm of Heaven. Rain covered him once he was beyond the radiance and he welcomed its cooling embrace. He felt too little these days, filled with the administrivia of managing Heaven. The unknowns of battle were his meat and drink, figuratively speaking, since he rarely ate or drank. This new threat was what he was made for.

The fireball moved fast, fast enough to be nothing but a threat. The outer defenses did nothing, as he had asked. He sensed they would not be enough as it approached them. He saw them cringing as it flew overhead, with a heat terrible enough to burn an angel. Heaven made ready below him and Gabriel stood by beneath him should he not be enough. There had never been a threat that ever took more than two Seraphim to deal with except for Him. And this, this clumsy thing was not his way.

Michael summoned his power and his two wings became four and his two eyes became four. Flame began to rise from him and his four wings became six and his four eyes became six and flame began to come from them. He increased in stature and his glow cast a light onto the Celestial City. He opened his mouth and began to sing in the tongue of Enoch, the language of Angels and could hear the Litanies of Heaven being sung below him, and the city harmonized with him.

He moved away from the city and flew out over the wall, gaining speed, preparing to stop the fireball before it even reached the city. The Four Guardians activated their Enochian patterns and the City's radiance hardened, a great shield protecting the walls of Heaven and its attendant suburbs. Michael streaked away from the Celestial City, a brilliant star, as tiny as the fireball was huge. He could feel the heat. He could smell the smoke as it passed through the air, miles away, he could feel life. It was alive... He could hear it screaming. Seconds away, he prepared himself for the impact.

Jehoel watched awestruck as Michael streaked away.

The skies above Heaven were momentarily lit with the light of a thousand suns. Multiple streaks of lightning covered the dark sky. These flashes were arrhythmic but constant, and the rumble of thunder cascaded ceaselessly. There were clouds but their movement would be strange to an onlooker. If one were to watch one would see this was a never-ending storm, moving constantly. It always rained here. Sometimes less, often more, but it never stopped, and had not for at least six and half centuries. Moving through the cloud cover and dodging the lightning were tiny flying figures, some human in appearance, others not so much, heading to and from a magnificent city of immense size in the distance. Its magnificent spires and minarets, towers and cathedrals, skyscrapers and monoliths all glowed with a pure radiance that soothed the weary flyers, or walkers who approached the city and came within its glow.

This city provided the only other light visible in this place. A steady source of golden light similar in tone and warmth to a gently rising sun. The only difference was the light did not illuminate the darkness past a few hundred miles from the city proper. Beyond that region was darkness, only punctuated with the never ending flashing of lightning in this permanent darkness. There had not been a sunrise in Heaven for almost seven hundred years.

A flying cloud of winged eyes dipped down from the sky and approached the Easter Gate. The breathtaking speed of its approach was noted by the sentries and by the city itself. The cloud of eyes began to slow as it came down to the Eastern Highway and merged with the oncoming traffic. The Celestial City proper is a huge structure, a perfect cube, but there were the Celestial suburbs as well and these stretched on for hundreds of miles outside of the City walls. To imagine the City properly one would have to image a cube on one of its points, half above the ground, half below. There are dwellings in both halves of the city and all types of entities lived there. 

Jehoel Softspeaker was returning to the city and hated the traffic that had been growing worse in the recent decades. She was an Angel of Mediation and returned from a negotiation with nearby Paradise Realms discussing terms of merger with the Celestial Host. She had been unsuccessful in convincing these other paradises to join with the Host in the coming War. Elysium wanted nothing to do with the war. They would not commit any of their divine resources, energy or heavenly servants to the cause. The Celestial Host was not trying to coerce anyone into serving, at least not yet. There were many angels negotiating on the behalf of Heaven, each going to realms they were familiar with and welcomed.

Jehoel was told to return to the city and report the results of her trip. Waiting in traffic would take several days before she would be able to enter the city, and while she waited, she Sang. This close to the Celestial City, everyone sang while they waited to be admitted. The walls of the city comprised of precious stones, resonated, reflected and refracted the songs of the approaching visitors or residents. Each stone of diamond and with flecks chalcedony returned the exalted songs of Heaven to its visitors in a way that soothed their souls, warmed their bodies, calmed their spirits and ensured everyone, no matter how long they waited, no matter how cold or tired they might be, were in a perfect state of bliss when they entered the shelter of the city.

The songs, each different, each unique to the singer created a greater harmony as they were woven together in a magnificent chorus lead by the wall's sentry angels. Clockwork mechanisms were seen patrolling the walls of the city. Great machines that resembled a variety of natural creatures, great lions with greater roars to match, capable of melting steel, bears with huge paws with stone rending claws, and clockwork eagles flapped their mechanical wings in the rain, circling the city in every rising spirals, each wing the length of a football field and capable of shaving the edge of a diamond. Heaven was known for its automatons of clockwork, each a veritable work of art from an Angel of craftsmanship and their attendant servants. Each piece was completely unique, and possessed of a singular nature that allowed each to come to life and fulfill a task assigned by the Angel upon their completion.

This song was heard throughout the realm as an echo in the soul of every person who came to Heaven. It was the Celestial Beacon and often when humans were in the act of dying, they could hear and see the Beacon as a tunnel of light they were drawn inexplicably toward. When you arrived here, you had to walk, down one of the cardinal roads which approached the city on one of its four points where each gate directed you into the Celestial City where you began your new life as a servant of Heaven. The Celestial Beacon was nearly irresistible to anyone who arrived in Heaven but if you chose to resist it, you were able to reach the only other destination here, Sheol, the City of the Archangel Lucifer Light-bringer. This other city has a variety of names, Dis, the City of Brass but it was most commonly known by its residents as Hell.

There are other Paradise Realms for the non-believers and with those the Celestial Host were in good relations with, had portals to those Heavens were accessible from here. As the primary religion remaining after the Compact on Earth, nearly all souls passed this way before they went to their personal Reward. Unaffiliated souls were able to be directed to whatever Afterlife they believed in but they were processed at the halfway point between Heaven and Sheol. Nothing is known of those souls that are processed there and the Angels there do not speak of it. Traffic between Heaven and Hell was always a constant as souls that had been released from hell were slowly migrated toward Heaven and newly arrived souls that needed the cleansing fires of Hell were directed there. All in all, an efficient arrangement.

In the central processing center of Heaven, where the spirit energy of prayer was processed and stored for later conversion into illiaster, cocoastrum and aether, there was a problem. This problem had presented itself in fits and starts for the last decade, but recently, it had grown to new proportions. Enough of a problem, that it needed someone to look into it, preferably by someone who would not make the problem worse, be seen by Humans and thus cause a religious event. Once upon a time, such a schism might not be such a bad idea, but now schisms divided resources that should be spent best on the Celestial Host, not on any rival gods or god-lings, trying to make a comeback against the Holy Church.

She fell. A shooting star in a place that has not seen stars for the dark clouds that perpetually cover it. Unconscious and unaware of her peril. As she fell, she burned. She burned, not from the fall but from that which made her fall. A machine unlike anything she had ever seen. She had been around since the making of the Celestial City and had never seen anything like this thing. It was more fearsome than the Malakim, warrior angels to heaven, whose wrath and ferocity have few equals, more horrific than the great Iron Golems, with their hidden hearts, that protected the Gates to Heaven and whose gaze, when released, destroyed all things, mundane or celestial.

She arrived in The Happy Hunting Grounds expecting what she always experienced there. Blue skies, except when it was needed to rain, warm days, and the sun shining overhead. It was a place so beautiful that if she did not know this was Heaven, a particular heaven, she would think she was back on Earth. The great plain below her was always covered with buffalo migrating from west to east covering the ground from horizon to horizon. This was her memory of the place, beautiful, grass-covered plains with verdant wildlife, and spiritual beings enjoying their ease in this paradise.

It was not what she saw when she crossed The Veil Between Worlds.

There was a pyramid, immense and coal black, standing in the Great Plain where all visitors to the Realm first appeared. Jagged bolts of black lightning leaped from it and struck the ground around it. Where it struck, creatures made of stone and glass, six legged, vaguely horse-like rose from the Earth. Ferocious, these creatures immediately joined the fray. Their screams chilled her blood, and their speed, grace and lethality became immediately apparent as the creatures engaged anything living within range. The black pyramid had doorways open upon it sides and creatures streamed forth like black locusts or black ants, and anything touched by these clouds was stripped to the bone in seconds.

The ground rumbled constantly as if it were experiencing an earthquake. Distant mountains already aflame with fire and smoke erupting. This was a paradise realm, volcanoes were simply impossible here. The air was choked with sulfurous smoke. The fields of grass were blackened with burns and the buffalo lay as charred skeletons across the plains from horizon to horizon. There were no spirits in repose, they were in battle against a variety of foes, whose eyes burned with a bright light akin to searchlights. And the things those lights touched, burned. She hovered in the sky above a battle, her hundred eyes taking in everything, the wind, the smoke, the flames, the battles both on the land and in the air.

She heard the howl of Coyote and saw the flash of lightning from the Thunderbird. They were surrounded, standing guard over the bodies of the Great Bear and the Rattlesnake. Each in their iconic forms, they were twenty to thirty feet tall. Each of them glowing the power of the Great Spirit of this place, each a guardian of their people's spirits. Those spirits were fighting for their very existence against enemies whose skin was like stone, dark and heavy and deflected the lightning from the Thunderbird's flapping wings. Coyote howled again and the creatures stopped their advance, shook and exploded into shrapnel fragments destroying their brethren who were proof against his howl. The Thunderbird's flapping wings created a great wind driving the shrapnel away from the gods' defensive position.

The Great Bear rose to his feet, having taken one of the black pyramids strikes directly to his chest. Towering over his enemies, bleeding profusely, he released a mighty roar and waded into his enemies again. The spirits of Men were here along with these godlike icons of this realm. They wielded magic and weaponry, ancient and modern with great effect but the enemy was numerous and powerful.

Medicine men summoned lightning from the burning sky, striking the ground with great explosions, casting defensive spells from their tribal staves against the burning light of the hexapeds. Tribal women wielded clouds of feathers from their headdresses as flying razors slicing into the armored hides of the enemy. The women conjured and the Earth opened and swallowed their giant enemies.
Horse thundered into the fray, his shining and sharp hooves flashed and dispatched enemies in a single strike. And yet with Coyote, Snake, Bear, Boar, Horse, Crow, Eagle and Thunderbird, all iconic gods of this realm, they were unable to stem the tide of the battle. The best they could do was to hold their own and refuse to give ground.

This battle raged for days. Nonstop. More Men appeared, more weapons appeared. No quarter was asked for and no was given. The horrors were supplemented by the hunched forms of man-like creatures each with huge hands, misshapen heads, each with the strength of ten men. There were monsters that flew and breathed a liquid fire all over the battlefield. Others bled acid, some had flaming vision. One by one the gods fell.

Bear fell first, surrounded by Men he led into the fray, they held their ground protecting him. Bear had engaged several of the enemy's larger ogre constructs and slew them all. He began to move toward the center of the enemy line, confident he would be able to disrupt it. His bear men, wearing an armor of bearskin, channeled his ferocity and his power, each of them filled with the strength of a great bear. He lent them courage and ferocity and they took the vanguard toward the structure the invaders arrived in. The men fought with great axes headed with razor sharp obsidian. They were once legendary warriors in life and in spirit they were even greater.

The tower targeted Bear again and black bolts flew like arrows toward him. His men leapt to his defense and time and time again blocked the blast, each giving his life for a few more yards. Bear drew closer to the center of the battle. The tower redoubled its efforts, and soon Bear was forced to take those strikes himself. He never stopped moving and mere feet from the largest of the ogre-like giants leading the battle, he was struck with six black spears of lightning. So fierce was the strike, for a moment, the entire area was hidden in darkness. When vision returned. Bear was dead. His men fought on but without the ferocity of Bear they were soon overrun and trod into the mud.

Snake crushed creatures and spit venom across the battlefield but he was the next to fall. Large winged dragons dropped down from the sky and savaged him and all were unable to reach him so embattled they were, all they could do was watch. Snake wrapped his coils around the aggressors and bite one of them who died as the venom burned through it. The remaining dragons released their liquid fire and Snake burned and died. In his death throes, he squeezed the life from the remaining three dragons. The dragons and Snake thrashed about and when the smoke cleared the dragons and Snake were still.

She watched, her hundred eyes remembering every detail, every creature, every structure, every shadow, every movement, spell, construct, machine and every sound that took place on the battlefield. But she took no other action. It was not her way, nor her duty. She had already predicted the outcome of this battle. Her actions would not change that outcome, only delay it. This information had to be returned to the Celestial City, so she watched and waited.

Raven and Coyote fought side by side, while the Thunderbird and Horse had been split apart from them. Boar lead a group of humans and buffalo against the enemy and they managed to reach the foot of the pyramid. A cloud of darkness exploded from one of the open doors and the darkness covered them. When the cloud disappeared, only bones remained. Boar was unaffected and proceeded to climb the pyramid. Lightning struck him as soon as he touched the pyramid, but his rage was all consuming, so he kept climbing, even as the lightning carved holes in his flesh, he kept climbing. His screams were heard all across the battlefield and were so horrifying everyone stopped and turned to watch. As he reached the main door on the pyramid, a man stepped out. A tiny man compared to the giant form of Boar. He had two flying snakes over his shoulder, each with scales of iridescent black and huge feathered wings. The snakes open their mouths and a terrible light surrounds Boar. His movement slows and his tusk stops mere inches from the strange man in the red cloak. The two snakes scream again and Boar is blasted into chunks of stone that land at the foot of the pyramid.

There was nothing she could do but return to the Host armed with this information. She could feel the Raven and Coyote sealing the realm and any passages to other nearby heavens. She knew that if she planned to leave, she would need to leave now. The Thunderbird bought them time by intercepting the lightning strikes directed at them and reflecting them back into the enemies legions. Instinctively she knew this was nothing more than a test. These creatures could have won this battle days ago, they were simply testing their capabilities against this relatively weak Paradise. They would be seeking stronger test subject soon.

As she turned to go, She could feel the will of the Enemy directed upon her. She made ready her magic and could feel Heaven on her mind as she tried to Transit. Her computations indicated she would not make it. In those seconds, she compacted all of her observations, conjectures, calculations, her dreams, her love and her life and sent them before her, a sigil streaked away into Transition; being without mass, it could transition instantly. The black pyramid extended a great cannon from the point and swiveled it in her direction.

She flew faster turned her eyes toward the sky. It was only then did she realize hundreds of other pyramids were descending on the Happy Hunting Grounds. Only one had devastated nearly every major deity in residence. They would not know this. She had to make it home. The Great Cannon fired and she was enveloped in flame.

 
She transitioned into Heaven, taking the flames with her.

Michael became aware of a waveform approaching him and stopped. He was far enough from the suburbs of the Celestial City for the confrontation. As the waveform reached him, he realized what it was. The Resonance of an Angel. The last will and testament as it were; all they knew, all they dreamed, all of their life was encoded in the Resonance. It was hers.

He braced himself and flew directly at the fireball, he would have to time this just right. At the moment of impact he separated becoming Guardian Michael and Warrior Michael. Guardian grabbed her from within the fireball and slowly descended to the ground, she was covered with burns, and all of her eyes were closed. Her wings were burned off. Her flesh crackled and sizzle with the energy of her life-force oozing out of the cracks. He covered her in his Light and she was soothed. But Michael was not very good with Light so he could do little for her but ease her pain, and protect her from his Warrior.

Warrior extended its four wings and blocked the path of the fireball and the sky lit up with its pallid sickly green color. Warrior thought he could control the explosion, his powers were strained to their limit. Moving through time, he summoned other versions of his temporal self and they combined their powers increasing his ability tenfold, but even that was not enough.

The sphere seemed to only grow stronger the longer he delayed it. Warrior extended his awareness into the flame and saw this weapon only grew stronger the longer it was delayed in reaching its target. The weapon only grew more powerful the more energy he put into trying to stop it. Whoever this was, they knew the defenses of Heaven too well. The Guardians at the Gates would have tried to annihilate this only increasing its power. They counted on someone trying to delay or attack it with energy weaponry. He knew he had only seconds to decide how to deal with it. Since he had already summoned his temporal selves he knew instinctively that time was the element needed. He directed his power and his temporal selves into moving the object through time but not space and his temporal selves surrounded the object until it would have reached the Celestial City. In those seconds, the Guardian erected a shield over himself and her. Nothing would penetrate it. He only hoped the Warrior would not need it more.

The bomb detonated lighting the skies of heaven in every direction, and a fierce shockwave swept from Warrior Michael's position. Gabriel ran from the gates of the city and moved as if time had no meaning. He streaked through the bomb blast debris as if it was not moving. The Gate Guardians directed their vision toward any debris that moved through the clouds and destroyed it before it could reach the outskirts of the suburbs. Gabriel took five seconds to reach the Warrior as he fell from the sky. Warrior Michael had lost an arm during the explosion and was blackened and burned. His wings were shriveled and mere wisps of their former greatness.

Guardian Michael was also unconscious. His left arm was also gone and he was covered with burns, but he protected his charge from any further harm. Gabriel angry that Michael had insisted on doing this alone was incredulous as his Light began to heal the catastrophic injuries Michael had suffered. Michael was an Archangel, what could do this to him?

Jehoel Softspeaker, along with everyone else standing outside of the Celestial city cowered as the super-hot winds blew through the streets, miles from the bomb blast seen in the distance. She had not been the only agent to return unsuccessfully. It would appear our enemy has decided to let the Host know of their intentions. Heaven was at war.

Read my lasted short story, The Go-Slow here on Tor.com.

A little about the story:

A Nollywood actor's life changes on the Nigerian roads. Homicidal animals and a traffic jam - it's just not Nkem's day.

Writer’s Notes

    Greetings, I am Jerry Darnell McLeaurin. The Author of The Mystery’s of Rozika.  It is here where I pose the question of what could be considered real beyond my own skepticism. I know that it is somewhat impossible to initially become one’s own skeptic, though it is my experience, as a person living in America, to doubt things that appear to be alien, foreign or paranormal. So I will understand if you are in doubt of the possibility that exists before you.

    I have found myself asking; is this reality in which I find myself living in real? Are my memories of this foreign place real or nothing more than my imagination running amuck? I have argued with myself on the aspect of my missing time experience and have found that my mind was split between the two regions of a distorted reality. One of the two regions was the aspect of Alien abduction because for a minute, I had thoughts that I was abducted by Aliens and taken to some weird planet and there were Nubians there.

    For a while I imagine being abducted by some alien being but a voice within my being would say otherwise. My dreams played a role as well in this interesting chain of events. I have had this reoccurring dream about a short white woman with blond hair that was tied to the back; like a ponytail. This little woman would follow me wherever I went, from dream to dream. I would see her riding in some of the most interesting crafts I have ever seen during my quest to evade her.

    This was not normal for me to have these multiple dreams about some short white lady with a ponytail, chasing me. In my final dream of seeing her, she had captured me and took me to her mother ship, it was bound to happen for my curiosity was getting the best of me and I would wonder about this mysterious woman and why she was after me. From what I can remember, she had taken me to a triangle shaped ship with three round light fixtures at each angle of the ship. The ship had a glossy black look to itself, almost like it radiated the color black. She and I said nothing to each other, which was odd for I have been evading this creature for months.

    Her craft looked nothing like the massive ship hovering above us, I could not move because I guess I was overwhelmed by the experience. As we entered the ship I could not help but notice how advanced its controls were. It would seem like every single aspect of the ship was a dimension in on itself with technology that I found tempting to take with me and study. The little blonde lady then led me to the ships control room. I knew that it was a control room because I was able to see the earth through the viewing monitors. Beneath the monitors were panels that extended towards the center of the area. There were no light fixtures, although everything could clearly be seen. Then it hit me, the ship had changed positions, since I arrived. I guess during my brief laps into the dimensions of the ship I was a bit distracted. Weirdly, I did not feel the ship move as I thought it would. I expected some atmospheric resistance but to my knowledge there was none.

    As I walked around the control room I noticed a guy standing reading a book, uninterested in me or the control room around him, my first thought was he is a member of her crew, so I walked over to the forward monitor to admire the vision of the earth. I noticed the surface of the earth was one large land mass surrounded by water, from what I could see. I turned to the guy reading the book and asked “what are you reading?” He said the Inner Space Spectrum and the closer I got to him and this book I noticed that the book he was holding was a copy of my own I than asked him; “what are you doing with my book and he said “this is not your book it is mine” we went back and forth over this book because the book had the same face and title as mine and I had no memory of ever publishing it. The next thing I noticed I was waking up in my bed.

    This I understood as a dream therefore it carried no real weight within my own conventional world so I excluded this reality from my paranormal experience for there were still questions I had that was not answered. For one thing I felt older, not in the physical sense but in a mental sense. My mind was conceiving time as a duality; a binary matrix between two worlds. One being the earth and the other a place called Rozika on the planet Pigojia.

    I have often given thought of this external world; however, in my dream vision it was the moon. On the surface of the moon lived a brown skin people. These people believed I was one of them and to some extent, I felt at home there. I will say that I had a lucid experience with this place for I believed I was from somewhere else. I saw these amazing buildings with complex geometrical configurations that seemed to defy conventional standards and there were brown people everywhere.

    What was strange about these people were their celebratory nature, it was like they was just naturally overwhelmed with life. Interestingly I do not remember seeing any cars or transportation vehicles. As I looked around I noticed surface supported an orange environment and in its sky was the earth. I tried to tell the people of the moon that “earth was a planet and there are people who live there that look like you and I am from that planet” no one would believe me; they thought I was sick or something.

    For years I would have these experiences of being in another dimension and earth was my second home. It was not until I began to see these dreams as pieces of a puzzle that only I had the key to solve. The one thing I knew for certain was my mind felt like it was older then I originally thought, almost ancient even. Soon after I began to have an overwhelming interest in Ancient Egypt, as it is called, a place where brown people where the masters of science and engineering but in my vision there was something menacing about this place, It was like I’ve been there before. I remember it as though it was a mystery buried deep within my subconscious. These visions became what I later called the Mysteries of Rozika.                                                                                                                                           

    The Mysteries of Rozika is an epic saga of a people who lived on the planet earth some 34,571 years in the past, who suffered an unfortunate catastrophe at the hands of an unknown invader. The catastrophe was a result of their quest for knowledge and technological exploration which had led to an unfortunate end. These people had to learn the hard way that this planet is a jewel of the stars and that there were beings from other world that had an interest in their home world.  Therefore it was important for them to take into consideration the need to protect their world; however, there were some who paid no attention to the warnings and thus proceeded recklessly to interact with beings without prior knowledge of their agenda.

    As with all great civilizations of our past, a great lesson has been passed down from generation to generation; however, it is our generation that has been handed the responsibility of addressing this situation. As Americans by choice, chance or force, we have been blinded by the victors of history, to believe in this constitution of hate, hopelessness and despair. Our generation walks blindfolded to the reflections of ourselves, living in doubt of our inner strengths, our aesthetic concepts of beauty and our mathematical resolve.

    This generation is not just the generation of the so called black nation or Nubians, as some would call, but a generation of free thinkers bounded by institutionalized rhetoric and a secretive propaganda that hides the truth and enslaves the young. This ancient entity wants to infect our world with chaos in order to resurrect its agenda. We have seen wars, famine and the attempt annihilation of a sacred people oblivious to their once great and prosperous heritage.

    Today these people live in constant fear for their well being and the well being of their children, who have been led down a destructive road by the mass media Empire. These people have endured poverty at the hands of a ruthless government with a secret agenda, but what is this secret agenda anyway? Why are there, layers of blind hatred of peoples who exist as a different kind and why is there this covert notion that America has to constantly lie about the things we are not supposed to have any knowledge of?

    These are the questions that have a few vague answers that come in the form of conspiracy theories, that of which the media does its best to discredit. There is a belief that one day this entity will meet its match, and it will no longer be able to hide deep within the bowels of these secret societies, that of which it created. For it is known that this entity wants to reestablish its ability to travel to other worlds, while maintaining its grip on the world we live in today. The funny thing is, one the surface, its science is a bit backwards and full of holes and that which it knows as the truth, beneath its surface, it’s secretly hiding from the Scholarly public.

    As a matter of fact this entity wears a cloak and pretends it is a God as a means of controlling its puppet species for the prospect of serving its will. The truth of the matter is, we are not just dealing with one entity but a species of entities who have managed to survive here on this planet for many thousands of years, and it could be assumed that this species is incapable of reproducing on a grand scale.

    These beings are the puppet masters of the so called chosen people; however, these entities are not of a superior intellect although their wits make them cunning and predator like as a species. Their superiority is at best an illusion to the masses still asleep from the initial blast which caused a generational state of amnesia that of which is slowly withering away.

 As we observe our conscious selves of today, we are reckless in our dealings with this illusive entity, those of which; are the same invaders of our past. It is my hope that the lessons taught within this saga are inner-stood by the lay reader. Unfortunately, it is my inner standing that this message will go unchallenged. For we are still the same humble peoples of Rozika and as separated folk, we are both Afon and Serido of the 21^st century, the difference between us lays in our compliance to the laws which, in on itself, has an alien presence and therefore an intrinsic agenda all its own.

As earlier stated, Earth is in fact a jewel of the Stars as well as our sacred mother and we are allowing these beings to do with her whichever way they feel, and as reckless as they are, we may again be faced with a more fiendish and unstoppable foe from another world. Their use of technology will draw the attention of creatures that are much bigger and crueler then they themselves are. Funny thing is they may already know about these beings or even perhaps been at war with them at some time but are hiding this information from us. You could say that this is just speculation and if we took a closer look at the developments of this reality we may see it from a different perspective. We must ask ourselves, why are we here and why are we in this state of servitude?

We must ask ourselves; where did this race of beings come from and what is their agenda. Most of us claim we understand the truth through the history books we studied while in college doing research but how reliable is that information. Some philosophical groups believe that these beings are a creation brought forth by our ancient scientist. It has gotten to a point where most of what we believed is true about this reality could easily be challenged, even the concept of European dominance has its weak points with respect to the actuarial truth.

We know that we have been lied to about the history of this world because for time and time again they have denied our people the right to the self education necessary to see beyond their truths. They would have us believe that those who had the knowledge to refute them are all dead and gone therefore we must rely on their truths to set us free but there is a hole that passes through the very fabric of this truth that they present to us and our children.       

 Just think about what our “captors” say is true, with respect to the Moon landings, photos of the Earth and the composition of space; can we actually say that what is projected at us is completely fact? Or do these concepts like Pangaea, Darwinism and Christianity all have a sinister reality hidden in front of our eyes? And what if there really is an alien species governing this world and orchestrating wars between the native peoples of this world and in their plans is the total annihilation of all folks who are originally from this planet? Maybe it is absolutely true that they created the European for the prospect of ruling this planet and their ultimate weapon is religion. That is why I never advocated the blind hatred of Europeans because they always seem like puppets to me. In my opinion hating them is like; hating a particular car because I was hit by one when in fact it was not the car that hit me it was its driver.      

I will leave this theory up to you to interpret but understand that we live within a secretive government that intentionally hides the truth from the people and most of us accept it blindly.

There are those like myself who wish to explore these realities of space independently; however, it would seem impossible to investigate these interests without the external permissions of this “government” and if asked, they will say, no, in the name of “national security”, and the most challenging of all questions will be; to whom do we ask and why must we have to ask in the first place and why is it considered a threat to national security? It’s like living within a dream world unaware of our conscious dictators controlling our every move while orchestrating our initial doubt.   

Could it be true that space is a restricted domain like area fifty one and only NASA has access to it? If it is not so, than there should not be any restrictions on who gets to leave and or explore the outer arenas of our planet but there is. There is a movie about a back yard astronaut who builds his own space ship and the folks at NASA do everything in their power to stop him from achieving his goal. This Either-verse is a domain of immense potential that is available for us all to see and witness for ourselves. Each individual has a divine right to leave this planet if he or she has the desire and the capability to do so. Maybe these Entities by whatever name they call themselves have an inner-standing that if they loss control over the inhabitance of this world they may be faced with a galactic war that of which would wreck havoc on their cosmic agendas.     

Without our divine right to free access of space, our world becomes our prison with illusions that keep us at bay. We all have the potential to create crafts capable of leaving earth giving us a somewhat unlimited access to the universe, the moon and all other planets in our solar system, so why should we be restricted to earth.

Is it right that only the wealthy corporate elites and NASA have access to the solar system, the Sun and the Universe at large? In addition, is it true that only the elites of the United States of America owns the rights to the planet Earth and the moon, if so then who gave them these rights? How is it possible for the United States of America to sell land on the moon unless they owned it?

This epic journey you are about to embark on, could be perceived as incomprehensible to the lay reader, who wishes to remain asleep but I implore you to activate your creative mind to inner-stand that mathematical work that has been brought before you.        

 This is summarized version is from a single family’s point of view, meant to convey the last 88 days of planetary defense between the Afon and Serido peoples of Rozika and the unknown invaders of Pigojia.  But who were these invaders who wished to possess our planet, there lays the mystery that continues till this very day. They say that history is written by the victors and the mystery lays in the truth behind its savagery. Therefore it is our quest to inner-stand the mathematics of our captor for the prospect of examining the origin and nature of this cosmic evil.  

    There are some areas of this story that has not yet been explored because of the time frame in which the information had to be presented. However, the advanced version is still under construction. So what I ask of you is to eternalize what is written and give it some thought, you never know; it may trigger a lost memory of your own, for it is said that the Rozikans have the mental power to read beyond the Leaf. 

Can't Do It…

This is the science fiction action-adventure extravaganza you have all been waiting for!

My latest novel, Warriors of the Free Worlds, published by Mocha-Memoirs Press will be released in April!

The countdown to that universe-shaking event begins now!

As you may or not know, the actor Wesley Snipes was my partner for producing a limited animation adventure based on a character I created called Zulu Mech 1. Well it did not work out with him and now he is in jail. So I have moved on with a new artist, a new 3D animation crew and new partnerships.  

I have entered Zulu Mech 1 in a contest to promote an uplifting, world class superhero for children everywhere, especially Africa . Please go to the link below, check the great art by the mighty James Eugene, read my synopsis and vote for my character. There is really nothing else of this caliber being produced now, especially with a focus on African people, so please share the link with everyone you know. I don't need to win this contest for Zulu Mech 1 to move forward, but it would be a great help with publicity.

http://www.talenthouse.com/creativeinvites/preview/a29c3b2f5edc8e477c6e02696dd64bd7/154

My deciding not to go forward with Wesley Snipes on this project was one of the best career moves I ever made.  World class people came out of the woodwork to get with me on Zulu Mech 1 after Snipes, including the Poitier(yes, as in Sidney Poitier) family and other multi-million dollar partners. I will be releasing some fully 3D Zulu Mech 1 art soon, and a trailer. As well as a pile of other mind bending African Legends adventure excitement. Speaking of which, I have a new African Legends character coming out in novel and multimedia form later this year. He is historical, and like Memnon, is a world class, world renowned figure. The character is a famous black man from the Bible, Old Testament. See if you can figure out who his is. Yes, there is movie production interest in this property too. But this time I won't deal with someone destined for prison.

To see the ill fated youtube video featuring Wesley Snipes and the art of the great Mshindo, go here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J92_61-o_mU

Thanks for your time,
Gregory "Brother G" Walker

2011 winner of the "Stop The Brainwash" contest 

2009 winner of the Octavia Butler Humanitarian Award for "Shades Of Memnon"

2000 winner of the Best New Author of the Year for "Shades Of Memnon"

“Come, sit.”

Ken hesitated before accepting the invitation from the stranger sitting in the guest chair next to the warden’s desk.   

The stranger extended a hand without shifting his position in the body molding chair.  “My name is Howard Jordan, Academy of Neural Research.”

Ken took the man’s hand and was greeted to a surprisingly strong grip.  Howard Jordan looked old enough to be someone’s great grandfather.  His slicked back white hair gleamed like ice beneath a high noon sun.  Perhaps some cosmetic work could have reduced the man’s age wrinkles, but then his wizened face would have lost its character.  He was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, complimented by a maroon collarless shirt. 

The fact that this Jordan fellow was in the warden’s office, without the warden present, spoke volumes about the man’s importance.  Of course anyone from the vaunted Academy of Neural Research bore serious consideration.

“Ken Dumaka.”  Immediately Ken felt silly giving Howard Jordan his name when the latter specifically requested Ken’s presence.  “Of course, you already know that,” he rebounded, taking the seat across from Jordan.

Howard Jordan’s smile exuded warmth and avuncular familiarity.  “Yes, I do.  And it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Warden Chiang has told me good things about you.”

Ken lifted his brow in an attempt at levity.  “Well, that’s a relief.”

Jordan kept his smile as he reached behind him to pluck a file folder off the warden’s desk.   Ken noted the hardcopy’s quaintness.  Hardly anyone he knew used paper.

“Let’s see.”  Jordan opened the folder and sifted through a thin sheaf of papers before settling on a particular document.  “Ah yes.  Kenneth Dumaka, resident psychologist, Antarctic Penal Facility.  You were born in Lagos.  You moved to San Francisco at age eight.  Your father, a retired Star Fleet admiral wanted his children to be close to Star Fleet Headquarters.  He figured the proximity, augmented by his encouragement, would lead you and your siblings to join Starfleet.”  Jordan looked up as if waiting for Ken to validate that part of his bio.

Ken tilted his head and Jordan continued.  “Well, it worked for one of your siblings.  Your older brother John is a lieutenant serving on the Corral.  Your twin sister opted to follow your mother into astrophysics.  They’re both working with a Vulcan science team in the Delta Quadrant.  You, Kenneth, decided to be the odd man out.  You pursued psychology, obtaining two degrees in the field from Daystrom University.  Shortly after graduation you taught a behavioral science course at Lunar College, then returned to Earth two years later to work here at the Penal Facility.”

Jordan paused again.

Filling in the silence, Ken said, “that sounds about right.  You certainly have my life covered.”

“It’s an interesting life, Kenneth.”

Something about Jordan raised the hairs on the back of Ken’s neck.  Ken shook off the feeling, attributing it to a mild draft.  In a rigorously climate controlled room?  It was a mild draft, Ken insisted to himself.

Jordan continued.  “Hmmm.  You spent six weeks at the Starfleet Training Complex, where you received training in weapons and close quarter combat.”

“Yes.  You see before my work here as a psychologist, I was a guard for seven months,” explained Ken.  “The warden wanted me to come down from my high perch of academia, as he put it, to experience this prison at the ground level.  All guards receive Starfleet training to prepare for the environment they’ll be working in.”

“That’s understandable.  This is a maximum security facility.  Why did you choose to work here?”

“Why?”

“You could be practicing your profession somewhere far more prestigious, far less dangerous.”  Jordan closed the folder and rested it in his lap.  “Why here?”

Ken propped his right elbow on the armrest and leaned on it.  “I guess because more prestigious, less dangerous places are not all that interesting to me.”

Jordan appeared to mull over Ken’s answer.  “Tell me, Kenneth.  What do you think of the Federation?”

Ken’s face registered amused surprise.  “From my background to the Federation.  That’s a huge topical shift.”

“Not necessarily.”  Jordan’s twinkling blue eyed gaze bore into Ken with an unwavering scrutiny.  “My question relates to your background.”

Jordan had a way of prompting an answer without repeating the question.  Ken smiled awkwardly as he formulated a reply.  “I was born on Earth, at the heart of the Federation.  I…well, I have nothing but the highest regard for the Federation…”

“Would you die to protect the Federation?”

Ken’s smile widened.  “I beg your pardon?”

Suddenly, Jordan’s grandfatherly appeal was stripped away to reveal something…untoward, ominous.  “Would you die to protect the Federation?”

“Sure…sure, yes, I suppose…”

“Would you kill to protect the Federation?”

Ken raised a hand to get a handle on this weird line of questioning.  “Mr. Jordan, no disrespect, but why am I here…I mean what is it that you want with me?”  

“I want you to answer my question,” Jordan emphasized coldly.

Dropping his gaze for a few seconds, Ken looked his interrogator square in the eye.  “Yes.  If I had to, I would kill for the Federation.”

A whisper of a smile graced Jordan’s parched face.  “Tell me what your thoughts are on rehabilitation.”

What was the point of these queries? Ken wondered.  He answered with a thinning degree of patience.  “I believe it’s necessary.  Rehabilitation, as it applies to this and other prisons, is a means of guiding the inmate toward positive behavioral norms in anticipation of his or her reintegration back into society.”

“What if you are not successful in your guidance?”

“We don’t think along those terms.  Every inmate here is a potential candidate for reintegration.”

Jordan nodded and reached into his inside blazer pocket.  He pulled out a square, silver device Ken recognized as a recorder.  The older man thumbed the center of the device and a voice—Ken’s voice--sounded.

Personal log…August 23^rd.  I had another session with Max Hebil today.  He attacked a guard.  Fortunately, the guard wasn’t hurt.  A little shaken up, but otherwise, ok.  I asked Max why he attacked the guard.  Max said because he felt like killing someone.  Ten years in prison and the urge to kill has not been purged from this inmate.  I don’t understand it.  Frankly I think the man is pure evil.  I know that’s not a professional evaluation, but that’s just how I feel.  A host of psychologists, including myself, have tried to work with Max to no avail.  The man is a virus.  You can’t coax and persuade a virus.  You can only kill it.”

Ken sprang to his feet, his teeth bared in a wolfish snarl.  “Turn it off!  That’s my personal goddamn log! How did you…”

“Strong sentiment, Kenneth,” Jordan commented in a contrastingly mild tone.  “Comparing a man to a virus.”  He turned off the device and slipped it back into his inner pocket.

Ken headed for the exit.  “This conversation is over.”

“I don’t think so.  Because, you’re curious.”  Jordan crossed his legs, making himself more comfortable.  “You want to know who I really am.  More so, you want to know the point of these questions I’ve been putting before you.”

Ken stopped a few feet from the door, took a calming breath and turned to face the man.  “All right, you’ve read me.  Now, talk.”

“Well, first off, you fed me a line, this dreamy talk of the merits of rehabilitation and positive behavioral norms and the like.  Your log reveals your true feelings.  Rehab does not work for everyone.  You know this, your colleagues know this, but no one is willing to admit that sobering truth.”

“Your point,” Ken prodded.

“The line you parrot is no different from Federation doctrine.  The Federation believes in universal brotherhood, all species united under a banner of peace and prosperity.  The idea is a noble one.  As a matter of fact I believe in it myself.”  Jordan pursed his thin lips.  “But not all species honor that ideal.  Federation power keeps the hostile species at bay.  Like your Max Hebil, a hostile species would go on a bloody rampage at the first opportunity.  Earth would be a cinder, Vulcan, reduced to ashes.  No amount of coaxing and persuading would turn a hostile species into an exemplar of virtue and good intentions…not when their philosophy, their culture, even their genetics are fundamentally, diametrically opposed to everything the Federation stands for.”

Ken spread his hands, perplexed.  “What does your socio-political lecture have to do with me?”

The older man stood.  He appeared limber and in good shape.  “Kenneth.  What I’m saying is that you see the face of evil everyday.  You know what it looks like.  You know how it behaves and you know it cannot be rehabilitated.  There is evil beyond these walls.  Forces at play who threaten the Federation like Max Hebil threatens the staff of this facility.  The organization I work for is trying to prevent that evil from harming the Federation.   The methods we use are not always in accordance with Federation values.  In fact, many in the Federation would find some of our methods repugnant.   They would say that going down a certain path would make us no better than our enemies.   I say only by embarking down that path do we prevent our enemies from destroying us.”  Jordan stepped closer to Ken, giving the other an evaluating look.  “You would be a good fit for our organization.”

“What exactly is this organization that you represent?” Ken demanded, irritated, yet intrigued.

Jordan’s full smile returned.  “Tell you what.  I’ll reveal that information to you in our next discussion, but only if you want to me to return for that second discussion.  If not, I’ll go away for good and this conversation never happened.”  The last part of that sentence carried a heavy note of warning.

Ken’s initial inclination was to forget the conversation.  Having his innermost feelings indecently exposed before this stranger  was a most unnerving experience.  Yet, what  Jordan said about threats to the Federation and this organization he was a part of…it struck a chord with Ken.  It was as if that intangible thing he had been waiting for…that thing Ken needed to complete him had finally arrived.

With some reticence, Ken nodded.  “When will I see you again?”

Jordan handed Ken the folder.  “In the near future.  But it won’t be here.”  The mystery man exited the office.

Ken remained behind, replaying the conversation in his head, wondering what to make of this Howard Jordan…assuming that was his real name.  Then he opened the folder to read his file only to discover blank sheets of paper.  

"Chief Scientist, Neikhia, get your people ready to go. We are about to have company. Do you still have those mercenaries you hired earlier?" The Resurrection Frame stepped clear of the stasis housing, its repairs completed, it glowed with power.

The Chief Scientist appeared annoyed, several tentacles flailing, with the commanding tone of the armored form. But once the Major had activated the Frame,  it was clear who was now in charge. "Yes, Major. There is still one company of thirty with a supplementary group of Corvans acting as support fire teams."

"Good, we'll need them. Get your people ready. Leave everything that isn't necessary for your research. I assume you have a plan?"

"It is not ideal, but I believe the answer can be found at the Malcanari Rift. Our intelligence operatives tell us there are a series of outposts that are used to manipulate the destabilizing quantum signal used to keep the rift closed. These stations will be found within a light year of the anomaly. It is believed these outposts were actually created by the Precursors. We would only need to take control of one, maybe two to prevent the signal from being effective."

"How many people will you need for your exploration? Our ship will not carry more than a couple of extras, assuming I still have a crew at all." The major's turned his face toward Essver, Chuntra and Wex who had not moved since the two had related their tale and he had stepped into the Frame.

"We have three ships and we will deploy them with the remainder of our forces to the other stations, the more of the signal we can stop, the better." Neikhia turned a bright orange indicating a satisfaction with his planning. The Major did not counter the order.

Having recently recounted how they came to be involved in the hunt for the Major both Chuntra and Wex looked back at the Major in the glory of his fearsome armor, Wex defiantly, Chuntra apologetically. "We are sorry, Major. We did not know what to expect once you were reunited with your Resurrection Frame. You seem so very different." Chuntra was changing colors rapidly indicating her confusion and inability to regulate her current state of mind. Wex stood quietly and let her speak for the both of them. "To be honest, we would be honored to continue to fight with you. It is clear to us now, Bogumil knew of what he spoke, when he said you were our best chance of understanding the threat of the Nox. Command us."

Essver simply nodded his assent, as he had for the decades the three of them had worked together. There was never any doubt of his support.

The Frame stood quietly for a second and then a softer, less modulated voice came out of it. "I am the same man I was before I stepped into this technology. It does not make me something different. I have come to rely on your abilities and was hoping you would stay. The weeks ahead promise to be the most challenging of our time together. For a few days, I will be remaining in the Frame, so that my neural network can be backed up, and any further repairs completed. Being without the Frame so long has compromised my health and it will be a many days before I am back to full strength. I will need you, now, more than ever."

Turning to Biyu, "Pilot, Traveling Light is enroute, repaired and restored and she will need you. I need a flight coordinator, can I count on you?"

"Of course, Major, to hell and back if need be." She continued, "Scientist Neikhia, I need one of your people to take me to the surface so I can get a place for the ship to set down and get your gear together. Teela says she will arrive in fifteen minutes and the Danikans will be right behind her about six or seven minutes. Pack light, get your crews in the air. We will work out an escape plan."

Neikhia gestures and two of the technicians begin grabbing boxes full of data crystals and leading the Pilot to the surface. "Will let you know when we are ready, Major. Master Wex, Ambassadors?" The five strode off toward the surface in a brisk fashion.

The Frame strode clear of the platform where it had sat imprisoned and walked up behind the Chief Scientist. "Now that we are alone, Neikhia, What are you not telling me? I have the distinct impression you still have secrets. I am not a patient man right now, so please spare me any further lies."

Neikhia turned toward the Major and puffed himself to his full size. The Major's lack of response caused him to immediately deflate and turned all three eyes away. "I have not lied to you Major. But I have not told the complete truth. There are many other elements to this story that I could not reveal without letting the others know the hopelessness of our situation." Neikhia turned to the Major and reflexively shuttered.

The Major leaned close to Neikhia and whispered."Tell me everything."

Onboard the Command cruiser, the Admiral, rarely seen on the command deck floated impatiently while the captain and his crew completed their telemetry and preparations to engage the Danikan pirates. In addition to the pirates, the Lorus-class attack gunship detected escaping Lorissi was detected on the same heading as the Danikans. This means their target is close. 

With the effectiveness of their last jump they were positioned to jump directly to the small habitable moon of the fifth planet in this system. With only one operating jump gate, the Danikans tiny ships could not possibly hope to out run the fleet and escape back to the empire. Their ships are only system-capable preventing them from being able to out-maneuver or escape once the fleet's smaller and more nimble frigates lock onto their signals. The age of the Danikans vessels ensure they will either surrender or flee, combat against the Corvan Fleet would be suicidal at best.

"Five minutes until we drop out of interstellar warp, Captain." The astrogation officer was recalculating the drop points against the subspace eddies trying to drop out of warp as close to the moon as possible.

The Captain depressed his comm speaker for a ship-wide broadcast. "All sentients report to your battle stations. Activate condition one defenses and ship readiness. Activate all fluid-tight seals and compartmentalizations. All weapons batteries take your targeting from your gunnery leaders. All brace for combat actions."

A young sub-commander calls up the system holograms and begins the predictive assault against the Danikens. As the Admiral expected, its outcome was a foregone conclusion to the predictive engines. Their light corvettes were converted from system corvettes left here over five decades ago when this area was part of Bel-ha space. Their weapons while powerful compared to the civilian ships they were designed to police, were no match for the armors, shields or defense systems of true military ships.

As the local conflict caused the main stargates in the surrounding space to shut down, the Bel-ha retreated from the area, deeming it simply too resource poor to bother with, despite its popularity as a tourist destination. Local police forces tended the region for a century or two until local crime corrupted the police and military station here. The Bel-ha left the region in the hands of their uplifted charges, the Danikans, but the Danikans were susceptible to corruptions and when left without the influence of their Patron were inclined toward less-than-savory behavior. As long as their actions did not cause an undue loss of life, by the Bel-ha standards, how they maintained order was, relatively speaking, their business.  Such criminal scum would have been exterminated in the Imperium but this area was outside of his jurisdiction, technically speaking. This would not stop him from destroying them if they interfered in Empire business.

"Captain," began the sub-commander, "based on the designs of the Bel-ha Police Corvettes in our database our predictive engines indicate a ninety five percent probability of success with only light casualties in our frigate fleet. We will be able to solidify those numbers once we are able to get full scans of the enemy ships to understand local variations in the ship designs. Even with considerable modifications, their hull sizes and power plant limitations still place their power output beneath even our smallest ships."

"That said, sub-commander Tha'al, we shall assume the most powerful configurations possible in our current database, and prepare for the worst case scenarios. We shall offer them one opportunity to surrender. After that, terminate with extreme prejudice. Nothing matters more than capturing the traitor, Majoris Wilks. Baring his capture, he is to be destroyed along with his ship and co-conspirators. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain," echoed across the command deck from all of the officers present. The Captain turned toward the Assault commander's station.  Commander Kreltan, do you have a team ready to drop to the planet?"

Kreltan was a veteran of two centuries of warfare and his body had been genetically altered for combat. Large bony ridges covered all of his tentacles and his gripper arms were larger and stronger than most. His eyes had hard nictating membranes that covered them all the time, giving him an even more menacing appearance to the common Corvan. The most unnerving thing about him was his lack of color transition. Kreltan maintained the same color no matter what answer he gave, no matter what kind of conversation he had. He was completely immune to the Corvan skill of color-interpretation because he never changed color. Even his voice seemed colorless to anyone but another extremely ancient Corvan.

The Admiral listened intently. "The team is prepped to fast-drop to the surface. Transit time, four minutes. Each Elite is super-gravity trained and wearing heavy armor. Each has had experience in combat against the various species of the Humani, the Subaki and standard Mercenary tactics. If any of the Danikans are there, they will be factored into our combat predictions and annihilated. I will be leading the assault. If the rebels are there, we will capture them. If they resist. We will destroy them. We await your orders, Captain."

The Admiral thrummed the water in approval of Kreltan's report. Then he added "Commander, if it possible, we would prefer the traitor alive. Stress this to your team. He, and his sponsors of the Resurrection Program, need to be taken to task. The program is a violation of our spiritual beliefs and has only been allowed since the Humani have the support of their reptilian brethren. If we can show signs of duplicity on their part, that program can be halted politically." 

Kreltan paused for only a split-second, just long enough to let the Admiral know he did not like the idea. "Your will be done, Admiral. To Serve the Empire!"

"To Serve the Empire, Commander. Carry on."

Third eyes were all focused on the interaction between these two veteran warriors of the Empire, each having served longer than almost any others in the fleet, and each commanding the loyalties of their troops with fanatical zeal. But there was no love between them personally. Each did their best not to interfere in the dominion of the other. All ground operations were under the control of the Commander when he was on the ground. Commander Kreltan was a legend amongst assault teams in the entire empire. A warrior dedicated to battle above all else. He was assigned to the Admiral's fleet nearly one hundred years ago and they were friendly once.

 
Battle-brothers, they destroyed enemies of the empire for nearly seventy years. Narrow escapes that became the stuff of legend are still told in quiet corners when either of them are around or especially when the two may be in the same room. Their friendship had become strained when an Imperial world infected with an alien parasite had to be destroyed by orbital bombardment. The Commander believed the world could be saved and attempted to redouble his efforts to destroy the parasite which painfully consumed their hosts from the inside.

The Admiral did not agree and forced the Commander to leave the world. Unknown to the Admiral at the time, this world held the entire clan of Kreltan. The Admiral could not allow the infestation to spread. They had already lost two dozen worlds before finding the latest spawning point of the alien horde. It was the right thing to do. It was the humane thing to do. Kreltan hasn't changed color since that day nor spoken again to anyone outside of their duties since that time. He vows to never allow a world to fall to Extermination again.

The Admiral hoped that would never be the case as well. But he still missed his old friend.

The battle against the Danikans in space lasted approximately one hour. They had maximized the output of their Bel-ha corvettes. This made them the equal of only the smallest of frigates in the fleet. Eighty percent of the pirate fleet was destroyed. The remainder surrendered and powered down their shields, armor and weapons. The Admiral dropped with the Commander and his crew, both wearing Relic Armor covered with numerous campaign badges of their adventures together. In their armors, it was almost impossible to tell the two of them apart.

 
The conflict with the mercenary force took another hour, as they were well dug in and had terrain on their side. Once the Imperium forces began to do considerable damage, the Mercenaries surrendered, as was their right under the Galactic Military code. They would be treated fairly with dignity and after being ransomed by their Mercenary Guild, returned to service. In the meantime, their contracts would be purchased and they would fight for the Empire. Standard delaying tactic on the part of the rebels.

The Admiral moved through the remnants of their headquarters which aside from the rushed nature of their departure, showed no sign of fear or distress. As if the fleet had been expected. 

Two communications technicians were reviewing the outgoing transmissions attempting to figure out who the rebels were in contact with but all message logs were destroyed. Only one message remained in the queue. The Corvans began to listen to the message and after a few seconds deactivated the message.

"Admiral, begging your pardon, you will want to see this. I recommend a classified status immediately."

"Send it to me, I will be the judge of its status."

"To the commander of the Imperial Fleet, I greet you and salute you, by the standards of our Imperial Treaty between Empires ratified in the Sjurani Accords. This information is classified and can only be accessed by using your Imperial codes, unique to command officers of fleet vessels. I have encoded it in this way because I believe this to be a threat to the Empire at large. You will require two command officers to access this datastream."

 
"All of you, out. Kreltan, I require your assistance and your command key."

Both of them strode to the command holo-display in the station as their subordinates grab any remaining technology and returned to the surface. Neither has stood this close in nearly a decade and their discomfort would be noticeable to any who knew them. But they were both professionals and as they entered their command signatures and used their command signet bracers, neither was prepared for the horror of the recordings of transformation of normal Corvans into the atavistic monstrosities created by the alien quantum signature. 

The recording continued. "Officers of the Imperium, my name is Major Thomas Wilks. I am an Elite and in service to the Resurrectorum, part of the branch of the Corvan Assault Military. I understand I have been flagged as a rebel and likely a traitor, but I promise you this: what is being done here, is being done by your government. I do not pretend to understand what it to be gained by it, or who is perpetrating it, but I am duty-bound to stop it.  Analyze any data you find here, as best you can. I have ensured all of it has been left behind for you to study. The Chief Scientist and I are on our way to stop it. Knowing the Corvan Military as well as I do, you will be focused on your honor and serving the Empire. Do so. Prove what this data says is true and there is only one way to do that. Understand, this signal will affect nearly every Corvan in the Empire.  I have included the recording of the signal as well. Once you verify it, you will have no choice but to follow me and stop this from happening. We are not hiding from you. You will know where to find us."

The hologram of the Major grows larger and the camera zooms in close on the face of the Major as he makes the armor transparent. "Do not try to stop me. The lives of billions will hang in the balance. You will have another completely different mission. When the signal is activated, it will destabilize the program that has closed the Rift for millions of years. Preliminary data from the Rift monitoring system shows thousands of ships held in flux by the program. You can figure out the rest. You have two choices, hunt for me or stop the enemy from coming through the Rift. Choose wisely. Either way, if you come after me, I will not hesitate to kill anyone or anything else that keeps me from destroying the quantum array that will emit the Atavistic transformation."

The camera goes off and a stream of visual information, including coordinates, shield variances and gene sequences are displayed along with a variety of other information neither officer can decipher.  And then the audio continues. "Now, I know what you are thinking. Why am I telling you this? It is not because I have any particular love of the Corvan Imperium, because frankly, I think you could do better. But you could do worse, and this would be much worse. The truth of the matter is, I would hate to be wrong and fail and allow millions of enemies to flood into our space from what arguably may be another more technically-advanced universe."

There is a long delay before the Major continues. "I am telling you this because I need support and there is no one else I can turn to. I need your help. I cannot force you to help me, but I will do what I was trained to do; stop all enemies of my Empire, foreign or domestic. Yes, humans have not been members of the Imperium for long, but I believe in what the Imperium stands for in theory, even if we don't always live up to it in practice. Humans have simply wanted to give back to the Imperium and now it appears we may have more to offer than you thought. But we don't have much time. Within the data pack are favorable shield calibrations against the Q-signal. If you have time, I would suggest you experiment with others, the rebel scientists believe it may help offer your crews resistance against the signal. I would implement them if I were you, unless you fancy spending the rest of your life as one of those things. The Rift is fifteen days away for me and about twenty for those massive beasts you fly around in. Hunting me, or helping me, don't be late."

There is a momentary pause. Then the Major speaks one more time. "Oh, and if you call the Corvan Homeworld hoping to get support, remember this, The Corvan homeworld is the closest star system to the Rift in the Empire. Our scientists believe anyone who is living on the homeworld in the last six months has already begun their transformation since they were within the range of the test signal. Since the first test signal, the government has only stepped up their efforts to expedite the progress of the Q-array. So if you call for help, you may find yourselves branded traitors, as well. Good luck, in whatever you decide to do. End transmission."

End of Part II

'Revenant: Resurrection' © Thaddeus Howze 2010. All Rights Reserved

Bighead Scientists here again to announce Episode 1 Part 2 of Matty's Rocket.  We are getting well into the first episode which will be about 4-5 parts in total.  What is interesting is that as we think we are done, suddenly possibilities for narrative expansion appear. 

Please join us as we continue on the Journey. 

I hope you guys will consider helping us out. We have Black History Month to raise the funds for BLVD. WARRIORS to be completed properly: http://kck.st/hlqpaE

Here's a synopsis for the documentary:

Inspiration can come from many places: from traditions developed thousands of miles away and thousands of years ago; from movies with dialogue we don’t understand; and it can come from within. But what’s important is where inspiration takes us.

Whether it’s community centers, world-class competitions, music, or kung fu cinema, the martial arts have been a tremendous influence on the culture and aspirations of black and urban Americans for decades. Blvd. Warriors tells the little-known story of how Asian fighting arts and the movies that feature them, pierced the lives of those in communities struggling with parallel issues.

Through a series of interviews, movie clips and historical documents, the documentary tracks a history that evolved from a combination of natural ability, the desire for change, societal exclusion, and basic human instinct. The search for power, hope, identity, haphazard entertainment, reflective heroes and respect, triggered a confluence of events that have lead to a standard in American culture. That standard has transcended race, politics, cultural stereotypes – and in some cases – the very limits of human endurance. Blvd. Warriors shines a light on experts of the martial arts, trailblazing entertainers, pop culture references, and everyday people whose lives have been permanently impacted through their exposure to, and ultimately their respect of, this unique way of life and its cultural origins.

Thanks so much.

Rene