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IT IS NOT MY PRESUMPTION THAT DRIVES ME, BUT MY CONSCIOUS AS A PSYCHIATRIST THAT BIDS ME PREPARE THOSE FEW WHO WILL HEAR ME FOR COMING EVENTSWHICH ARE IN ACCORD WITH THE END OF AN ERA.”

“SOMETHING IS SEEN, BUT ONE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT.”

-- C. G. Jung, “Flying Saucers, a Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies.”

In 2009 and 2010, several giant, pyramid-shaped UFOs were caught on video in Turkey, China, England, and Russia. The videos – some taken in broad daylight and broadcast on TV news…some taken at night, their strange, luminescent tetrahedron-like shapes morphing out of the darkness to loom over busy highways -- range from the startling…to the ridiculously surreal…to the downright eerie...or maybe, just plain hokey...


Shocking to me…but, apparently, people have been filming flying pyramids as far back as 1968 (as shown in the History Channel program, first video above). These are not small objects, either; these are -- in each case -- HUMONGOUS FLOATING PYRAMIDS appearing clearly (that is to say, at least, in the videos) over major cities…in one case, even over the Kremlin…


AS WE KNOW FROM ANCIENT EGYPTIAN HISTORY, THEY ARE MANIFESTATIONS OF PSYCHIC CHANGES… CHANGES IN THE CONSTELLATION OF PSYCHIC DOMINANTS, OF THE ARCHTYPES, OR “GODS’ AS THEY USED TO BE CALLED, THAT BRING ABOUT, OR ACCOMPANY, LONG LASTING TRANSFORMATIONS OF THE COLLECTIVE PSYCHE.” – C.J.

While some dismiss the UFO issue outright, renowned psychiatrist and father of analytical&archetypal psychology Carl Gustav Jung, took the phenomenon quite seriously. In his book, “Flying Saucers, a Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies,” * he worriedly examined what it might mean if people around the world were both actually seeing these kinds phenomena…as well as not actually seeing them, but believing they did… Because in either case, to Jung’s mind, it was not a business to take so lightly.

“IT WOULD BE FRIVOLOUS OF ME TO TRY TO CONCEAL FROM THE READER THAT SUCH REFLECTIONS ARE NOT ONLY EXCEEDINGLY UNPOPULAR BUT EVEN COME PERILOUSLY CLOSE TO THOSE TURBID FANTASIES WHICH BECLOUD THE MINDS OF WORLD-REFORMERS AND OTHER INTERPRETERS OF “SIGNS AND PORTENTS.” BUT I MUST TAKE THIS RISK, EVEN IF IT MEANS PUTTING MY HARD-WON REPUTATION FOR TRUTHFULNESS, RELIABILITY, AND CAPACITY FOR SCIENTIFIC JUDGMENT IN JEOPARDY. I CAN ASSURE MY READERS THAT I DO NOT DO THIS WITH A LIGHT HEART. I AM, TO BE QUITE FRANK, CONCERNED FOR ALL THOSE WHO ARE CAUGHT UNPREPARED BY THE EVENTS IN QUESTION AND DISCONCERTED BY THEIR INCOMPREHENSIBLE NATURE. SINCE, SO FAR AS I KNOW, NO ONE HAS YET FELT MOVED TO EXAMINE AND SET FORTH THE POSSIBLE PSYCHIC CONSEQUENCES OF THE FORESEEABLE ASTROLOGICAL CHANGE, I DEEM IT MY DUTY TO DO WHAT I CAN IN THIS RESPECT. I UNDERTAKE THIS THANKLESS TASK IN THE EXPECTATION THAT MY CHISEL WILL MAKE NO IMPRESSION ON THE HARD STONE IT ENCOUNTERS.” - C.J.

Jung traveled extensively in Egypt, and it's widely believed his theories on the collective unconscious, archetypes and myths were heavily influenced by his own studies of Egyptian spirituality...

I wonder what he'd think about these videos of giant floating pyramids -- and the people who, like myself, are fascinated by them... and kinda hope that yeah, the mothership's design is Egyptian stylee?

Honestly -- Pyramid UFOs? Really? If you have any interest in the whole Egyptian/ extraterrestrial/ancient alien/”pyramid code” mystery, you have to love the idea of a wave of giant, flying mothership/pyramids appearing around the world…freaky, phoney, funky, or not...

*
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I See Black People...on the Moon!

Black people on the moon. Fellow BSFS member, William Hayashi, has taken this premise and built around it a very thoughtful and suspenseful page turner called Discovery. How did this happen? How did a small group of black people manage to depart Earth undetected? How did they gather the resources to contruct a habitat in a lunar environment? On the dark side no less? The first volume in this trilogy, subtitled the Darkside Trilogy, (William is working on volume II as I write this) puts us squarely on the path of answering those questions. But first, the author composes a solid story, taking the reader on an investigative journey, leading to this monumental (ahem) discovery. He provides a series of occurances, seemingly unrelated, but destined to converge.

 

There are the disappearances of nearly 2,000 highly educated, technically skilled black people over a period of decades; the shoot down of an aircraft in the Middle East, an aircraft with a design and composition unlike anything encountered on Earth; an asteroid on a collision course with Earth, and the invention of a device with unprecedented detection capability.

 

Discovery is a process of...discovery and I thoroughly enjoyed the process. William takes a very deliberative approach in his storytelling. He makes sure that the reader is ensconced as deeply as possible in the view point of the characters, as the pieces of a grand and complex puzzle are put together. He deftly merges real world tech with science fiction and his superb grasp of the contemporary technology portrayed in the book is an outgrowth of the heavy research he poured into the story.

 

As I mentioned earlier, Discovery is the first in a trilogy. The answers we didn't get in part one are sure to unfold in the forthcoming volumes. But unlocking part of the mystery in Discovery was very exciting. William has written a most intriguing work of science fiction, one I highly recommend. Discovery (The Darkside Trilogy)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Priestess Will Return!

Just finished up the first full portion of a saga based on the Priestess series of shorts created here at the BSFS. The saga is called, "All Things Present, Past and Future". As is, it will be three (maybe four) inter-connected stories which will give some major insight on the characters and the mystical realm of the Valley. Got some major plans for this which will hopefully be unique to the Society. In the meantime, betwixt writing the stories (which I'm also using a unique method to be disclosed), I'm finally getting around to doing companion artwork. So standby ye fans of the Priestess, she's on her way and has got something for you!
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Urban Civilizations of the Future

 

I finally located traces of my amazing Aunt Raven in the (Alpha Scorpii) Antares (meaning "Rival of Mars") which is the brightest star in Scorpius, one of the constellations in the human zodiac. Antares is a variable red supergiant star that is 520 light-years from Earth and is 230 times bigger than our Sun. Many of the winged faery folk from Africa have parties there during the magnificient sunrise. Ancient Africans terraformed a planet in orbit  around Antares and have created one of the most amazing urban cultures in the heart of a lush  jungle. Lions lounge in the parks where human school children learn and play. There is no poverty; astrophysicists are rock stars.  I seek to gain some of their knowledges that perhaps we can use on earth. Fortunately, I met a female scientist --  just finishing her daily swim -- who was willing to guide  me.

 

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The Switch: Clockwork

I haven't posted in a while fam :) So here goes :) This is an except from The Switch II, which I'm going to release this year.

 

The black-garbed officials soared above York, their jet-blasters strapped to their backs... past the clear tunnels that webbed across Tyrol. The beige and white towers of the city, rose around them.

Connections in their helmets enabled them to speak to each other. Although they were yards apart, their speech was as clear and sharp as if they were standing next to each other.

“What did you think of her?” Kilo, the pudgy official flying on the right asked. He dipped expertly to avoid an oncoming hover craft.

“Who? Ms. high class, stick up her a** Z100?” Dazz asked. He was a thin, swarthy man.

“No your mother... who else?”

Dazz smirked. “Watch your mouth about dear, old mom you putz. I think she's a rich, sexy b***** who ought to be taught some manners. I'd like to teach her naked– preferably on her hands and knees in handcuffs.”

Kilo chuckled. “Okay, if you're done with your fantasy... I meant what did you think of her story?”

“It doesn't matter what I think,” there was a shrug in Dazz's voice. “She's powerful enough to have us demoted – hell she could take our badges if she wanted to.”

“When we get back to the hub let's file a report.”

“Hell no.” Dazz said emphatically. “I don't care if she's building a bomb in her bathroom. It's not worth me risking my job over.”

“Look, we can file a curiosity report without taking any heat. It'll probably be ignored anyway. But just in case something is wrong, we'll be in the clear. We might even get a promotion... I'd love to see her knocked off her high horse.”

Dazz snickered. “And on all fours?”

“You got it.”

 

Simone2 was a honey-brown woman, with bobbed hair and green eyes. She was dressed in the unfamiliar, upper city garb of white jumpsuit and boots. 

A stylish purse was strapped about her waist. An onyx-handled derringer was strapped to the other side The room she stood in was lavishly furnished with a futon, wall screen and coffee table. Facing the divan beside the screen, were three transparent cubicles where Z kept her android playmates.

Her favorite, “Jason,” a muscular, dark robot sat on the futon: a blank expression on his face.

“I had a lovely time Jason,” Simone said dryly. Her words triggered his response chip to read: Date over.

Jason rose and walked stiffly to the third opaque closet. It slid open and he stepped inside. Simone keyed in sleep on the curved stand facing the closets: deactivating him. The mansion also came equipped with a robotic butler and virtual house companion; which included a recording and alarm system. The house had been in sleep mode now for over an hour.

The woman gazed at the stairs of Z100's mansion; preparing herself mentally for what she had to do. She was worried about Dumas, Carlos and Richard. Especially Dumas. But there was no time for that now.

If I don't play my part right, we'll all wind up with our heads on a stick... in front of the guillotine.

 

Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers 2011 all rights reserved

 

 

 

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Infinity_Nick_ChroniclesAs a YA author, I love Sherrilyn Kenyon's new series. I already loved reading Nick's adult story and now I thoroughly enjoy learning more about his story as a teen.  When I approached the series, I  knew that it was going to be good. Sherrilyn Kenyon knows how to tell a great story. Can you tell I'm a fan girl? So here I was minding my own business when wham! She introduces me to the character of Menyara! I love this character but more importantly, Menyara has Sisterlocks!

 I freaked out. I squeaked and called my husband. "Menyara has sisterlocks!"  He's like who the heck is Menyara? This is a really big deal to me.

Sisterlocks are a new invention in Black women's hair solutions.  I've had mysisterlocks_side view of Alicia Sisterlocks for over 10 years but this is not something that the average population of Americans would know about. In fact, there are African-Americans that have no clue.  I absolutely love my hair!  I love it so much that my husband started a hair journal for me.  I'm normally an advocate for natural hair and Sisterlocks. Over the years, I've converted a few Black women.  alicia_and_asanteWith that, though, there has been a few trials. For years, I've had to explain about my "little dreadlocks" and that "yes, this is my real hair" and "no, it doesn't hurt" and "yes, it's a permanent hair solution for highly textured hair." 

So, I was floored when I read "Her sisterlocks were held back from her beautiful face by a wide yellow scarf she'd tied around her head that trailed down her back, just past her hair..."

Not only did she know about Sisterlocks but she created a vivid image of what they look like and how they're worn. I was so excited about the Menyara's description and the fact that she's a mother figure to Nick. Menyara is "petite like his mother" and "had chocolate-brown skin that glowed..."

This is a character that's integral to the story and the depth of description is real. I'm hooked on this series just by the hair alone. Nick doesn't know how powerful Menyara is in his life but the readers know that she's a major player in this story. I love it! I'm hoping that Sherrilyn Kenyon will read this and have alicia_mccallaMenyara wear her sisterlocks in a cool, curly style. I like to wear my Sisterlocks in a sassy way. I'm also hoping that they'll change the current profile picture on Sherrilyn Kenyon's page to something that more resembles sisterlocks. I'll pose for that picture! LOL!

Well, the Nick Chronicles are off to a good start. Go ahead and read them.  Make sure you look for Menyara and her fantastic sisterlocks! So exciting. 

If you'd like to learn more about sisterlocks visit Tressie, my sisterlocks consultant, and the main sisterlocks page with general information.

Tressie Samuel's Page: http://www.tressieslotsoflocks.com/

Sisterlocks homepage:  http://www.sisterlocks.com

Learn more about Menyara: http://www.sherrilynkenyon.com/char_profile.php?character_id=189

 

Visit my page: www.aliciamccalla.com

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retrospect

"Who are you and who are you working for?" The voice kept slamming in my head, I was spinning, zooming in and out of attentiveness. I was trying to choose some words to intelligently gain some leverage, my lips saying out of turn, "I don't know!" I am an abstract artist. I just draw what I imagine and or work out of shapes and colors. I do them one at a time, no thought of a series or relatedness between them. They had me in a little room, there was a table beyond a window. I could see them hunched over it. They roughly handled the drawings, turning them ever which way, standing back to gaze. Then they would gasp in amazement, throwing their hands in the air with unconstrained astonishment. They would half turn, hiding their lips, I couldn't make out their mutterings. Then one would come into my space, "Where did you get this?", You can't possibly know what this stuff is!", "Who are you?" "I don't know" I said, "I just work out the forms as they come, been doing it for years. I never thought to put the drawings together."
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Take us to your Leader

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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The Kenyan science fiction short film Pumzi is now avaialble for puchase!! It is featured with three other brilliant African shorts from Focus Film's Africa First Program. Buy it here.

Pumzi was directed by Wanuri Kahiu, who will direct Who Fears Death: The Movie. I asked Wanuri how she came to write Pumzi. She said that she was not a big reader of science fiction and that the STORY led her to science fiction. Pumzi is fabulous, and it is a new type of science fiction, grown completely from African soil. I hope to see more like it, on the screen and in print.

When you sit down to watch Pumzi, make sure you have a nice tall glass of water beside you. You will want to drink it. :-)

Aman Iman ( means "water is Life" in Tamashek).

The trailer for African First: Volume One (which includes Pumzi) can be viewed here.
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Changes and new stories!

Hey, just wanted to thank our illustrious Admin for bringing back the capacity to customize our pages. Mine's been updated and is sporting a snazzy look. Also, for those fans of my 'Priestess' online fantasy/adventure shorts, I've got some plans for our fav' Goddess in Mortal form. Currently, I'm working on a saga that will bring some serious trials for three well known residents of the mysterious desert valley which if they fail, will affect the lives of all who live there! I'm also trying out a new medium for writing this saga that will be announced with the release of the first story in the series. The first story is nearly complete and will be posted online here at the BSFS. Got some big plans so standby....
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The Americas. This is where the End began. The West, the place of Prophecy, the place of Destiny. The genetic cellular database of Ancestral awakenings thrums in tune to the drumbeat call of generations of soul, of pain and joy rising above the spontaneous eruption of life, uncontrollable, unbounded, free of constriction or constraint in its purest form. This is the natural path life takes like water, flowing down or up whatever channel presents a path, making one where none exists, or deepening preexisting ways, widening, eroding resistance whenever encountered to open the way for a more intense flow of energy.

What does all or any of this have to do with Hip Hop? With a bunch of kids who play their music too loud, who seem to have a fascination with cursing, disrespect of authority and women, baggy clothing, crime and material culture? How is any of this spiritual in nature and what does it have to do with consciousness? To answer these questions fully it is necessary to understand what Hip Hop is, what it really represents, where it came from and where it is going.

Loosely defined, it is the culture of the urbanized underclass, of the disaffected and the disillusioned masses. A culture of rebellion and revolt that employs every mode of communication known to humanity in order to get its message across. Music, art, the spoken word, the beat, movement. MC’ing, DJ’ing, Break Dancing/Popping/Locking and Graffiti are its major expressions, all of which encompass the primal cries of those relegated to possessing only their spirits and souls and little else of material substance.  As a post-modern deconstruction of a Western European meta-narrative, Hip Hop stands as an exemplar of the effect upon the individual of societal ills that are now global in scope. Ageless, as an expression of African-based musical and communicative forms of expression, Hip Hop was informally born as a genre in late 1970s New York City and the surrounding region, expanding relatively quickly from a purely regional expression to its current status as multi-billion dollar music of the global youth culture. It is fair to say that Hip Hop has come a long way. But it is also fair to say that it has a way to go still before it reaches its full potential.

Afrofuturism as a movement has evolved alongside Hip Hop, similarly having no definitive beginning while simultaneously coalescing alongside Hip Hop in urban America during the late 1970s. Its formal inception occurs much later, in the late 1990s and into the 00s as the online presence of African Americans grew stronger. The application of diverse academic traditions to the same questions was the beginning of a process that sought to dissect the cultural and media-based discourse of African-originated and futuristically-themed influence in the preceding decades in the attempt to define their interests and cultural memes.

And so it was that a small, ethnically diverse but concentrated listserv, called Afrofuturism, was born and prospered, for a time. Beyond the vigorous debates, expositions of consciousness, collaborations and intellectualisms lay an underlying strata of vast potentiality and possibility, made manifest through the broad and open genres of science and speculative fiction. The movement was represented by black authors, academics, Hip Hop headz and performers alike, all sharing a similar fascination with futuristic themes and expressions of modern societal tropes under the guise of the fantastic. Afrofuturism never really coalesced as a full-blown cultural shift outside of the avant-garde arts and music scenes of the large urban areas, but the fish bowl-like arena the internet was in those days brought larger and more mainstream attention to this small collective of personalities and ideas, raised against the growing din of diverse voices the Net was soon to become.

Hip Hop and the Afrofuture cannot be separated from the evolution of America as a nation, but they also cannot be separated from the evolution of consciousness not only of this country, but of the world. The impact of Hip Hop has been felt upon every continent, in every country. Rap is the music of the global youth culture. It is the sound of rebellion and discontent that can be heard wherever the young are gathered and wherever inequalities have resulted in the formalization of destitution. The original means by which Hip Hop formed have been repeated in country after countrycity after city as the young and the listless have found themselves with little money and no musical education but still possessed of singing hearts and dancing souls, theirs or their parents record collections and an ever-growing mass of CDs and MP3s that consolidate the Music of the Ages. The ready availability and affordability of computers, digital music and sound equipment have created the perfect environment for a large-scale explosion of beat-centered creativity as the hard, biting sounds of rap drive the air and digital-waves toward the resolution of a Hip Hop planet, born to tear down paradigms not built for their edification.

There is Russian Hip Hop, Middle Eastern Hip Hop, African Hip Hop, European Hip Hop, Latin American Hip Hop. You will find baggy jeans and ball caps worn by youth of every ethnicity, shade, size or gender in every country in the world. This acceptance of a quintessentially American artform by two generations, X and Y, who are now birthing a third, generation Z, will take the artform into new territory as global consciousness coalesces around the ideals that undergird the very essence of Hip Hop. Freedom of expression  and lifestyle choices, a disdain for centralized authority, a dearth of color consciousness and a dislike of the trappings of corporate and/or governmental culture typify the belief system of Hip Hop Headz around the globe. The continuing revelations regarding the world-wide dominance of elite, corporate conspiracies have resulted in an ever-spreading understanding of the many threads that tie in to this reality, be they economic, political or cultural in nature. A wide-spread distrust of governmental measures as well as a realization that corporate culture does not have the best interests of the individual in mind bind diverse cultures and ethnicities together in recognition of their shared servitude and bondage to global consumer culture and hegemonic political domination by a self-serving and mega-rich elite.

The material and mainstream response to the impact of Hip Hop began early in its modern evolution. With the success of the Conscious Hip Hop movement in the United States in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a concerted effort was made on the part of the Music Industry to derail the movement by changing the focus of the music from positive messages, African history and evolved states of being to that of material wealth, violence and hyper-sexuality. According to music industry insiders, there was a successful attempt to provide monetary incentives and change the focus of individual Hip Hop artists to rap more about these topics and also to contract artists that would create the type of music that glorified self-hate and violence in many forms. This era was accompanied by rising drug use, gang violence in many inner cities and the destruction of previously cohesive neighborhoods by gentrification and urban renewal projects that diffused black power by moving populations out of the urban center and into suburban apartment complexes. The simultaneous influx of illegal drugs – as well as the continuing unavailability of stable sources of income – into these uprooted communities contributed heavily to the continuing dismantling of black political power. But what the Powers-That-Be did not take into account was the expansion of Hip Hop’s influence out of the black community and into the white community and from there, into the rest of the world. Even though the possibility of this happening was evident from its earliest beginnings – as exemplified by its multi-ethnic composition in the early to mid-80s as it spread like wildfire across America – the change in the focus of Hip Hop from a black consciousness to a gangsta/thug mentality that glorified the patriarchy and material accumulation appealed to the children of the suburbs, the children of affluence, the white children of th establishment. Their rebellion against their parents and dedicated economic commitment to Hip Hop raised the art form to national and international prominence, if not in spite of, then because of the negative direction the Industry chose to force the music into.

As Hip Hop has evolved within the crucible of a planet in the throes of change, it has come to represent a shifting of consciousness, being the musical form best suited for political and social challenges. Its hard, eviscerating beats, biting and rough dictions and choruses, are theperfect backdrop to a world on the cusp of transformational change. While mainstream Rap still possesses that material edge that glorifies bling, the dollar bill and the objectification of women as sexual objects, underground Hip Hop culture remains conscious and concerned with the plight of the underclass the world across. With the spread of Internet access across the planet, that underclass has realized that they hold common cause with each other, no matter their country or origin or color. A global political consciousness is a precursor to a global spiritual consciousness as people become aware that politics is only the outermost layer of an affliction that goes much deeper. The speculative aspects of the Afro-future arise in this space created by infinite potentiality as artists meld their conceptions of the present with ideas about what could be, in a perfect world. The addition of both New Age and Afrocentric spiritual ideals, as well as the culmination of the Age – centered around the 2012 fulcrum – combine to create a discourse ofextraordinary exceptionalism that surpasses nation-hood and represents an elevated sense of connection, of oneness, of common cause.

There is a revolution of the spirit as well as the body that is overcoming the dictates of materiality, of modernism and the consumer culture. While there are many causative factors that have contributed to this awakening, the impact of African-related innovations and movements in the West have been strongly felt. From the Haitian revolution and the victories of Touissant L’Ouverture, to Nat Turner, the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement, there is a connection. From Jazz to Country to New Age genres, there is a connection. From Fats Domino, Little Richard and other African-Americans impact upon the evolution of Rock and Roll to the evolution of electronic and computer-based music and art forms, there is a connection. This connection is the expression of the Souls of Black Folk, the visceral nature of their interactions with the world, the spirit-filled mass consciousness that resists all attempts at suppression, repression and genocide. It is, in microcosm, representative of the human spirit in macrocosm, it is what happens when a group of people is put upon for centuries at a timeand their desire for utter freedom grows beyond the capacity of any seeking control over them to contain. It is when expression becomes mandatory, where not even death is threat enough to maintain silence, that the extraordinary becomes mundane and wonder fills the world to overflowing on a daily basis.

Of course,  the formulation of the present moment is a collective endeavor that all streams of humanity have contributed to, that, in fact, every person who has ever lived has, in their own way, helped to create. Consciousness is a condition of awareness and each individual becomes aware of the realities outside of his or her own chosen spotlight for different reasons. But it cannot be denied that the world as it is today is the result of vast inequalities that have been fomented over generations. Inequalities that have resulted in the deaths of untold millions, the servitude of untold millions more and the domination of the world by a small, inbred and greedy elite. The atrocities that have come to predominate the historical record of these latter centuries of the Age of Pisces perhaps have no equal in the known history of humanity upon this planet. The world as it is today, with all of its pain, heartache and vast inequalities, is also a beautiful place, where the seeds of Africans brought to the Americas, mixed with the Aboriginals and Enslavers both, have broken ground, tilling the field of hearts the world across, as what has been done becomes clear and the ramifications of karmic repayment attend that clarification. Hip Hop and the Afro-future stand intertwined in the Present as an indicator of Past and Future, one indistinguishable from the other according to the infinite realm of probability that leaves conceptualization boundless and free to be, to become whatever we wish it to be. This is the legacy of our ancestors, and that which we leave to our posterity in our turn. The gift of life and love despite pain and heartache, and of expression ,without apology, of who we are, were and will be, far beyond what those who think they control reality could ever conceive of.

 

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Whiteout!

Hey family, the science fiction novel WHITEOUT is now joined by DELROY and ANGEL, written by Peter D Chisholm! Go to Amazon, Barns and Noble, and Createspace and check out these great books. Let the rest of this family know what you think!!
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I can't draw stick figures, let alone illustrate this!  So I am definitely in the market for an artist to collaborate with me on this project. (Please send me a message from this site you are interested!) I've never used the graphic novel format before, and it was difficult for me to get used to writing for the audience with the captions and dialogue, and for the artists in the panels. But I downloaded a free writing program called Celtx and it formats the pages so all I have to do is figure out what goes where on the page.  Anyone who thinks writing graphic novels or comics is easy seriously needs brain washing!  It's far more challenging than my day job, which is writing for online news sites. I've done journalism for years, and I can write a lead in my sleep. I've even written plays that were produced and short stories that were published. None of those experiences come close to the difficulties I have trying to keep the very different format elements straight in my head while working on this story.

 

Page 1          

Chapter 1 Miyuki after death

   Panel 1     In the unseen world that exists between the living and the dead, a powerfully built, middle-aged Japanese man dressed in the robes of nobility approaches a beauteous, kimono-clad young Japanese woman whose hair is not tied up in a traditional bun, but flows gloriously down to the small of her back. She appears to be in her mid-20s. Her head is bowed in polite deference to the gentleman.

     Caption 1   The great feudal lord Takeda doesn't know how he came to this place. It was as if he were a mere feather, and a powerful wind picked him up with dizzying speed, then gently set him down on what appeared to be clouds. Although his face appears calm, he is irritated with the force that brought him here. But years of experience with espionage and battle tactics have taught him to be patient, and the reason for his current situation would reveal itself. With that thought as a comfort, he cautiously watches the very appealing young lady approaching him with tolerable deference.  It wouldn’t be the first time that an enemy tried to distract him with a woman.

Miyuki

(In Japanese) Grandfather.

  Panel 2   The nobleman's expression moves from astonishment to outrage.

Caption 2    In his day, women never addressed men of his class, even when they were on their knees.  They spoke only when they were ordered to do so.

TAKEDA*

You are NOT of my blood! You dare...!

Panel 3   He raises his right hand to give her a resounding slap, but he's surprised when        it returns to his side as if it had been stricken with a sudden paralysis.  He struggles to raise it again, then tries his left hand. It stops suddenly mid-air; he stares in disbelief. Miyuki watches calmly.

Caption 3    Roles have changed in the intervening four centuries between the time Takeda inhabited a body and Miyuki was born forty years ago (in the material world’s concept of time) in a suburb of Tokyo.

TAKEDA

What manner of evil enchantment...? Release me, witch!

*Takeda Shingen, a ruling feudal lord who lived in Japan from 1521 – 1573.

Panel 4   Close-up of Miyuki looking directly at him, smiling.

MIYUKI

I am not a witch, nor do I have the power to release you. I am your daughter, born of your noble and praiseworthy lineage over 400 years after your unfortunate demise.  You are here with me because your descendants, in Japan and in a place called the United States of America, have prayed to the Lord of all worlds for the progress of your soul, along with the souls of those before and after you.

TAKEDA

(Face strained with rage.) I will NOT be treated as a mere trifle! How dare you speak to me as an equal! Who is this "lord" you serve?

Panel 5   Miyuki has a bemused expression on her face as she speaks. Meanwhile, a sparkling, translucent veil appears behind her.

MIYUKI

We are all His servants, even if we have no knowledge of this.

TAKEDA

I demand to see him! Have him face me as a brave and honorable man should, instead of sending an impertinent girl to do his job! Tell me his name; I will seek him myself!

Page 2

Panel 6    Miyuki turns and pulls aside the veil.

Caption 4    The only life Takeda has known was the well-ordered one he had when he occupied a physical form. He knows of nothing else and wishes for nothing more. Everything around him in the afterlife reflects this wish.

Panel 7   A flashback of 16th century Japan--Takeda is a wealthy, powerful feudal lord with a large army of samurai at his command.

Caption 5     Now, the security of his orderly life has been upended by the madness of a strange, disrespectful girl who spoke of a lord who, apparently, lacked the courage and honor of a nobleman to challenge his opponents directly.

Panel 8   Miyuki holds the veil while beckoning a frowning and reluctant Takeda to walk through.

 

MIYUKI

"Through Thy name, O my God, all created things were stirred up, and the heavens were spread, and the earth was established, and the clouds were raised and made to rain upon the earth."* There is so much more here in the afterlife for both of us, Grandfather. We have been brought together to assist someone who is still among those who dwell on Earth--my daughter, Hitomi

Panel 9   Across three intersecting panels, Miyuki and Takeda become smaller until they dissipate into vapors. 

Caption 6    The life Takeda has known and loved will soon be no more than indistinct memories shrouded by mists.

Page 3

Panel 10   Miyuki and Takeda have appeared in front of the veil and into the bedroom of Miyuki's 27 year old daughter Hitomi's apartment. They are at the foot of her bed, looking at her. Hitomi is sleeping, curled into a fetal position. Her long, wavy black hair is tousled over her face; her bedding covers her body from the neck down. The room an eclectic mix of African, Asian and modern furniture, artifacts and pictures. Over the headboard of Hitomi's bed is a huge poster of the R&B/funk group, Parliament/Funkadelic.

Caption 7    There is nothing familiar to Takeda here: the odd furnishings, the bizarre lights and sounds emanating from peculiar machines make him uneasy. He is accustomed to being wholly in control of people and events; it perturbs him that he has neither.

Panel 11   Intersecting panels show Takeda's face is a mixture of anger and confusion. He reaches for his sword, but to his bewilderment and frustration, it will not unsheathe.

TAKEDA

What sort of demonic habitation is this, girl?

Panel 12   View of Miyuki's head turned toward Takeda, who is still struggling to free his sword.

*(Baha'u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha'u'llah, p. 235)

 

Page 4

Caption 8    In his previous life, Takeda would have ordered the “witch” and the odd, sleeping “creature” to be executed at once. Their offense--being at odds with the structure of his life--would have been sufficient to warrant their death. But there are no soldiers or servants to carry out his command. Moreover, it galled him that the “witch” remained unabashedly impertinent. Even his sword defied him.

MIYUKI

It is...the sleeping quarters of my beloved daughter Hitomi, Grandfather.

Panel 13    POV change to bedside, near Hitomi's head. Shows the pair standing together. Miyuki's face is filled with love, sadness  and longing for her daughter. Takeda looks as if he is about to explode.

Caption 9    He has reached the last of his minuscule amount of patience. Terror is his remaining weapon.

TAKEDA

TAKE ME FROM THIS ACCURSED PLACE, WITCH, OR I SWEAR BY MY ANCESTORS I WILL RIP YOUR BODY TO MERE THREADS!!!

Panel 14   Very large shot of the two--Every vein and muscle in Takeda's face and neck in bulging in fury while Miyuki looks at him with detached amusement.

TAKEDA

SIMPLE-MINDED BITCH! YOU DARE LOOK ON ME IN JEST?

Page 5

Panel 15   POV changes to the space between Miyuki and Takeda--Hitomi has turned in her sleep, kicking the covers off.  Her hair has moved partially away from her face. She is dressed in an over-sized tee-shirt revealing her flawless, sienna-colored bare arms and legs. It is clear that she is stunningly gorgeous young lady born of African-American and Japanese ancestry (picture R&B singer Amerie).

HITOMI

Mmmhhh....

Panel 16   Takeda's mouth opened in horror as he stares at Hitomi.

Caption 10    He had heard rumors, seen pictures of dark men from a distant land that the ruddy-faced, hairy men from Europe called "Africa".  Those pale men, with their wheat or fire colored hair and strangely colored eyes, spoke of half-men who were more apes than human. Takeda thought the stories were nothing more than the uncouth ramblings of foolish drunken whites. There can be no such thing. It is against nature for a human to copulate with an ape or a monkey, an unconscionable act.

Panel 17   A close-up of Takeda.  He is apoplectic.

Caption 11    Yet, before him...evidence that the dull-brained girl who claimed to be his descendant had committed the most heinous of acts.

TAKEDA

WITCH! WHAT UNSPEAKABLE VILENESS HAVE YOU COMMITTED? THAT IS NO HUMAN; IT IS A MONSTER!

Panel 18   A close up of Miyuki’s calm face.

MIYUKI

She is not only human, Grandfather, she is my precious, beautiful daughter. This is the 21st century; almost five hundred years has passed since you had a body. So much has changed since you walked upon the Earth. Whether you like it or not, she is of your lineage also. I married a man who descended from the people of Africa, although the country of his birth is now known as the United States of America.

Panel 19   Takeda stares at Miyuki, who continues to gaze lovingly at Hitomi.

MIYUKI

I know it is a rather old fashioned name for a girl her age, but I named her Hitomi, after my poor little sister. My sister was born with “special” talents, but without the emotional capacity to use them wisely. I had no idea that, to a lesser degree, the same would be true of my daughter. If I had, I would have given her an English name.

Page 6   Panel 20   Close up of Takeda's face.  His eyes are narrowed as he contemplates               another tactic of escape.                                     

Caption 12    Years of warring has taught the feudal lord that there are thousands of ways to turn a negative situation into a favorable one. He needs only a suitable moment.

TAKEDA

Really, my granddaughter? Tell me of this place, Uni...what is its name again?

Panel 21    Miyuki looks at Takeda, smiling because she knows he is trying to find a way out of what must seem like intolerable bondage to him.

Caption 13    What Takeda does not know is that the history of his battlefield stratagems and preternatural cunning has been passed down through the generations. Her father told the stories to Miyuki's brothers. Her eldest brother, Hiromasa, loved to regal (and terrify) her with his dramatic interpretations of these tales.

Panel 22   Flashback of sixteen year old Hiromasa sitting cross-legged on the floor next to six year old Miyuki's tatami mat (circa 1967), enthusiastically telling her about the clever ruses employed by their ancestor, Takeda Shingen that often led to victory over his opponents. Miyuki is wide-eyed and enthralled.

Caption 14    Much has been written and debated about the effect the dead has upon the living. There is evidence that the stories left by the forebears and repeated by their descendants does form a sense of identity within a family, especially when the stories instruct and warn about the various trials of life. The more unfathomable effect the dead have on their progeny is not so apparent, or easily explained.

Page 7   Panel 23   Hitomi is thrashing about in bed.

Panel 24   She jerks awake, startled.

Caption 15    Much of what happens in Hitomi's life is not easily explained.

HITOMI

Mommy!

Panel 25   She looks about her room as if she expects to see her mother nearby.

Panel 26   She cries.

Panel 27   Shot of Takeda and Miyuki watching Hitomi. Takeda looks bewildered while Miyuki is despairing. 

Panel 28   The glittering veil has appeared, and Miyuki backs into it as Takeda continues staring at Hitomi.

 

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Dark Star Rising

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


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


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


“The Kid is down.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


* * *


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


“Make ready, husband.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


“Indeed.”


They stepped through the portal.

* * *


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


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


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


“Show me why you summoned me.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


“Imprisoned?”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

* * *


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


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


Cole looked at her. “Well?”


“Well, what?”


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


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


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


“What?”


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


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


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


“Need a lift? My car is on its way.”


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


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


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


“Gunner, enjoying your vacation?”


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


“Roger that, fearless leader.”


“Occultist?”


“Yes, Gunner.”


“Where is The Kid?”


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


“How is he doing?”


“Tough as nails, ready to go back.”


“Any word from Shango or Kali?”


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


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


“Of course.”


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


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


“Why?”


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


“That’s not gonna happen.”


“Hope you’re right.”


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

* * *


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


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


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


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


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


“What is it? Why has it come here?”

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

“Make it leave.”


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


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


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


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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


They had never seen anything like this.


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

What would you know of godhood?

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


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


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


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


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


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


“Trust me, my husband.”


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

“How would you make this possible?”

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


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


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

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

The other stays here.”


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

“I will be back for you, my wife.”


“You’d better.”

* * *


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


“It’s what Shango wants.”


“Good enough for me. Fifty seconds.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


Without warning the gateway snapped shut.


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


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


“It has Kali.”


The gathered heroes fell silent.


* * *


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


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


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


“Our deal is done. Release me.”


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


“You will stay with us.”


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


* * *


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


“They got away again, sir.”


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

Read more…

Hunger

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


She was weak, so weak that she could only consider the unthinkable, a blind jump to the nearest star and hope there might be food there. Hunger had not been something she had been accustomed to having grown up near the center of the galaxy, within the blazing confines of the galactic core. So beautiful, stars everywhere, light constantly bombarding her every surface, so bright, she was forced to condense herself and reflect light. Her neural network fluttered with the idea, light so abundant she could return it to space, uneaten.

Her current form, adapted for dark space travel was large, millions of miles across, diaphanous, and absorptive, capturing every stray photon, every bit of random hydrogen, every fragment of solar wind. But the pitiful scattering of radiation from stars in this portion of the galaxy would never be able to support one such as her unless she found a supply of new mass, and soon.

It had been many years since he had a substantial meal. Living on nothing but the sparse energy between the stars, she had grown lean. Once so powerful, she might have been mistaken for a star herself; she was now so enfeebled she did not even emit light, a flicker between the stars.

The last three unstable wormholes she discovered had taken her far from the galactic core and the abundant light sources she was accustomed to. In the beginning she did not panic. She was certain she would be able to find a path back to her part of the core. She had been assigned to study the rare pairing of two black holes circling each other in a collapsing orbit. Both stars spinning at hundreds of revolutions per second and circling each other in minutes, created a gravity song rarely heard by her people, who studied such phenomenon for the secrets to the underlying First Sound. 

Suddenly, perhaps it was her own great mass, she had as much mass as a star herself back then, or perhaps some unknown equilibrium had been struck but the two stars event horizons collapsed into each other. They crashed together and the resulting energy blinded her and caused her to lose her equilibrium. The resulting gravity distortions disrupted her perception of the First Sound near her and she was unable to maintain the probability of her position and she was lost.

The energy of the explosion did not hurt her, of course, her species fed on the radiation of millions of stars, less than a few light years apart, as well as the gas scattered throughout the luminous core, a rich feeding area for her people who had lived for billions of years traveling the gravimetric fields, listening to the harmonies of the stars with their interacting fields of light, gravity, and super-string harmonies against the ominous baritone of the super-massive stellar mass that the entire galaxy revolved around. 

Her people called the object at the core of the galaxy the First Sound. She missed its comforting vibrations of the gravity web she grew up in. Out here, its baritone was muted by distance, barely a ripple, but its reach is felt even here as all that is part of the First Sound stays close to it, surrounds it and moves through the universe bound to it. At this distance, though she barely knew it existed.

Her senses strained to their limit, she was aware of a tiny white dwarf on a nearby galactic arm, an island in this lonely part of space. She realized if there was no gas giants in this star system, she would starve to death in a few centuries, unable to activate her probability engine and return to her people. To die alone was the worse thing she could think of and that spurred her to take the rash action of jettisoning fifty percent of her remaining mass. She had barely more mass than a small planet now. She focused her attention on the star, and brought it into resolution. Ten times, fifty times, still not enough. One hundred times, one thousand times, she compensated for gravitation lensing caused by dark matter, she compensated for galactic drift, noted the declination in the fabric of space-time caused by the star. She would attempt to drop out of drive near the edge of its gravity well.

Then she waited. Two dozen years passed as she watched the star to see if there were other planets around it. And there was the flicker as a world passed in front of it, again and again, so quickly she was unsure of what she was seeing. The planet is massive, and its close to the star. It was a gas giant but so close to the star. How was she going be able to feed off of it, when it was so fast and she was so slow now. She would have to retain her speed now if she was to have any chance.

Another dozen years pass as her probability drive activated using nearly all of her remaining energy. Folding space-time, she willed herself to cross this vast gulf of space. She could see her family and hear the baritone of the First Sound. The jump took too much energy. She had been unconscious and only the proximity to the sun woke her. She was still moving fast, her jump had successfully conserved her movement.

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

That plan was gone now. At this angle of descent she would smash into the thick atmosphere of the planet and its violent storms and be destroyed. She had only one chance and not much time. She began to redistribute her mass. She shifted her non-vital mass and prepared to launch it away from herself. She was not used to working this quickly and many of her vital systems were still active. She would suffer memory loss, but she hoped it would be nothing vital. But she did not have the luxury of time. 

She was used to having years to do things, now she had hours. She had never had to make decisions this quickly. She looked at the approaching gas giant and could see its gravity well going deep into the fabric of space-time. Its mass must be enormous. She would have one chance. She would use the last of her energy, to propel the inactive matter away from her and thrust toward the planet in order to ride into the gravity well and whip around the planet. If she timed it just right, she could arrange to end up trapped in a permanent Trojan orbit with the planet.

All of her computations said she would be held at the Trojan point indefinitely, but there was a large margin for error since she did not know enough about the planet's atmospheric density, wind speeds or chemical makeup. She did not have the luxury of time. So much had gone wrong, she was simply without enough choices. There was also the matter of mass to be ejected. The most massive element of her remaining systems after her neural complex was her probability drive. She would need to eject it and work with her attitude systems only, and what she could reconfigure on the way down. which means if she is unsuccessful and cannot gain enough mass, she would never leave here.

Less than an hour remained. She prepared the probability drive for jettison; the mass she ejected would begin a spiral toward the sun. The information to build another was within her, but only if her neural complex could be saved. She streamlined herself and created a form capable of skimming the atmosphere. She would also attempt to grab some mass for analysis and conversion. 

The time passed so quickly. She had not been this close to a sun in decades, and the radiant energy soothed her and she made peace with this insane plan. She ejected half of her mass again and material equal to the mass of the Earth fell away toward the white dwarf. The shunted mass redirected her, partially due to the action-reaction and partially because she became much more maneuverable. Her new, streamlined self hurtled toward the planet, and it grew large, obscuring the sun in a matter of minutes. She turned her belly toward the planet and she could sense the density of molecules increasing, gently at first and then more heavily. She rode the top of the cloud layer briefly while she picked up speed.

She opened her ram jets and ingested the matter. She saw she could burn it and her plan depended on this. She scooped it, compressed it and attempted to start the engines. No success. Fuel ratios, out of balance, must correct. She was beginning to catch too much atmosphere, she would begin to slow down. If she did not get these jets started she would begin to lose too much speed to escape.

Fuel mixture needed higher pressure, higher ignition rate, she needed to go deeper into the atmosphere. She inched her way into the atmosphere, her wide wings spread out, increasing the pressure bit by bit. Once she had the right pressure, the engines ignited and she had a sudden burst of speed, Then the engines performed better. The faster she went the faster they gathered mass. Her plan was working.

Then she noticed a storm below her and the ionization on her hull. As she moved through the atmosphere, she was building up ions on the hull making her attractive to the storm below. The storm was thousands of miles wide and would take her minutes to pass over. The first lightning strikes were the worst, as her cold hull was covered in ionized matter and gas.  There was damage all over her body, systems overloading everywhere. She made what repairs she could internally and hoped she would be outside of the range of the storm shortly. As the hull heated due to friction and energy discharges, it lost its attractiveness and within a few hours the energy discharges stopped.

She extended her senses into the atmosphere of the planet and noticed there were differing layers, each with its own weather activity. And there was simple life here just below her layer in the clouds. A cloud creature of some sort, floating in groups like she and her family once did. She reconfigured her primary boosters to utilize a refined fuel she had been working with while studying the clouds. She was more than halfway around the planet and now needed to begin adding to her thrust profile. The ramjets would not be enough. She prepared her new fuel and pressurized the systems. 

Each engine was the size of a mountain and she had hundreds of them. She activated them in a series of controlled operations, because to fire them all at once in atmosphere would tear her apart. The controlled burns began, each exploded with the force of a million nuclear weapons, in a sequence, faster and faster. Unexpectedly, the engines began to ignite the atmosphere, its natural chemical makeup allowed the powerful engines to ignite it and the flames surged out in a fire trail for thousands of miles, and once the storm started, it spread. She saw the flames surging toward the giant creatures and eventually overtake them. 

They burned quickly, the gas that kept them buoyant was highly flammable. They did not suffer long. The last of her engines ignited and she was certain she would make it once the last step was made. She prepared the final jettison and fired the last of the main engines as she left the atmosphere. The ramjets and wings, hundreds of megatons fell away to burn up in the atmosphere, now she was just a needle, her core systems, her engines, her data network, her manufactorum, her ability to create a new her, was all that was left as she streaked away from the planet. As she entered the light of the sun, she flickered like a diamond and slowly came to rest in the Trojan  orbit of the planet.

There was so little of her left. She could still see her fiery trail burning in the clouds, as the planet orbited beneath her. Now in geosynchronous orbit, she created a tendril of matter to drop into the atmosphere of the world. She also spread herself thin to gather the energy of the solar wind. With the tendril below, she would slowly siphon off mass from the planet. With the energy of the sun she would spread out until energy was flowing freely. This would allow her to rebuild herself over a few centuries.

Nearly a thousand years passed. She has grown from a tiny sliver of light to a massive moon of the great world below. And she has a satellite, a daughter moon of her own to ease her loneliness. She has told her daughter of the voice of the First Sound and how she can barely hear it from this location. She has told her of the probability drive and how it was almost complete. She would be able to take them back to the core and to their family. Unfortunately, the storms destroyed much of her memory of their migration routes so they would have to hunt for them. It might take some time, a few centuries at least.

Her daughter asks her about their sun, and their animals in the atmosphere of their Jovian world. She loved taking care of them and using her smaller bodies to joyride through the solar system.

Mother explains they will be fine and now that we have been here and lived here for so long, we will be able come back and see them any time she wants. This location would be keyed to their drives.

Her daughter tells her how happy that makes her and says she could not imagine living anywhere else.

Mother agrees with her daughter but will also be glad to be going home. This place saved her life and she was grateful, but it would never be home, even if she lived here for a thousand years. And she did. And it still wasn't.

Hunger © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

 

Read more…

The Lions of Mexico

Manuel Rivera woke to the blue sky of Pacifico, Chihuahua, feeling old and just a bit tired. He could see the cloudless sky from his bed and was grateful for being able to open his eyes one more day. He kissed his cruicifix, and thanked God for his blessing.

His wife, Consuela was already up making breakfast. Her breakfast smelled good and he wondered how she managed to sneak out of bed without him noticing again. The late nights watching the garage were taking their toll. He was simply too old to be staying up past ten o'clock anymore.

Sitting up, he got up and shuffled to the cocina to see how breakfast was coming.

"Put some clothes on Papa, and come eat breakfast."

"Did it happen again?"

"Don't worry about that right now. Eat breakfast, then worry about the garage."

"I don't know what to do, Mama. I was awake until eleven. I was sure they would not be back."

"First things first. You can worry better on a full stomach. Clean up, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

Manuel went back upstairs and washed up in the bathroom sink. They broke in again. What did they steal this time? It wasn't like he had a lot. His little garage and storefront had some tools, auto products, snack foods and assorted items that the neighborhood wanted when they did not want to go to the supermarket further in town. This little store had been part of his retirement plan and until the young hoodlums started harrassing the neighborhood, it was perfect. 

Manuel liked being a fixture in the neighborhood. He got to see the children growing up and his son and daughter, while they lived in Pacifico, they lived on the other side of town, just far away enough for he and Consuela to feel independent. He was going to solve this problem without his son's help.

After eating breakfast he surveyed the damage. They climbed the fence into the yard and broke the door into the storefront. Once inside they stole some of his tools from the garage and food from the store. And they made such a mess. He spent the better part of an hour cleaning up before opening the garage and storefront for business. Angela arrived to help run the store while he worked in the garage on an old Chevrolet Impala that needed a tune up.

When customers waited they would sit in the shade inside the garage and would read old magazines his son would bring from the library he worked at. His customers appreciated having something to read while they waited. Manuel was not a slow worker. He knew his way around anything with wheels, but sometimes things take as long as they take. He never rushed and they never hurried him.

When he was finished with the Impala, he looked over at the pile of magazines and saw an issue of National Geographic. Their feature was 'Los Leones del Serengueti.'

That's what I need. If I had my own lion, no one would ever break in here again. Then he had an idea.

"Mama, does Manuelito still have that ugly yellow dog with the long dirty fur?"

"Si, Papa, but I thought you hated that thing."

"Is he still planning to get rid of it because their apartment is too small?"

"You know little Cielo loves the old thing and has managed to sweet-talk Manuelito into keeping it. I don't know how much longer he will do it though. He says the apartment smells like a zoo."

#

"But Abuelo, why can't he stay here with me?" Cielo was using her best little girl voice. She was determined to keep her dog with her. She did not think being a guard dog was a very dignified job. She was sitting on the edge of her bed with her arms around the neck of a dirty looking large terrier with dusty brown fur, and mournful brown eyes.

Manuel shuffled uncomfortably. In her room with all of her little girl things, he felt like such an intruder. He was not happy with the situation because it felt a little bit dishonest, but he tried to think of it as a chance for the situation to benefit everyone.  "Because a dog like him needs more space to move around."

"Abuelo, he is very old, he barely moves at all. He stands around or sleeps almost all the time. He barely even barks." Cielo was describing everything she thought would make him an undesirable guard dog.

"Just the same, I think your father was going to send him away. If we do this, you can come and visit him every weekend you can."

"Okay Abuelo, if he will be safe and happy with you. I will come and see you every weekend."

Manuelito stood disapprovingly over this transaction and Manuel looked sheepishly at his son. "I will take good care of him, mijo."

"Papa, you're scheming again. You know he is too old to make puppies or whatever plan you have up your sleeve."

"When was the last time I had a scheme you didn't approve of?"

"When you bought that garage."

"And you see how well that turned out, right?"

#

"Did you get everything Angela?"

"Si Don Rivera, but why do you need shears and scissors?"

"We have a project. Put the garage door down. Turn on the fan and open the car door." Out jumped Lupo, happy to be leaving the tiny car.

"He smells terrible."

"I know, he will need a bath before we can make him beautiful. Let's get to work."

Lupo had never been effectively bathed before. He was relatively cooperative, likely because he was too old to put up much resistance. His fur was tangled, so much so, it took nearly an hour to comb out all of the matting on his belly and hip areas. Overall he was quite disheveled, but after three washings and rinsings, he smelled much better and after his hair had been cleaned and combed, it was surprisingly long.

Running around the garage Manuel found that copy of National Geographic and opened to the centerfold of a lion from a side view. Perfect. 

Hair flew everywhere and Manuel achieved a state of mania as he cut and shaped the fur on Lupo's neck and feet. Meanwhile, Angela shaved the back end, close and the more she shaved the more she realized how closely Lupo's coloring did match a lion's. 

Manuel clipped and cut around the mane and the feet and the tail of Lupo for another two hours. In another life, Manuel might have been a hair stylist for when he was done, Lupo was transformed. He was, a Mexican Lion.

"Papa, why is the store closed?" Mama walked into the garage just as they were cleaning up after Lupo's makeover.

"Uh, we were closing up early. We are going to go and get our new Mexican Lion."

"A Mexican Lion?"

"Yes, to watch the store. Once we get a Mexican Lion people won't dare try to rob us anymore."

"Papa, is this another one of your schemes?" Mama loved her husband, but there were times he would tax the patience of Jesus himself.

"Angela, put the sign up, just like we talked about and then meet me in the car. I am going to put paper up on the windows while you make the sign."

Mama turned back into the house and started to make dinner. She heard the car putter off into the distance and was gone for about an hour. What was he talking about, Mexican lions? Does Mexico even have lions? When he came back, she was just about finished with dinner. She heard the garage door close and him getting out of the car.

She was finishing washing some salad greens when she heard the kitchen door open. "Papa, did you take Angela home, we have enough dinner for three tonight?" She turned to look at him and...

"Aya Mio!" There was a lion in her kitchen standing right next to her. She screamed and Manuel came running into the kitchen.

He saw her back against the wall holding a frying pan. "No, Mama, he is harmless. Scared you, though, didn't he? 

#

The next morning, he got up early and put Lupo into the house. When he went to the storefront, it was as he left it. 

Lupo happily ate his breakfast before retiring into the living room to sit on his large soft pillow. He liked it much better than the cold ground at night. There were several times people came to visit last night but they seemed very disturbed by something. No matter. The food here is much better than with that little girl and I get to see her as often as I can stand her. Now if only I could get some fur to grow on my rear end, life would be perfect.

Lupo served as the only living Mexican Lion for several years. During that time, burglers refused to come back to Manuel's Garage and when Manuel retired as second time as a mechanic, he found he made even more money as a pet stylist for the well-to-do in Pacifico, Chichuahua.
 
The Lions of Mexico © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved
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Brotherhood

"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

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A Private Little War

"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

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Introducing TOOL-BOI

 

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”

 

 

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