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Suicide Seed

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"What brings you in, Mrs. Das?"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Namaste, Doctor."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

#


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

 

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

 

--IM--

 

GreenMachine: You are in danger.

 

Dr. Mehta: Excuse me?

 

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

 

Dr. Mehta: Who are you?

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Greenmachine: GO TO THE COFFEE SHOP. NOW.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Accepting

 

"How long ago did this recording take place?"

"Two standard days ago."

 

"Then how were they answering my questions?"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"And go where, pray tell?

 

"To the coordinates left by the doctors."

 

"And where is that?"

 

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

 

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

 

"That path is not recommended."

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Acknowledged. Activity in progress.”

 

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

 

#


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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sod off. I am busy with the lady.”

 

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

 

“Stephanie. Stephanie Mehta.”

 

“And your friend?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Who is Dr. Sheppard?" Piotr interrupted.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Rasputin, you look terrible." Javier began.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

"Then who sent me this message."

 

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

 

"What about Helmut? What happened to him?"

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Suicide Seed © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

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Aunt Raven is Running Wild

My Apologies

 

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

 

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

 

Oh man!

 

Those hot pants are killer.

 

She's got skills!!

 

See what happens at sbattle.com

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Goatwater - a Webcomic

Hello all,

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Tiffany Osedra Miller

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Hello, Everyone,

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

 

Safe House for Haitian Rape Victims

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

"In all likelihood, I'll be the only person standing in front of the US Embassy on April 23, 2011. I think too many black people have become complacent with the status quo. I'm happy someone--mostly young people--finally said let's make some noise 'cause there's plenty of reason to be upset about the way things are for black people globally," said Lift Every Voice Against Global Racism Campaign organizer, Ivory Simone, a Bangkok based poet and author.
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Heppp was rendered speechless with a shock that competed fitfully with his rage.  Live images were beamed from the All Seer cruiser to the holo-sphere and he still could not believe the veracity of what he was witnessing.  Hundreds of Protip fighters wiped out in.  One enemy vessel destroyed.  Just one!  The lopsided nature of this contest sent a numbing chill through  every Protip in the Ops Center.  Clearly, Heppp had underestimated these aliens, underestimated their technology.  But how could he have not have underestimated them?  No Protip, regardless of clan, could have conceived of facing a force of such indescribable killing power.  The Toooi’s sweep to dominance over much of the Protip domain had been of unprecedented swiftness, but it was a still hard fought campaign that cost millions of Toooi lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            Itikkk acknowledged and passed the order along.

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            The three other transports released their EMDs simultaneously. 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

            “That could happen to us standing still.”

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

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

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

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

            “I retract my last statement,” said Goshin.

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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In the name of creative marketing

One of the things I have done is write a short story to submit to Analog and Asimov's magazines to help market the first volume of my Darkside Trilogy.  In Discovery a young woman goes missing and is the subject of an investigation by the FBI.  The FBI suspects she is the latest member of a group of African Americans who have mysteriously disappeared without a trace over the previous four decades.

 

In the book, all we know is that she disappeared.  In this short story, I tell of the circumstances of her disappearance; her background, her current circumstance in life, her recruitment, and the details about her actual disappearance.  If this gets published by either of the mags, I'm pretty sure it will drive readers to want to know more about the superstructure of the created universe and hence, the books.

 

Knowing about the scheduling of submissions to these kind of magazines I'm looking at this as a long-term strategy.  I finished the story last month and am in the process of polishing it up for submission.

 

Anyone interested in a sample of the story?

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The conception of an epic tale

I wrote my first novel, Discovery, Book One of the Darkside Trilogy, in 2001.  I started in February and finished in November.  By the time I was done I had written a 330,000 word (750 page) book.  Fortunately I had two editors who helped get it down to a more manageable 500 pages.

 

The book tells the story of what happens in America when the country discovers that African Americans had been secretly living on the backside of the moon since the mid 1960s, and what inevitably transpires once the discovery is made.

 

Discovery is the first volume of a trilogy, but the entire universe I've created will span two trilogies and a seventh volume that winds the epic up.  Currently I'm in the middle of writing the second volume which I had originally wanted to complete by the end of 2011; my schedule has slipped quite a bit.

 

When I began Discovery I had thought I was writing a single book, but as I got further and further into the story I realized that the book's events were going to need more than a single volume to complete the story.  Two considerations made that decision for me.  The first was a realization that no publisher would publish what was essentially  something a bit longer than War and Peace by an unknown author.  I also realized that only those who regularly visited a gym and worked out concentrating on their upper body strength would be willing (or able) to hold a book of that size up for the long slog to read the damn thing.

 

Here's the link to Discovery on Amazon.com:

 

http://www.amazon.com/Discovery-Darkside-Trilogy-William-Hayashi/dp/1441586946/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

 

And a link to an excerpt from Discovery:

 

https://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/book_excerpt.aspx?bookid=56846

 

The second volume is Conception (currently in production), and it tells the forty-year story of the Black student who makes the discovery of the principles of physics that allows travel to the moon and to establish a colony there in secret.

 

We're introduced to the various characters that make up this unique community and the factions within the community that form their unique sociological underpinnings.  The story tells of the groups conception, their decision to leave earth behind, and the methods they use to secretly recruit new members for their all-Black collective.

 

Discovery and Conception end on the same scene, Discovery from the perspective of those on earth and Conception from the lunar colonists' perspective.

 

The third volume, Confrontation, picks up the story tens years after the final scene in Discovery and Conception, and tells of the inevitable confrontation between the people of earth and the lunar colonists.

 

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Dark Gods Gambit

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

Their mighty armies now devastated, only tiny remnants remained. But their gods were not satisfied with this. Their magics bound together tightly by the continued warfare, one side would be forced to destroy the other to release magic back to the world. Each side sought to prepare a final champion, a representative who would end the war, by destroying the other.

The druid finished his invocation, his voice croaking with the day long effort. The rift opened and the stench of the Dark Realm came forth. He despised his master for assigning him this task. There were plenty of lesser acolytes who could have done this. His master had begun to suspect his loyalty, so he tied him up here with the summoning knowing he would have to be here all day.

The troll shambled forth, covered with blue sigils, a giant easily twelve hands high with legs as wide as a man's chest. Its massive chest was as huge as the great oaks of the Forbidden Forests. It skin was dark green with hard armor plates on its arms, chest legs and back. Its head was covered in sharp spiked ridges that covered everything but its neck. It steamed and smoked, covered with poisonous ichor caused by the transition boundary between worlds. A sticky oil, it would dissipate in a few days in our world. During that time, even its touch was death.
There were several grenchen with it, smaller, less intelligent cousins who made up for their lack of size with an enthusiasm for combat. Their greenish-brown skin was also scaled and rigid. Their over-sized heads had low brow ridges that covered their eyes. Each was armed with a spiked stone club, carried casually over their shoulders.

"We's here. Getting paid is we?" The grenchen language skills were atrocious, they always were. Trolls hardly ever spoke. Grenchen seemed to interpret for them.

"Over there." He pointed at the cages. Roman peasants huddled in the darkness. "Eat until your hearts content. Then head south until you reach the village.

The screams were tortured and brief. The crunching of the bones was far worse than the screams. The druid turns away and begins to head north.

"Pay not finished."

"What are you talking about creature, my master told me you wanted the blood and souls of two score. You've had them, now be about your business."

The grenchen hefted their clubs and hurled them, with great force and malice, at the druid. Without effort, he erected a mage-shield by waving his hand. Blood magic was all that was left to the druids of Gaul, but he had contented himself with a sweet young thing earlier in the evening. She had blood enough for two. Contempt was written in his sneer. Five clubs struck the shield and rebounded. The sixth struck the druid square in the face, killing him instantly. The grenchen boss walked over to his club and removed the garland around the head.

"Price be two score and one." Said the boss grenchen picking up his large wooden club. Dark Master kept word, holly plant crossed shield as promised. "Its been long time since we last had druid."


Centurion Vedius Calvus blinked the blood from his eyes. The troll and his minions had destroyed the village and now his men were down as well. They had wounded it but that only lent to its fury. Seeing the centurion rise to his feet, the troll lumbered toward him, roaring. He dropped his broken shield and tightened his grip on his gladius, its ichor-slicked pommel hot in his hand. He nodded in supplication."Mars, I am ready."

With Vedius having killed its lesser minions, the creature approached warily. With its immense size and long arms, it had a decided reach advantage and knew it. It crouched, waving its hands trying to draw him into combat. Vedius stood and circled around the creature, beating back its iron-like claws as it tried to find an opening. It was fast despite its size. His ripostes only bounced off bony ridges on its forearms with a weak clang. The village was silent, their grunts of exertion and quickly shuffling feet were the only sounds now. Vedius was bleeding badly and knew he did not have much time. Their exchanges were more vigorous as the creature sensed his weakening, and grew more bold.

Without a shield, he parried with his with his gladius, a poor tool for that purpose. The blade rang with the force of the blows. The creature surged forward, striking him hard, the blow numbing his arm. The force of it caused him to stumble and the troll slammed into him. It followed through with its right claw, ripping through his defending bracer, and knocking it off of the centurion's arm. Vedius was knocked off his feet and landed heavily on his back.

Stunned, his armor, hot and heavy holds him down as the booming steps of the overconfident troll shake the ground. Its shadow loomed over him as it reached for him. Its huge hand got a vice-like grip, pressing him into the ground. The centurion wakes, jarred back to reality, strikes out snake-like, hitting the troll in its leg as he is lifted from the ground. Its howl of agony echoed throughout the village. Vedius, still reeling from its grip on his neck, tightens his muscles as the troll lunges forward to bite the centurion on his shoulder. Vedius shouts "adsum, qui feci" and drives his sword through the neck of the troll. Its blood gushes skyward and covers Vedius as it toppled over onto him, crushing the last of the air from his lungs.

When the rest of his men found him hours later, he was close to death. They built a fire, burned the dead and wait for him to die. They burned the dead with their homes, keeping only what they needed to wait for the Centurion to pass into the next life. He burned with fever but did not die.

In the spirit world between worlds, the Centurion stood naked before Mars, with his fist raised. "Let me die, Lord Mars. I have served. My time is done. You promised me my freedom."

"I lied. You pledged yourself to me. I tell you when to die." Mars waved his hand as he dispelled the soul of his champion back to his body. The Dark Gods would be coming soon. His champion would need his rest in the days ahead. He was still not ready.

Vedius woke, weak as a kitten and mad as hell. His men rejoiced, their numbers already too small, any victory was a good one. Soon after, they broke camp and returned home, confident of their victory and their belief in the end of the War.

Back at the burning village, the smoldering bones of the troll drew upon the sacrifice of its grenchen, the sinew and souls of the villagers and began to be rebuilt, forged in blood and sacrifice. The creature had been altered, tortured, its very bones etched with the final strength of the Dark Gods. As its bones were knit back together, they merged with the stone and the bronze of the armors left here.

The bronze flowed into the sigils filling them with the forces of the god-forged weapons, adding their strength to its infernal own. Its skeleton rose from the ashes, covered in fiery sigils. Now a golem, it was beyond Death, and proof against magic, as was foretold. With their magics bound, the Cold Gods would have no chance. Its fiery steps headed south toward their mountain stronghold, Olympus.

Thus ended the First Age.

Dark Gods Gambit © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved
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Book review: 'Akata Witch' by Nnedi Okorafor

In this young-adult novel, Nigerian American girl teams with other tweens in West Africa to use supernatural powers to stop a serial killer.

*release date APRIL 14th, 2011*

Viking: 352 pp., $17.99, ages 12 and older

The protagonist at the center of the young-adult novel "Akata Witch" lives in many worlds. She is, in the truest sense, African American: Nigerian by ancestry, American by birth. Born in New York, she moved to West Africa with her parents and brothers when she was 9.

But Sunny Nwazue is also albino, with skin the color of "sour milk" and "hazel eyes that look like God ran out of the right color." Complicating matters further, she's a witch. 

 

It's these intriguing and frequently at-odds attributes that drive the action in the latest novel from Chicago-area author Nnedi Okorafor, a Nebula Award nominee who was born in the U.S. to Nigerian immigrant parents and has spent much time in the West African country. In an increasingly globalized world, Okorafor's outsider perspective offers a refreshing Afro take on the popular coming-of-age fantasy genre...

 

Read the rest of the review here.

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Scenerio

Old run down black neighborhood. Today immigrants have all the stores, back then we had a few. A few of us teens were taking building surveys, part of a work study collaboration of the community development organization and a local college. The intent was to introduce innercity black kids to the world of architecture via hands-on projects.The building was on the hinge of being torn down or refurbished. It was an old dusty curio shop selling home brews, herbs and charms. We were to access the possibilities, find an existing floorplan or draw one up.Found an old sci-fi book, turned out to be a fake cover. Inside there were page after page of faint scribblings. It all crumbled in my hands except for one page I put in my notebook to save it. I wanted to share it but I couldn't, took it home. Later I was looking at it to examine it closer. All the paper around the design had fallen away, it looked so fragile I put it in an old cigarette tin also found at the building. I could hear a faint humm as I watched the paper form raise from the bottom of the tin and float exactly one quarter inch from where it sat. Then a voice in a corner of my mind. "We have always known how to go to and fro, and now it comes to you to guard the way." I thought about where I found it, I was there, in the old shop. "Oh man", I panicked, I was back at home. "Also guard your thoughts while holding the stargate..........."I still have it and the best place to hide it is in plain sight. See my picture in the photo section.
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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

 

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Hikaru Dorodango

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "What happened to Master Po? Jiro asked."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "What if I defy my fate?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Hikaru Dorodango © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

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Guardians of Destiny Book Cover

I am really excited about launching my Guardians of Destiny Series next month. I've also really became addicted to playing around with book covers lol. But here is the book cover for Specter of War -- Book One in the Guardians of Destiny series. Let me know ehat you think.

 

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Bangkok, Thailand—April 07, 2011— The OneWoman/OneHouse

Haiti Project is hosting an art exhibition to showcase the bronze sculpture created by its founder, poet and author, Ivory Simone. The theme of the event, “Art as a tool for social justice”, will feature a bronze sculpture inspired by “Atlas” the titan from Greek mythology. The finished work entitled, “ Atlas and His Wife”, portrays the titan as a mortal man supporting his pregnant wife, Earth.

 

“The fullness of Earth’s belly represents the world Atlas is forced to carry on his back in Greek mythology,” Simone said, “I changed the relationship between Atlas and Earth to make them symbols of enduring love. Atlas is supporting Earth who is in the throes of labor. Their partnership, this enduring love, brings forth new life…new hope. This is the message I want the Haitian people to hear.”

 

The exhibition will be held on Wednesday, May 4, 2011, from 7:00 p.m. through 9:00 p.m., at WTF Art Gallery and Café, Sukhumvit 51/soi 7.  Guests will also get to enjoy the silky vocals and hot beats of Soul Publishing, Ltd, recording artist: Jeii Legend.

 

Limited editions of the sculpture are available for purchase. All proceeds go to support the OneWoman/OneHouse Haiti Project. For more information about the Haiti project and/or to inquire about purchasing one of the limited edition bronze reproductions of  “Atlas and His Wife” go to:

http://www.onewomanonehouse.com .

 

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Aethermancer

She was a vision in black, her black hair braided in tiny rows, held close to her scalp and then plaited together ran down her back to her waist. She was of the clan Modru, the Sundwellers, so she was of a  dark brown hue, her skin, smooth like fine ironwood, with full lips, slightly parted as she look down into her hands at a small glowing device. When she looks up, her brow furrowed, she appears serious, focused, a woman with a mission. Her cloak, long and flowing covered her wide and strong shoulders, and she wore a right proper lady's full dress, it too, in full black with only the tiniest traces of silver running down the bodice. I did not see it at first but she also bore a sword beneath her cloak at her hip but it moved nearly imperceptibly as part of her.


She turned down the brightly lit streets as the galaxy's core had risen about an hour ago and rose brilliantly into the night sky. There were still a few people about, but this late, most were returning to their homes to be locking their doors against the night. I would be too, if I had a home from which to return. Many of us had been displaced after the wars with the Clockwork King of Lantu and even with his defeat, our suffering was still great.


As I huddled in the darkness, I could see she was concerned about something, appeared to be looking for something, first left, then right. I would have passed it off as a noble lady looking for a trinket but there was something about her that seemed out of place. Then she turned toward me and I could feel the fire of her stare. Even in the complete darkness, she could see me, I knew this. Something told me to flee, but her gaze held me in place and as she approached, I could feel no malice from her. So I waited.


"Good sir, if I may have a moment of your time?"


Her manners, so deferential, to me, little more than a forgotten veteran of a dozen forgotten wars, I loved her in that second. "Yes, miss, how can I help you this evening? 


"Have you seen anything passing strange or untoward this evening, near this corner? Anything that would make you wary or fearful? I know it seems a unusual question, but I ask your forbearance while you think."


"I had seen something amiss but for the life of me I cannot seem to remember it. It was..." As I struggled to remember, I struggled for breath. My chest felt as if it were in a vice, the very air reft from my lungs.


The lady looked into her hand again as the air above the tiny device began to glow strongly as she proffered it in my direction. "Touch it. Now." Her tone brooked no refusal and as I could not draw breath I was hardly in a state to refuse. Once I touched it, I could see a shape on my chest akin to a snake wrapped around me squeezing me tight. She took the strange device and pressed it to my chest and I could feel her will around me, solidifying and then the pressure was gone. As she withdrew the device I could see a silvern thread pulled into it and fade after a few moments.


"What I seek is here, tell me quickly goodman and then get as far away as your legs will carry you."


Now that the creature was gone, the horror returned to me of the unspeakable things I had seen. I scrambled backward until I struck the wall and cowered, senseless for a few seconds. Then my words returned. "It was a Dsur covered in brass armor, floating with three of its windkin slaves. It was fiery red and lightning flashed between its fingertips. It had been riding a soldier who had come into town, sick with what looked like the flu. I tried to convince him to share with an old vet, but he was lost in his visions. He asked which way to a chirurgeon and I pointed him down Lacksmir Way. He passed me a penny and as I thanked him, I saw it, I saw the Dsur and it saw me. The penny was infected with the creature and I could see it take me but could not resist.


"Where is Lacksmir Way?" Her voice had softened and she put the strange device away in her cloak and she reached toward a small pouch at her hip. I pointed wordlessly and she gave me a small collection of oddly shaped coins. They were Modruan silver bits, to me a small fortune. "Now run as fast as you can from this place and head to the inn near the center of town. Rashaban's Place. Tell him Lady Istar sent you as my guest. He will provide anything you need. Now hurry. You have been of great service."


I wanted to flee and not look back but as I stood to thank her, I could feel the cold breeze even on this warm summer night. The same cold breeze I felt earlier when the soldier passed. But this time, I saw the chirurgeon, an older man whose name escaped me because I had always been lucky enough to never have to see him, but I knew his face and this was not him. Not with the look I knew. Then I saw it again, hovering over the body of the chirurgeon, the Dsur and I bowels turned to water.


"It's here." I scramble away and she turns, draws her blade and deflects three kunai thrown at her from the three mistwraiths floating over the shoulders of the chirurgeon.


"Aethermancer. So nice to see you again. I knew I could count on your timely arrival. After our last interaction, I needed a new host, no thanks to you. This time, I am fresh and you are exhausted. It will end differently, I assure you. Destroy her." He points and the mistwraiths swarm out with spirit kunai knives whirring through the air, each whistling a tiny song of death.


She stands her ground and her sword is a flashing blur, knocking away the kunai, their intent blunted, they vanish like smoke. "Run goodman, there is naught here for you now but dying, you are not safe from either of us. Make haste and never look back!"


I ran down the street, as fast as my wizen feet could carry me, scrambling on my hands and knees as the terror came from the Mistraiths in waves, mixed within their smoke that comprised their bodies, they were covering the entire area in a cold fog of icy ennui. A tendril touched my leg and I fell over, tumbling in the street until I stopped moving like a rag doll. I felt nothing. No fear, no terror, no concern for my life. Life had become crushingly filled with despair and there was no release save death. I slowly sat up, hearing the sound of battle two dozen steps away and the deadly play her swordwork, but try as she might, she could get no advantage on the mistwraiths, but nor could they press their numerical superiority, her sword seemed to be everywhere. I pressed my rags for a knife, and found the scrap of a blade that I carried for self defense, something broken found on a battlefield long ago. I found my wrists and sat down. My first cut was painfree and soothing, the crush of life began to fade from me. And I watched her, drawn to the beauty of her dance.


She moves to gain more mobility and whirls her cloak through the air, blinding a Wraith. Pulling her blade back to her, extending her arm behind her and blade in front, she whispers the word, "Shikai." The mist in the area explodes away from her and one of the wraiths who was to close is disrupted along with the rest of their glamour. The wraith who was covered by the cloak in those seconds, phases free, only to meet her glittering blade now covered in shimmer field of blue energy. The wraith blocks with his spirit kunai, but they stop nothing. He is no more. Her body is covered in the same blue aura, but her breath is ragged now and she stands still as the last Wraith retreats to the chirurgeon. 


"You weak pathetic fools. I will destroy her myself. But you will feed me first."


"No, Master, anything but that." A terrible vortex appears over the mouth of the chirurgeon and the mistwraith is drawn toward it, unable to escape. Its terrible wail as it is being consumed echoes down the street.


"Now Aethermancer Istar, destroyer of cities, breaker of gates, and slayer of the Clockwork King, his vengeance is now upon you. I was summoned from my castle of Brass, enslaved to his will and even his death did not free me. It would seem only yours will suffice. Have you made your peace?"


"One of us will die this day Daemon, but it shall not be me. You still have five kin left on Earth. I will not leave this work undone, no matter what the cost."


"We shall see. Defend yourself." He moved, impossibly fast, first he was standing ten steps away, and then he was one, his hand swung through the air, surrounded by his dark aether, but when he expected contact there was none.


"We both know Shumpo, the quickstep. You will have to do better." For just a moment she seemed her old self, fast, beautiful, dangerous, but their battle had simply moved to a different level, they were still too evenly matched. As my life bled out, I knew I might die, before the battle was determined. Each strike of her weapon or his aether, rang out, creating waves of force that wore on the very ground and buildings around them. At one point, a group of constables appeared, and the force of the battle knocked them back down the street. They fled.


I could hear her breath now, fast, hard, rough. She is slowing down, but so is he, his skin tightening upon his face, becoming grey and lifeless. His muscles disappearing every time he tries to increase his speed. The two are now moving at speeds that resemble human combat again. Still fast, but no longer the ghostlike blurs of a few seconds ago.


"Rhackomanon, no more talk? Its not like you to be silent. Not feeling as confident as you were?"


"No sorcereress, I am simply savoring your last moments. Your sword is heavy, isn't it. Your legs like lead. Shumpo deserts you now. You are just flesh, your chi expended, what can you possible do against the likes of me!" The body of the chirurgeon falls to its knees and opens its mouth. the Daemon Rhackomanon pours forth, a ghost with flesh, bright red, fanged tusks, bright brass armor covered with noxious runes, they hurt my eyes to see. He towers over her, covered in flames. "Time to die, Aethermancer."


She looks at me. I feel her sadness. I feel the pain at what she is about to do. I forgive her as I go to her. "Bankai." Suddenly I see her as I could never in life. She is not diminished, she is like a star, suddenly brighter than I could have imagined as I rush into her and surround her with the eight others I see standing with her. My energy invigorates her, and she slashes with abandon. Rhackomanon parrys but it is of no use, her sword now tears into him, breaking his brass shield, his brass armor, he claws but she is never there. She is like a surgeon striking again and again, each blow steals more of his aether.


She uses the quickstep and appears near my body, staring at the blood all around it. Rhackomanon sees her looking at me and rushes as his fires surge blue-white he appears and her sword is through his chest, slashing, with abandon, until she strikes the heart of the daemon. Then she grabs his mighty form, and says to him, "See this man. He was your undoing. When you return to your hell for a thousand years, weak and prey for others of your kind. I want you to remember his face. Not mine. To hell with you."


She releases him and makes a series of gestures. A shimmering field with dark tendrils reaches out and Rhackomanon is still conscious as his diminished form is pulled back into the void. His screams chill the blood of any who hear it and will cause those to have nightmares to last a lifetime.


Her sword, with the aether it has absorbed, glows and beats with a sinister life. She sheaths it and a spell on the sheath quells and binds the daemonic power for use another day.


She turns to me, and she can see me. The other eight spirits disappear, leaving the two of us alone. "I am sorry this happened to you."


"What does this mean, I thought I was dead."


"You are, but you are bound to me and my quest. As long as I live, or your spirit persists, you will lend your power to me."


"I don't have any powers."


"I know, but the human soul is a power in and of itself. Do you suppose daemons would not bargain for them unless they had a power we do not appreciate?"


"Will I ever be released?"


She walks over to her cape and with the tiniest application of her power, her cape and clothing resume their previously pleasing forms. With the last of her dwindling power, she destroys my body, leaving not a trace of me in the world. At first I resented it. Then I realized, I wasn't doing anything with my life until she came along. Perhaps dead, I might make more difference than I did in life.


She looked at her compass and turned west. We walked into the setting light of the galactic core.

 

Aethermancer © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

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Bludgeon

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

They huddled again.

 

"Continue your proposal."

 

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

 

"This is reasonable. Name your contest."

 

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

 

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

 

#

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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


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

 

"With them, of course."

 

#

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

"Bludgeon" © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

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Chris "Daddy" Dave

Who’s your Daddy?

I think I’ll let him do his own talking.

I’d like to introduce you to my fourth Rhythm God and CERULADONS character:
Gutis Migi (inspired by Chris "Daddy" Dave)



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Characters created by Sam Cosby are based solely on the individual’s creativity and music ability. It is not intended to create a divergence from the inspireds financial gain, marketing capability or ability. It is in no way a representation of the individuals’ personal lifestyle, religious orientation, or political beliefs.
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