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In the Spring of the Tree

Posted by Asara-elherukhuti on October 2, 2010 at 7:47pm

In the spring of the Tree
by
Asarason

I speak from the heart as my mind puts forth the beginnings on Earth no south, no north, no east, no beast, no west, no flesh, no eyes that see, no guess that test, ole little Earth, Pigojia was her name a place of birth where the first humans came, from those special “waters” so warm an fresh no attacking fish, no snakes at best.

For these are very special waters all warm and free in the mist is a cave and in front of it is a tree, this tree is a special tree with fruits that seed that fall into the water for the Taladites to feed, oh tree oh tree oh great great tree give us shade from the sun and inner-chi to breed.

The light that shined brightly gave us limns to grow webbed fingers and toes we swam to and fro. Down below we fluttered, plundered and stumbled as we awaited ole great tree and its fruit it so fumbled, from the fruit with its iron sweet and bitter tasting the land outside we shall soon be facing.

Our lives orbit about in an opposite pair from we became she and from she became he, we played and played till our curiosity took form, for the waters around us were getting too warm, we feared a new beginning of what we did see, a blurry vision of our sun and the shade of a great tree.

Ole blessed tree, oh how we longed for your stem the sap you produced is good for she and him, and then one day a mysterious wave came in and alongside it a strong wind washed us ashore again and again. The air was as warm as our nesting stew, the air was clean the skies were blue, we ate from the tree with nowhere to stand and the webs had withdrawn from our feet and our hands and then a storm came and our eyes so shed and hair started to grow on top of our heads.

Although time was racing without no hour we fled to the cave to avoid the fire shower, this event greatly disturbed our pond which left us in morning our stomachs were growling for the food we were yearning, so we traveled deep inside the cave and found food not the same, we saw animals that speak who taught us to sing, we explored a little deeper and arrived the other side to a fantastic cliff a most dangerous slide.

We wished to return but forgotten our way our first invention was a leaf woven slay, we slid and slid for how long it did not matter we arrived at a lake and around its banks we did scatter and as time passed by others came sliding the hill some learned to fish some learned to kill but not each other though just the fish we caught through the waters we swam and the waves we fought, we grew in numbers as our days seemed too, and every Sunday were shouts of laughter and spring brings anew.

Within this world there exist a special tree high up in a mountain where no one can see, it stands in the center surrounded by water which is the birth place of its sons and daughters, as it stands alone outside a cave in order to find it you must be brave for the tree was never truly meant for you to find, five million years for all mankind.

yes a five million year ole tree perhaps older it stands alone with the world on its shoulders, surrounded by a lake of the most civilized fish legend say if you caught one it may grant you a wish, but don’t try to find the entrance to this tree, for the entrance is blocked and only the sun will ever see; what’s alive in the lake ever shadowed by this great tree, even if you fly above it you will not be able to see, so stay away and you will live long and ignore that whisper that will carry you home.

Writer's Notes

Posted by Asara-elherukhuti on October 2, 2010 at 7:41pm

Writer’s Notes

The Mystery of Kabacia is an epic saga of a people who lived on the planet earth some 34,571 years in the past, who suffered an unfortunate catastrophe at the hands of an unknown invader. The catastrophe was a result of their quest for knowledge and technological exploration that lead to an unfortunate end. For our planet is a jewel of the stars, therefore it is important for us to take into consideration the need to protect our world; however, there were some who paid no attention to the warnings and thus proceeded recklessly to interact with beings without prior knowledge of their agenda.

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

This generation is not just the generation of the so called black nation or Nubians, as some would call, but a generation of free thinkers bounded by institutionalized rhetoric and secretive propaganda that hides the truth and enslaves the young. This ancient entity wants nothing but to infect this world with chaos in order to resurrect its agenda. We have seen wars, famine and the attempt annihilation of a sacred people oblivious to their once great and prosperous heritage.

Today these people live in constant fear for their well being and the well being of their children, who have been lead down a destructive road. These people have endured poverty at the hands of a ruthless government with a secret agenda, but what is this secret agenda, why is there a layer of blind hatred of peoples who exist as a different kind and why is there this overt notion to constantly lie about the things we are not supposed to have any knowledge of .

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

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

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

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

As earlier stated, Earth is in fact a jewel of the Stars as well as our sacred mother and we allow these beings to do with her whichever way they feel, and as reckless as they are, we may again be faced with a more fiendish and unstoppable foe from another world. Just think about what our “captors” say is true with respect to the Moon landings, photos of the Earth and the composition of space. Can we actually say that what is projected at us is completely true? I will leave this theory up to you but understand that we live within a secretive government that intentionally hides the truth from the people and most of us accept it blindly.

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

Could it be true that space is a restricted domain like area fifty one and only NASA has access to it? If so, then there should not be any restrictions on who gets to leave and or explore the outer arenas of our planet but there is. The Universe or even perhaps the multi-verse is a domain of immense potential that is available for us all to see and witness for ourselves. Each individual has a divine right to leave this planet if he or she has the desire to do so. Maybe these Entities by whatever name they call themselves have an inner-standing that if they loss control over the inhabitance of this world they may be faced with a galactic war that of which would wreck havoc on their cosmic agendas.

Without our divine right to free access of space, our world becomes our prison with illusions that keep us at bay. We all have the potential to create crafts capable of leaving earth giving us a somewhat unlimited access to the universe, the moon and all other planets in our solar system, so why should we be restricted to earth. Is it right that only the wealthy corporate elites and N.A.S.A have access to the solar system, the Sun and the Universe at large? In addition, is it true that only the elites of the United States of America owns the rights to the planet Earth and the moon, if so then who gave them these rights? How is it possible for the United States of America to sell land on the moon unless they owned it?

I am prepared to declare that there be a first ever race of technological discovery, a battle of the brains and the wits of free thinkers, to settle the argument of space exploration and the divine right of extra planetary investigation. For the bold, let there be a challenge for the first ever race around the moon. For these theories are just what they are, theories with facts that are vague to say the least. So the prospect of Racing around the moon should not be a problem accomplishing unless these theories are true in some way shape or form. This shall be my quest and hopefully there are others that will follow in hopes of achieving that which seems incomprehensible.

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

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

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

Post-Occupation: Part One

Posted by Ronald T. Jones on October 2, 2010 at 7:22pm

The crater below was an aching reminder of the past. To some, its formation was an unnnessary act of spite, sheer vengeful malice perpetrated by a departing regime. History reflects that viewpoint. The facts diverge from it. The crater was formed by a hammer bomb, dropped from an Opakular air fortress. An army of twenty thousand humans, evenly divided between infantry and armored units vanished in the fiery blink of a war god's eye. Before that, Opakular tactical fighters cleared the skies of all human aerial opposition, adding a thousand more fatalities to the ones to be consumed in the ground slaughter. What history did not record was that the Opakular was protecting other humans, the ones perjoratively referred to as collabs--short for collaborators. Collabs were being evacuated from Earth and transported to another world for settlement, far beyond the reach of humans who despised them for their open armed acceptance of alien rule. A mile or so from the crater was the spaceport, the scene of unending activity as Opakular transports spacelifted collab refugees day and night, every hour on the hour. This was days after General Directive 24 had been issued by the Worldwide Liberation Front. GD24 called for the extermination of all collabs. None were to be spared. Niether men, women or children...

I switched off my palm reader and shunted my attention back to the half mile diameter bruise in the otherwise flat topography. Every so often I liked to consult the uncensored historical documents for a more--balanced view of the past. Especially when exploring sites of considered historical significance. My boss, Montgomery Chandliss, peered down upon the depression with a look that was considerably less dispassionate than my own. You see, he was there when the Opakular dropped that bomb. It by was sheer luck that he lived to commenerate the occasion. He was on the fringe of the blast. Nevertheless, all but two out of the 195 soldiers under his command escaped the hammer's fury. Most of the right side of Montgomery's face resembled decaying parchment. Skin grafts had obscured the worst of the burns he received that day. A thorough regen could have restored his profile had Montgomery accepted it. But regen was an alien technology and Montgomery eschewed Opak tech when he could. I say when he could because every piece of tech operated by humans on post-Occupation Earth bore an Opak hand. That included the flyer we were riding in. Even Montgomery was aware of the benefits of alien tech and was loathe to turn back the clock to a pre-Occupation, fossil-fueled existence. It was the over-indulgent use of Opak tech that he opposed. Another reason, I suspected, why my boss rejected regen treatment was because he wanted to wear his disfigurement proudly, like a badge of honor. I had to admit, the wound did lend his Hollywood handsome face an appealingly roguish distinction.

I watched him as he paid his silent homage to the fallen. The somber cast of his expression told me that he was over thirty years in the past, reliving that horriffic day. Finally, he turned from the window. His eyes settled on me. The usual charismatic glow returned to his face, signalling that he was back in the here and now.

"Are you ok, sir?" I asked, my brow contracting sympathetically.

"Much better, Nola, thank you." Montgomery revealed one of his insufferably charming smiles. "I was having a moment there, but I'm glad we came here." He twisted toward the cockpit and ordered the pilot to resume course toward our destination. The pilot complied and the flyer jettisoned forward, leaving a crater considered consecrated ground far behind us in a matter of seconds.

"What we've just witnessed motivates me more than ever to see our grand enterprise through," Montgomery mused. He lifted a mostly full bottle of water from his arm rest, untwisted the top and took a sip. For a brief moment the characterisitic warmth shining from his eyes hardened into a look that would have given the devil himself pause. I suppressed a shudder, easily imagining how Montgomery must have bore that same look when he ordered the executions of 500 suspected collabs during the closing days of the Liberation War. It was no secret that he had personally dispatched close to that number by his own hand throughout the course of the conflict. Probably exceeded it.

"And what will you do with yourself when it's over?" I asked, pulling my boss out of his dark reverie.

Montgomery perked up, regarding me with avuncular interest. "I'm definitely going to spend more time with my wife. I think I've taxed Maureen's patience with my infrequent time at home long enough."

"Retirement," I added, with a prompting, questioning smile.

Montgomery winced as if the word had pinched him in the side. "I suppose." Montgomery was a member of the United States of North America Administrative Cabinet. The Cabinet was a ruling body that had arisen in the wake of the Opak's withdrawal. Initially an interim government, the Cabinet soon morphed into a permanent institution. It's members were appointed, not elected. Montgomery also served double duty as the Secretary of National Security. He was not the kind of man who would have enjoyed wiling away his days in the quiet repose of retirement. Hence, his pause at the thought of leaving behind two jobs I was sure he loved with as much passion as his dear wife.

"And how about you, Nola? Is there anyone in your life pining for your presence?"

My mocha brown complexion did a wonderful job of hiding the blush that warmed my cheeks. Yet, my abashed reaction did not escape Montgomery's ever so keen observation. "Sir, you're putting me on the spot."

"Come on, now. Don't be shy." Montgomery narrowed one eye in a playful grimace.

"I'm hopelessly single if you must know," I conceded with mock indignation.

Montgomery reached over to tap the back of my wrist. "Don't sweat it. You'll find your sigificant other. In fact..." Montgomery put on a conspiratorial mask. "There may be one or two available gentlemen on staff whom I've noticed sneaking less than professional glances in your direction."

I raised a skeptical brow. "Really? Who are they?"

Montgomery leaned back in his seat, pretending to take an interest in something out the window.

"Unless you're pulling my leg, sir, I suggest you tell me who these mysterious gentlemen are."

My boss shuddered with a laughter he could no longer contain.

The Midwest Works comprised an enormous diamond shaped building surrounded by a ring of smaller variable size annexes. The land around this network of buildings abounded with lush greenery. Lake Michigan's majestic expance was laid out like an emerald carpet just minutes beyond the shimmering security field enclosing MW's grounds. Our flyer landed in the facility port outside the primary building. The three F50 jets that had accompained us on our cross country jaunt, remained airborne. I saw them zipping overhead as Montgomery and I exited the flyer to step foot on the smooth matte black tarmac. Montgomery's Secret Service detail preceded us off the flyer and fanned out at far enough distances to be inconspicuous, yet close enough to converge on the Secretary in timely fashion should danger arise. A thin, professorial looking man of medium height wearing a conservative gray suit was present on the tarmac to greet my boss. A small coterie of similarly suited, executive types were also present. They were all nervous. I could tell by their jittery smiles and rigid postures.

"Welcome to Midwest Works, Mr. Secretary," the leader of this bunch snivelly greeted, practically bowing as if Montgomery were a royal. "We are honored, sir. I am Jacob Linox, CEO..."

Montgomery grabbed the CEO's hand before the latter could finish his intro and shook it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you. I tell you what, Jake, we're a little pressed for time. What say we move it along, inside."

Jacob Linox looked like an actor who forgot his lines. His mouth hung open for an instant before a stammer of words ushered out. "Well...cer...cer...certainly of couse, Mr. Secretary...we can...go...uh right this way..."

Montgomery slapped a companionable arm around the CEO's shoulders and began chatting away as we headed toward the entrance to one of the largest arms manufacturing complexes in the U.S. of N.A.

Chaos Chronicals digitized

Posted by Soyinka I. Ogunbusola on October 1, 2010 at 4:10pm

Let me share with you cosmic beginnings…Coming to E-book soonWhat is Cosmic Beginnings?They are the chaos chronicles an ancient prophecy; one where the war in heaven thunders across the known universe. This is a story told through the cultural eyes of mother Africa. These are her legends her heroes and heroines that have been brushed beneath the surface or politely bleached out of the world view. This is the story of African gods and goddesses that have existed long before western man’s civilization came into existence.Every culture from around the globe speaks of their deities the benevolent and the malevolent Norse, Greek, Roman and so forth. Throughout the decades comic books, cartoons animations and novels are dedicated to them acknowledging theirtriumphs and defeats. Where are mother Africa’s heroes outside of those Egyptian deities who have been so politely Europeanized and dissected away from the continent of Africa? Where are those deities with complexions like onyx, hematite, and cooper with pepper corn hair looking as if they had been chiseled from granite?Cosmic Beginnings contains some of the most unique and original characters bringing pages to life revealing a world shrouded in illusions and mystery.Unsuspecting and unknowing Kenyatta is part of an ancient prophecy despite her being unaware of the prophecy her spirit is completely aware leading her into the dream time where she encounters horrific dream imagery that literally draws blood. Her Native American ancestors urge her to seek out the blood that is strongest in her veins; thus she embarks on a deadly journey through West Africa for answers.Captain Fatima Jatari is a seasoned seafaring black woman and captain of the H20C.A.T.a vessel commission solely for the purpose of investigating unexplainable incidents, bizarre accidents and fatalities off the coast of Nigeria. When a series of mysterious events leaving a wake of turmoil and chaos erupt she and her crew are immediately dispatched to investigate the source of the upheaval, but unbeknownst to her she and her crew all share a part in the ancient prophecy. On land and sea these two woman’s paths must cross to rise up against an unimaginable malefic force. I wrote Cosmic beginnings because I was tired of seeing African culture and traditions exploited by Hollywood, and their screen writers, producers along with other non African writers depicting African traditions and culture in a less then admirable light; despite the fact that yes we are talking about Sci-Fi we are also talking about positive images being depicted in the story. The main characters are strong courageous intelligent and educated women, and this is a story created outside of the urban scope of what we are all use to. I wrote this story in such a way it not only removes you from your city and state; it forces you to think outside of the box. I use speculative elements being that it is not only a Sci-fi story, but it’s a historical fiction as well. All throughout the history of the Trans Atlantic slave trade there was a question lingering in the air in regards to the mysterious ship wreck of the Henri-Etta Marie. It is that element which I incorporate into the story. The media, Hollywood, European racist scholars, and socio-political education system have dominated the realm of the publishing world in every genre including the ever grow realm of Science Fiction. In writing and publishing “Cosmic Beginnings the Chaos Chronicals Vol. 1 and 2, I am attempting to reverse negative and derogatory images them have been associated with African culture and tradition. The purpose of this novel is to empower through creativity and imagination. I hope to inspire through this endeavor and empower our youth with heroes that look like us. Coming to E-book soon down load it on the fly….

The Aspect War - Chapter 5

Posted by Thaddeus on September 29, 2010 at 4:00am

Ptah laughed.

The sun rose over what looked like the city of Cairo. The early morning light cleared the horizon and was bright and sharp, stinging the eyes with its searing, illuminating essence. The duskiness of night, suddenly evaporated in a single moment, stark and striking. The land had an alien presence as if it were someplace else, far removed from humanity, and in its way, it was. This was not Egypt of Earth, though it resembled it very closely. The markets slowly rising, people going about their tasks, farmers working the land, fishermen gathering their nets, weavers gathering their reeds, bureaucrats readying their papyrus, pharaohs discussing the affairs of this place, this Kemet, the perfect Egypt. This was the land of legend, of the thousand and one Arabian Nights, a place of mystery, populated by the spirits of men, lead by the god-born and protected by the remnants of the once-great gods of this place. And in this place, Ptah, grandfather to the gods of Kemet, saluted the morning Sun, his brother-son, Ra as his laughter trailed off into the morning.

His laugh was punctuated with the rhythmic stride of running alongside a well formed young man of twenty five or so, it was so hard to remember, it seemed as soon as you got to know them they died, but he liked this young man, full of questions, heresy and rage, eager to take on a world that had done nothing good for him. He had grown strong during his training with Ptah, his body and spirit forged by his time in the Desert Outside of Time. This place was in the boy, filling him with its essence, becoming a part of him, the silence, the vastness, the stillness of the desert, hiding its secrets from all but the most knowledgeable. I brought him out here one last time to reveal the last great Secret to him. He deserves to know where his Fate will lead him.

"What do you mean the gods did not create the universe?" Lumumba gasped in the warming desert air. His incredulity pasted on his face along with the sweat and windswept sand of the early morning air. "Everything I was ever taught, no matter the religion, indicated that the gods, or God or whatever we worshiped created the universe and everything we know in it."

Ptah ran effortlessly alongside Lumumba, his bare feet barely touching the hot sand, his short and powerful frame clothed in little more than a pair of biking shorts. His night black skin, shown with a shimmer of sweat and a mild musky scent rose from him, otherworldly and intoxicating. "I, or someone like me, I forget which, was said to have created the universe, and populated it with my sister-wives and brothers who, then, in some manner created the world, then the animals, populating it finally with people who, of course, look like us, and ultimately worship us and we share our wisdom with our children and we all live happily ever after, or something like that. What's missing is the detail. And the truth of the matter is that no god, old or modern has any interest in humanity knowing the truth of our origins." Ptah, smiling Ptah, was for the first time since Lumumba met him, was not smiling. "Rest a moment."

"Thank you, I needed to stop. You say I don't need to breath or eat or sleep here, but I always feel just as tired as if I did." Lumumba sat down on a nearby rock and caught his breath, sipping from an old canteen he wore on his belt.

"And you will, as long as you believe you need to. You have come here for almost fifteen years and still do not understand the nature of this place." Ptah's smile returned to his face as he turned toward the morning sun.

"And how would I ever learn it's true nature, oh mysterious one, when you do everything in your power to make sure I never truly understand this place?"

"The question is the answer."

"That is exactly what I am talking about Ptah, you never tell me anything useful. Just print that stuff on some fortune cookies and we are in business." The tone is light and bantering, as this was a conversation that had been chewed on before same as the rough unleavened bread they shared.

"Perhaps the idea is to convince you to think for yourself. There may come a time, when such free lunches will be not forthcoming. It will be time for you to leave us soon. We only have one more teacher for you to see." Ptah was ever-smiling but his face seemed to have another, more subtle, cast this early morning as perhaps a secret burden weighed heavy upon him.

"Another teacher? We had been spending so much time together lately, I assumed there was no other teaching left for me, your august company excluded." Lumumba's mind cast back to his early days in the Desert. Lumumba stared at Ptah and considered just how long he had been coming to the Desert with its silver sands, strange oases, and perfect palms. The Desert also hid a collection of eclectic folk who wander its sand sea dunes, hidden from the rest of the afterworld.

These were wonderful people who trained him in everything from any kind of survival to dining etiquette, combat both open handed and with a wide array of weaponry, ancient or modern, a variety of languages, he could speak nearly two dozen now, without an appreciable accent. He had met people from nearly every culture and every part of the world. They all seemed to be part of the Desert no matter where they were from originally. Everywhere he went, and he was beginning to think, every-when he went, Ptah knew everyone and everyone knew him. There were several times his trainers appeared to be from a range of times, from the Visigoths to Vietnam. It hurt his head to think about it so he just learned to accept it just like everything else he did when he was with Ptah. It was Ptah, and Ptah told him when he met him, to expect the improbable, prepare for the impossible and accept that just about anything could be true, somewhere.

Ptah would take him across the Desert, running, they never rode a vehicle unless their teacher used or needed one. Ptah kept telling him that he wanted the essence of the Desert to sink into him. Since he never really explained it, Lumumba let it go as the random nattering of a senile deity nearly eight thousand years old. Once they reached their teacher, Ptah would leave and promise to return. Eventually he would and the lesson would be over. The teacher was never surprised, but Lumumba was never aware of how they would know. Lumumba was never able to tell what time it was and since his watch refused to keep accurate time in the Desert, he eventually stopped wearing it.

This had been their ritual with the occasional trip to the City, as Ptah called it. But as usual, nothing done with Ptah was simple, easy or made any sense at all. Every trip to the City, started with a trip to a clothing store where they were both fitted for what amounted to period costuming. There were several different shops but they all seem to do the same thing for Ptah, create stylish clothing that was better than the biking shorts or worse, that skirt thing that Ptah tended to favor. Once he put on a suit, he appeared to be quite substantial and deadly serious. Leaving the clothier, Ptah would head into the city proper and find a particular building, and upon opening the door and passing through it, Lumumba and Ptah would find themselves transported to where ever or whenever, their costumes dictated.

Trips to the City, and by proxy, where ever the doors lead were almost always trips that revolved around learning some obscure lesson that could have been delivered by Ptah in the Desert, but it appeared that Ptah enjoyed his jaunts as much as Lumumba secretly did.

"Yes, you have a final teacher, but he cannot be trusted, and rightfully so," Ptah said. "Today is your graduation day and I bear gifts for this day." Reaching into his backpack he pulled out five rods about the length of a man's forearm. On the end of one of them was the head of an eagle. The other rods were ornately festooned with cartouches that Lumumba recognized as the Battle of Horus against Set. "Put it together, using your Ka, like I have shown you."

Lumumba focused his will and his Ka leapt to his command, surging forward and was visible in his fingertips as he held each section of the staff together and smoothed over the separation point until the entire staff was a single piece with the Eagles' head on the top end. The staff was weighted, but perfectly so, and Lumumba's spinning of the staff, appeared effortless. He began a staff ritual weaving the staff in a complex series of movements, that while they appeared random slowly began to form a barrier in the area painted by the staff. After a few more seconds, the sands near the barrier began to rise about knee level and stayed there wavering as if under the effects of anti-gravity.
Ptah walked up to the barrier and studied the work, allowing his divine senses to study his protégé's work. It was perfect, the young man's mastery of his Ka showed a marked improvement even since the last time they did this type of Work. "Explain the basis for our sorcery."

"Sorcery using the Ka harnesses the pure spirit of the caster and is best used for creating constructs and barriers that protect the body and the mind. This is the purest of the spirit forms of magic. It is also the fastest cast, and has the shortest span. It also works well between realms and suffers the least degradation in the realms of Men. Creative use of Ka can often mean the difference between life and death.

"Good, good, go on." Ptah was secretly pleased that his lessons had been received so well. The manifestations Lumumba was creating were without flaw.

"Mastery of the Ba, or blood magic allows for powerful offensive magic. But since you cannot harm without harm, Ba requires a sacrifice of blood or bone, yours or someone else's. Down the dark path is Mastery of Ba, since many of the necromantic arts can be found there." Lumumba manifested the Claws of Ra and cut into his palm allowing a tiny flow of blood. Wiping his blooded hand across his new staff, the head of the staff suddenly sprouted a short two foot spear tip comprised of blood red light. Swirling the weapon, he sliced into the face of a nearby rock, cleaving through it. "The problem with Mastery of Ba is its continued requirement of sacrifice to maintain it. To use this blade, for instance, would require a constant application of blood and in a long battle, that could be dangerous to one's health."

"Very good, what is next?"

"Sheut Mastery is the control of the shadow side of all things. By interacting with the shadow of an object or a person, it is the same as interacting with that object. With Sheut, I can temporarily control the will of a man or destroy or move a physical object that does not possess a living will simply by interacting with its sheut. Mastery of the Sheut is one of the most difficult of magics because, subverting a living will is forbidden due to its karmic costs. However, Sheut is a powerful force if one is attempting to destroy unliving objects since they cannot object to their Sheut being disrupted by a sorcerer of sufficient strength. This is also a magic that works well in the world of Men because it does not violate the Compact and reveal the existence of magic. Sheut is a very flexible form and there are sorcerers who practice nothing but Sheut because of its wide range of applications from destruction of matter to animation of objects."

"Two remain."

"Ren Mysticism, or the Mastery of the Name. Bequeathed by Brother Thoth and Sister Isis, Ren Mystics seek the secret names of all things. The secret name of a person or object allows complete mastery of that object, weaving the threats of reality and control to the mystic using it. This is why we keep our secret names to ourselves and only reveal them to those who love us best. To know the Name of a thing or person allows the greatest power over an individual, mastery of their very soul forces and life essence. A powerful Ren Mystic can slay the living and raise the dead. This power barely works in the world of the Living due to the disruption it causes in the Compact, but in Spirit World, it is one of the greatest powers possessed by the learned. You have taught me to guard my Name and the power that could be had if someone knew it. I have never told another soul. I have woven the threads that might reveal my Name tightly within my essence to make them proof against mortal divination. I have learned to read the threads of all things in order to find their secrets as well."

"And the last?"

"The Forbidden Power of Akh. Practitioners of this power create imperfect resurrections of formerly living beings. There is no rule that says these creatures could not be beneficent servants but the power seems generally sought to return men to life with a form of immortality placing them beyond the reach of Death. It is forbidden because almost all who seek this power become corrupted while under its influence. Life is for living and when one's allotted time is due, one graciously leaves the world and returns to the Cycle here in the Desert Outside of Time, awaiting a return to life in the future. Using the Forbidden Power disrupts the cycle and imbalances the Spirit World. With sufficient imbalance, the two worlds fall from balance and can both be destroyed. Hence the prohibition of this very dark art. All who use it, with only the tiniest of exceptions are slain and their creations destroyed. I have learned it, as you have taught it, to return the dead to the Cycle and to disrupt the creations that utilize that art. I am never to pervert the dead to create Akh-life, except in the defense of a greater good."

"And as far as I am concerned, there is no greater good that would warrant such a creation, but to not teach it to you would make you vulnerable to anyone who knew it." Ptah was pleased that this, his greatest gift, had been received well and it would be used wisely.

The two had been walking and talking for some time away from Memphis and Ptah had been manipulating their path until they had come to what appeared to be a great forest along the edge of the Desert. "That is the Great Forest. A manifestation of all of the World's greatest forested regions, jungles, rainforests, and other planted regions. We are expected there. As they approached the Great Forest, the smell of immense age wafted from the Forest. The air of the Desert was dry, crisp with a light metallic taste, the forest's scent was cooler, mustier, like an old closet filled with woolen sweaters, still but not unpleasant.

As they grew closer, the size of the immense trees became more apparent, from a distance they appeared to be the size of a strong man, but when they were closer, it was clear they were much, much larger. It would take twenty men, arm to arm to encircle even the smallest of these trees. The trees vanished into the sky and covered the sun allowing only the tiniest spots of light to reach the ground. Great eagles were also seen flying in the canopy, each, incredibly large, some the size of a small airplane.

As they left the Desert behind and moved deeper into the forest, the sense of age only increased and they walked until they had come to an area that seemed older, the trees more bent, great spider webs were woven through the canopy, whispering their secrets, waving in an unfelt breeze.

"Welcome, weary travelers to my land," said a great voice from apparently nowhere. Lumumba looked around but could see no one speaking, and the voice seemed to come from everywhere.

"Look up, my son," Ptah had already found an immense stump to sit on and was pointing skyward.

Lumumba looked up and was surprised to see the largest spider he had ever seen dangling just a few feet from his head. It was the size of truck and its eight eyes, burned with intelligence. Lumumba could feel its will pressing down upon him, a physical presence, making the air thick and his movement slow. He wanted to move his hand to invoke his Ka, but he simply could not move his fingers at all.

"So this is the savior, the protector of mankind, the one we have been waiting for nearly a thousand years? He certainly does not look like much to me. As a matter of fact, I think he is an arachnophobe to boot." The great spider moved with an alarming agility for something so large, and swung itself down to land in front of Lumumba. Its eight eyes never lost their intensity, as the spider made its way around him, viewing him from all sides. "I thought he would be taller."

"You say that about all the heroes, Anansi. I am a respectable four feet tall and it has not held me back any," Ptah responds with a jocular tint to his tone. This eases Lumumba's fear of the giant spider plucking his clothing and his new staff with its glistening razor sharp pedipalps.

"Yes, boy, that glistening substance is venom; enough in each bite to slay a thousand men. A single touch from me and you would be dead before you knew it. No, I am not a spider. I resemble one, but a spider my size could not exist where you come from. Consider me the iconic representation of what all spiders imagine themselves to be, awe-inspiring, powerful, killing machines. And no, I am not reading your mind, your face says everything."

"And let's not forget humble and full of grace."

"You scare the boy in your way and I scare him in mine, Ptah."
"Did your master tell you about me, Horus-ka?" hissed Anansi as it waved its forelegs around Lumumba.

It was hard for Lumumba to listen to Anansi's voice, it caused him to want to run away and never stop, so filled with menace, its very presence confounded his concentration. Lumumba watched as he began to sense the weaving of the threads of magic. "Yes, sir, he did mention you in passing when he talked about well known deities of the African continent. He said, you were a known liar and scoundrel. And that if I were to meet you in person, to not trust a single thing you said to me unless you swore on your ancestors first."

"He said what?" roared Anansi, his huge forelegs waving faster around Lumumba, his body tense and hair all over his form stood erect and crackled with what appeared to be electrical energy. "A liar, and a scoundrel, not to be trusted, eh? Did he tell you that I stole the moon and the stars for man, did he tell you that I liberated all of the stories of the world for humanity, so that you would have something to do around your fires for the last fifteen thousand years? Did he tell you that without me, you would not have fire, since the gods wanted to keep it for themselves?"

The air in the clearing was still as Lumumba considered his answer. Lying to deities was almost always the wrong thing to do, since most could tell when you were. But Ptah did mention that diplomacy when discussing them was always the best choice since gods were known to be a bit thin-skinned, sensitive about their exploits and capricious in the response to how they are seen by humans. Lumumba decided to go with candor. He hoped Ptah would step in before anything bad happened.

"Yes, sir, he did tell me some of those things. He said that you stole the stars but spilled them on your way out of heaven so they scattered throughout the sky. He mentioned that you borrowed the sun because you lost your way coming out of the underworld and forgot to put it back when you were done. He also mentioned that you did liberate all of the stories of the world, but you did it so that you would have people pay you to hear them. On your way to the market, it was said that the stories fell into the river from the calabash you carried them in and were lost, found by beggars and fishwives who used them to get money from people. On the matter of fire, he mentioned that you did steal fire for us, but only because you took pity on us one day when we were freezing and you did not have a warm place to stay having been kicked out of Heaven again and so you gave us fire, so you could be warm." Lumumba had begun to regret his decision as he felt the energy of Anansi building in front of him, its claws waving closer and closer to his body. He dared not move since the claws were sweeping all around him front to back, faster and faster.

Ptah snickered and turned away from Anansi, taking a sip of water to hide his laughter.

"So he did, did he? Anansi whispered. A deep breath followed with Anansi sounding just a little bit contrite. "Well, so that the truth be known, he has not lied. Not once. All of those things are as you say. I am a selfish deity who happens to benefit others while I am trying to benefit myself. As I have done now. He is ready, Ptah." Anansi stopped waving his claws over Lumumba and backed away.

"I call you Horus-Ka, the spirit of Horus. Your next answer will determine the fate of men and gods. When confronted by evil, do you use the force of arms or the strength of will to resolve the problem?"

Horus-Ka looked to Ptah but his face was stony and unresponsive. "Sir, --"

"I am Anansi, The Weaver of Fate, Teller of Tales, Trickster of the Gods, Defender of Man, I am no man. Call me as I am, Kwaku Anansi," interrupted Anansi with enough force to nearly knock Horus-Ka from his feet.

"Forgive me Kwaku Anasi, Ptah, Father to the Gods, I have been taught when confronting evil that force of arms is almost never the only solution to a problem, and that truly winning the battle relies on a keen eye, a strong mind, a full heart, a ready wit and a forceful will. I will only use force of weapons when no other avenue presents itself. This I pledge to you, my masters." As Horus-Ka completed his statement, two circles of fire formed with a bridge of flame connecting them.

The circle around Horus-Ka was filled and surrounded with a variety of cartouches each flickering in multi-colored flame, the second circle about ten meters away was much larger and opened to a vista similar to the Great Forest Horus-Ka had seen earlier in the day with one vital difference. A giant creature seeming to be comprised of earth tore through the Forest and approached the barriers that kept the Forest and the Real World separate. If the scale were to be believed, this creature stood over a thousand feet tall, towering over the redwoods of the Great Forest. Giant Eagles and tiny men sitting on those eagles seemed to be engaging the creature unsuccessfully. One tower had already fallen and when three of them were toppled, the creature would be able to cross into the world of Men.

"That is your first great task, Horus-Ka. You must protect the world of Men. It is too close to the boundary for any of us to be of any help to you. Your gifts and your training will need to be enough. Know that the people you see there are denizens of the Spirit World, when they die, they fall from the cycle of life, never to return. They need you to stop this creature. If it pierces the boundary, it will cause a massive earthquake wiping out the Atlantic coast of Africa, South America and parts of the North American continent."

"Who could have done this, how is this even possible? Ptah, you said that the Compact prevented magic like this from even working in the world of Men?

"These creatures do not obey the Compact and have begun their assault on our world. They have begun a battle which will pit all of the Spirit Realms and the World of Men against each other, and when the White Host, the Cold Gods and Demon of Babylon have exhausted themselves, they will destroy the victors. This opening volley will liberate the Demon and you cannot allow that. If she is freed too soon, things will not be in place. Ptah, what of your brothers and sisters?"

"They are hidden in the world of Men with no memory of who they are, it is their only chance of survival and the only chance there will be some gods left when this Scourge is done. We are the last, and Horus-Ka, son of man and gods, you must be our weapon. Otherwise we have none. As a man, you may go places even gods fear to tread. Now go, we shall buy your freedom with our lives, if it comes to that."

The clearing was suddenly lit from the distance as beams of cold white light streaked through the trees and illuminated the webbing of the clearing. Screams of agony and rage are heard in the distance.

"I do not think they like the decorating I left for them. It is so hard to find venom laced webbing these days." Anansi turned to Ptah. Make ready my brother, my traps will not hold them long." Anansi leapt into the trees, and skittered across a web work hidden in the canopy. "Horus-Ka, the weavings of fate upon you are strong, I wove them myself. But you were given a thread of Fate before I met you. That fate I could not change. Be strong and in your darkest hour know that Fate is your ally, even if you cannot believe it at the time. Farewell, son and spirit of Horus."

Ptah turned to Horus-Ka and took a necklace from his bag. It held an icon of a disk with the Eye of Ra upon it. "When I am gone, you will be unable to return here without this talisman. Only Ra will remain behind to protect the Spirit World because he is safe within his chariot of fire. All of the souls here will depend on you once we are gone. Now go. Make us proud.

"Is that it? No ideas, no clues how to defeat the thousand foot tall colossus? "

"If heroism were easy, everyone would do it." Ptah's armored hand snatches a spiny arrow from the air, mere inches from Horus-Ka's face. "I am confident you will do what is necessary. Go." And with that Ptah pushes Horus-Ka into the second circle of flame and into his destiny.

"And now I go to mine. Anansi save some for me."

"There are plenty to go around, my brother. You know I could not undo what Fate had given him."

"I know, but you gave him a chance to save the world first."

The number of lights in the forest increased and the number of eyes those lights came from doubled. And doubled again; and again. Soon the forest was lit and there was no darkness. Ptah and Anansi held the portal open until Horus-Ka arrived. Then the portal closed and was sealed, unable to be opened again. After that moment, no one without the Eye of Ra would be able to enter or leave the spirit realm. This would not help Ptah, who armored with a mighty staff whose head of Anubis, slew any that it touched instantly, a magnificent flaming helm which shot forth beams of the light of Ra, incinerating all it shown upon, whose thews allowed him to strike each hexapedal creature and slay them with a single blow and mighty Anansi, whose webs, fangs, claws, and venom destroyed dozens of these creatures a second, and it was still not enough. Both of these beings were soon overwhelmed and the number of their enemy soon exceeded their ability to slay them, formidable though they both were.

But they were not trying to win. They simply needed to buy some time. This was not the real battle. The real battle was being fought in the heart of a boy they rescued twenty years ago against a monstrosity of stone and magic. Anansi projected a blast of venom and hurled a star from the sky upon a cluster of the enemy. His venom seared their stony flesh and the star destroyed then by the dozens. But after a day and a night, he had begun to tire. Standing upon a mound of the dead, he and Ptah were surrounded and exhausted.

The six legged creatures fell back for the first time in two days. A man-like creature strode forward, lit by the light of glowing sigils. He had two winged serpents flying over his shoulders. His body was gnarled and bent, but glowed with boundless power. He wore an elaborate headdress and metallic bracers on his arms and feet. His face was covered but the area of the headdress where his face might be was illuminated with a pale light which showed the face in shadow, a long aquiline nose and a cruel sharp jawline. His voice was liquid menace and if a human were listening he would have heard a language thought dead, the tongue of the Mayan Olmecs. "Never send a dog to do a man's job." The two serpents turned toward Ptah and Anansi and opened their mouths. A sound like the rattling of a thousand bones of the dead being ground to dust, slowly, agonizingly streamed toward the two gods.

Anansi, reached heavenward again and pulled another star from the firmament. The star streaked toward the forest. Exhausted by this final effort, Anansi fell still holding the star only with his will alone.

Ptah's helm shown again with Ra's Light but it weakened and guttered. Ptah moved the last few steps toward Anansi and he could hear the star's imminent arrival. The Great Forest was lit from above as the star grew in the night sky. The remaining hexapeds turned their eyes skyward and the Olmec directed his will upon Ptah and Anansi. And then, Ptah's light went out and a star incinerated the Forest.

***

Horus-Ka arrived about two kilometers from the edge of the forest where the second barrier to the world of Men shimmered in the early morning light. There were many defenders already in place whose variety of weapons were made ready. Some were familiar to Horus-Ka, many were not. The defenders were sitting still preparing their Ka for this final confrontation. Many were invoking sigils that would no matter what happened meant their ultimate dissolution as entities on the Wheel of Life. Horus-Ka did not stop them. Each man had to make his own decision. As he walked toward the forward line, many of the men and women stopped as he passed and whispered.

The monstrosity drew closer and nothing being done seemed to have any effect on it. Beams of light and mighty songs rang out, each filled with spiritual puissance. The drummers at this second line began to beat their rhythm and sing. As they sang, the swords and spears of their brothers began to glow and smolder. The creature despite its terrifying appearance was not alone. It had a vanguard of smaller creatures that attacked and destroyed any siege weaponry that might have a chance against the beast. Several mortars were already set up and ranging to the creature was being taken. Several mortar teams had already begun fire and as soon as they did, the creatures turned as a unit and bore down on those mortar squads. The defenders opened up with a variety of rifles and other ranged weapons, including bows, crossbows and atlatls. As long as the drummers played and sang, their weaponry struck the hexapeds blasting hunks of their armor away, blowing off their heads or limbs. But there seemed to be an unstoppable wave of the creatures so the defenders whittled away and slowed the wave of creatures but could not stop it.

As the creatures closed, eventually it came down to hand to hand to protect the mortar squads. Grenades were used as the creatures closed, but hand to hand was simply not enough to protect the mortar teams. As each group were eventually overrun, the creatures seemed momentarily confused before they oriented on their next target.

The mortars had some level of effectiveness as the creature was being blown apart by the explosive rounds. But the creature's incredible mass prevented the mortars from striking a killing blow. Horus watched the battle and for a moment, just a moment, lost all hope of stopping the monstrosity. These people were throwing away their immortal lives against a threat that could not have ever been conceived of.

Then he remembered his training. Ptah had taken him to a hill one day and asked him why the enemy always sought the high ground. Looking around, he realized that when you have the high ground, you have visibility and can see all of your enemy. Ptah told him if you cannot deny your enemy the high ground, deny him the advantage of high ground. He watched the giant and realized the smaller horde moved where the giant was looking. So the great creature was providing vision to the smaller groups. Deny it vision and we might have a chance.

Looking around, he saw a small contingent of what appeared to be military leaders conferring. "Commanders, I was sent by Ptah to help. Do you have any smoke grenades or systems to deliver smoke to the creature. Ideally, smoky mortars would be ideal until I can get close enough to the creature to blind it."

One grizzled veteran smiled and said "Aye, I think we can arrange for some cover and smoke, but if you want to take the battle to its eyes, you will need more than a spear or a staff. We were planning on saving them until the creature grew closer, but if you are willing to get closer, they might work better. We only have a few tanks and they are at the third barrier. I have twelve RPGs and six young men just crazy enough to try and use them."

"We will have to split into two groups, one for each eye. Lay down the smoke around its head which should slow the horde and allow us to do more damage to it reducing its size as well. Concentrate your groups and keep your drummers and spell-singers back. The two groups will approach from eagle-back and make a single pass on each eye at the same time using the cover of smoke. Blinded, the horde should be much less effective. If we are successful, I want you to use your tanks immediately to lay down as much fire as possible, using exploding rounds if you can, but wait until the creature is truly blinded and the horde is pinned down as much as possible. Otherwise, the creatures will make a straight line for those tanks and they will simply not stand a chance if that happens."

The old colonel called to his RPG teams and got four eagles ready. "I have included one spell singer on each eagle. They cannot use the RPGs but if they are singing once you fire, the RPG will be that much more effective. They understand the risk. As do I. I will be on the second eagle."

Looking out over the battlefield, the next mortar squad was readying its weapons and the smoke rounds were being prepared. Two large rotary machine guns were placed in front of the mortar teams and some metallic constructions were also being placed down in front of this squad to give it the longest survival time possible. The command group was being ushered back to the third line, except for the old colonel. The eagle pilots had the eagles ready and the teams were boarding. Horus prepared to get on to his eagle when the old colonel spoke. "Begging your pardon, Horus-Ka, but I do not think you should be going with us. If this goes south, we need you to find a solution, already we are using the ideas you have given us and would be loathe to lose you. Ptah would never forgive us."

Colonel, I don't plan on telling Ptah, do you?" Horus-Ka laughed and climbed aboard the eagle. The four eagles took off and the smoke mortar drops began.

Two other mortar teams also began fire explosive rounds, this time in front of the approaching horde. The smoke spread quickly and began to obscure its vision. As the smoke grew thicker, the horde slowed its approach. The remaining forces, concentrated their fire, from everywhere, tearing into the hexaped armor. Spell singers, rallied, drummers played their hearts out, their fingers bled and they did not stop. The Horde slowed and for a moment, the firepower of the Spirit Army held the creatures at bay.

The smoke was thick and the eagles split off to fly behind the creature to set up their approach. They flew high above the smoke and aligned themselves, with a final wave, all four began their approach. The pilot, spell singer and one commando were on the front half of the eagle, and two commandos were on the back end of the eagle. The smoke was incredibly thick but as they approached the surface of the creature they could see through the smoke and began to set themselves up for the shot.

On the ground, the last of the smoke mortars had been fired and the mortars were packed up as the defenders held the line still using their guns and ranged weapons. The Horde was slowed but not stopped but now it was a retreating battle that constantly poured on the firepower. Machine guns mounted on the tanks began to fire into the horde providing cover for the retreating defenders who ran out of ammunition. As the Horde recovered, they surged forward but their sudden charge was broken by a group of warriors riding large cattle with long spears whose tips flamed red and whose shields deflected the leaping creatures, the warriors garbed in red robes, moved as one, their spears flashing and protecting the retreating spirit army members. Their fury was so great the Horde fell back as the warriors sang and stomped the ground in their approach. The cattle whose great horns were armored gored the creatures and flung them about. The spirit army rallied and began to support the great warriors and broke the rush of the Horde. For the first time today, the Horde retreated.

The eagles made the final dive, the wind roared in Horus-Ka's ears and the pilot raised his hand to indicate the time to fire. The spell-singer began her song, clear and crisp despite the wind, her song to the men, focused their attention, hardened their will and they for a moment forgot they were a thousand feet in the air, terrified of a creature from their most terrible nightmare and were less than one hundred meters from that creature; what a song, literally pure magic.

The eagle banked and the eye loomed into sight. The pilot dropped his hand and everyone fired. The eagle banked again and pulled away as the explosions sounded behind it. The creature screamed a primal sound, a thousand trumpets blaring and Horus-Ka and his team were directly in the blast.

The second team while also successful in the strike were set upon by leaping hexapeds that had climbed up the side of the creature when it saw them approaching it. Their eagle was covered with the hexapeds and the last thing Horus-Ka saw of them was the old colonel firing his hand gun and the spell singer using her magic as a weapon against the horrors and then they faded into the smoke.

Seconds after Horus's eagle was driven from the air by the scream of the creature, tank fire rocked the air and the face of the creature suddenly had craters forming in it as the tank rounds tore through the surface of its stony skin. The smoke was driven away as the mortars and tank fire began to tear into the creatures structure.

The creature's forward approach had been arrested at the third and final barrier and every artillery weapon fired ceaselessly. Blinded, the creature could no longer direct the horde and the Spirit Army while taking heavy losses were destroying the Horde. Drummers who were close to the horde directed their music as a weapon toward the creatures and destroyed them with the vibrations of their drumming. Many drummers died, but none left their drums, destroying creatures with spell, sword and song until the very end.

Once the creature was blinded, the concerted effort of spell-singers, blessed artillery, and the concentrated fire of the Spirit Army ground the creature back to the dust from which it was formed. The horde was decimated and hunted until the last creature could be found and slain.

Horus woke aching and bloody from his crash. "You plan on lying there all day, do you, lad," the old colonel said as he offered Horus his hand. "The beast is dead. Your plan while completely daft, worked. Unfortunately, no one else survived but the three of us." Horus said a quick prayer for those souls lost.

"The spell-singer says the center of this magic is nearby and thinks we should investigate. She is already looking at something, so let's get you up and at it," the colonel gruff tone seemed to focus Horus-Ka's attention.

Horus looked around and saw that both eagles, and their pilots had died in the crash. The creature had fallen over and its open mouth was less than one hundred meters away. As they moved closer, the spell-singer had already climbed up into the mouth of the creature and illuminated the interior of the creature's mouth. "Lord Horus, here is the source of this foul magic." She pointed to a large disk shaped object about a meter in diameter. It seemed to be forged of a strange clay or rock and the patterns etched in it were painstakingly drawn and etched. "This appears to be the magical equivalent of a computer. The program is written along the outer edge and the inner structures seem to direct the magical energy allowing this creature to draw upon the energy of the land for its sinister purpose. It was meant to wander through our world and steal energy to release in the world of the living. Like all magic, it can be traced back to its source if you are willing."

"Now what kind of hero would I be, if I weren't? I have been waiting all my life for this. Colonel, get back to your people and contain this artifact. Learn all you can so if this thing makes another appearance, you won't have the problem we had this time. Let's move this thing and see what we can learn about our enemy."

All artwork is copyright of its creators and used with much respect but without permission.

A Fall to Earth, Chapter 1

Posted by Thaddeus on September 28, 2010 at 6:30pm

2072 Common Era, five years after the Singularity

The African Continent, The Serengeti
The air was hot and still, not a surprise considering the time of year, but by the Serengeti's standards this weather exceeded even her hottest by a wide margin. This year her grasses were tall and luxurious despite the terrible heat, hiding her animals from the common eye and the trained one alike. At a casual glance, nothing appeared to move save the heat ripples across the horizon. Even her most fearsome insects, bloodthirsty and ever-hungering seem to be conserving their energy for the cooler part of the day.

This was a day like millions that came before it, embodying the nature of life and death and this mistress of two realms stopped as something so terrible swept through her that everything froze, hid and waited for it to pass. Mighty herds grew silent and the coughs of the lions faded into the distance.

The slow-moving air carried the stench of death and decay, not the natural scent common to this area, not the blissful scent smell of carrion attracting their share of lazy scavengers, nor of a death by natural causes, that musty death of a creature that slowed and eventually stopped moving, or the most terrible of all, if you are an antelope or gazelle, savaged, smothered or battered to death by the ghosts of the Serengeti, her big cats. This smelled of none of those good deaths.

Death at this scale was not common and everything here knew that, even if they could not determine the cause or the source, avoidance was the best choice. The death wind blew through the city of Dodoma. The Serengeti did not like Dodoma. It was crowded, the creatures there did not move, they did not migrate, movement was life, everything knew that except for these creatures. The Serengeti did not like the waste, the noise, the fire-less smoke that always emanated from it. The stones-that-moved-and-roamed were tolerated because they often wandered amongst her people, her herds and in the beginning there was balance.

The longer the creatures lived there, the less balance there was. The Serengeti had taken to sending the ghosts to Dodoma. For a time, the creatures hid in fear, as they should, but eventually they returned in greater numbers. The Serengeti, infinite in its patience and long in it lifespan would simply wait for the creatures to drown in their filth.

There was certainly enough of it. They would eventually go away. Badly behaved creatures always did. But today, they did not go away. They did not migrate, they did not gather their food, their young, their water, they did not leave a trail of waste to nourish all life on the Serengeti.

They simply ceased to be.

The Serengeti was not displeased. But all of its people, its herds, its hunters, its scavengers and its ghosts did tremble and wonder what was different. Dodoma was now filled with nearly one million dead and no sign of what caused the Death that Walks.

A group of elephants roam the Serengeti as they had for thousands of years. At first glance, there would be little to tell you different about this group than about thousands of elephants who had come before. But look a little longer and you can tell this group is different. Grey and dusty, these desert titans shepherd a tiny group of non-elephants with them.

Tired, dirty and quietly clustered together, with rags for clothing, hair matted and reeking of sweat from too many days in the plains sun without bathing. The elephants find this smell quite distasteful but continue their duties, with a clear sense of obligation.

The Serengeti guides them toward water with its well worn breezes, flapping the tall grass, bringing the scent of water, leapers and ghosts. Leapers were always plentiful this time of year and the Sisters always found their antics amusing. The young ones, ever inquisitive, always wondered why they could not leap. The answer was always the same, we are not leapers. We are the Walkers. We do not run. We do not leap. We Walk. The Serengeti is our mother and our guide. We fear nothing and harm no one. The answer only seemed to last until the next time they saw leapers.

One larger female, her body older, worn and leathery, her eyes bright with intelligence and her pace filled with the wisdom of many Walks, moved away from the group and she pauses to sniff the air. At first, nothing, then the slight tingle of black-burn from the rocks-that-roam, human sweat, rank with the overtones of meat and fire smoke. Tiny Walkers, the ones who act like ghosts, hunting and killing but they are not our Walkers, she remembers the words, our humans. These are the Ghost Humans. They kill everything they see.

She closes her eyes and opens herself up to the horizon. The Serengeti reveals them to her; they are behind them, about two thousand steps. She calls to her sisters, who immediately surround their young and their tiny walkers. In her mind, she sees the Ghost Humans moving as fasts as the Ghosts they emulate, streaking through the tall grass, bouncing in their rock-that-roams with their terrible boom-sticks. Like the Ghosts, their fangs flash with their excitement of the hunt.

Aniel said to call them guns. Aniel always knew the words to things. Aniel was gone, taken by Ghost Walkers, not these but others. Others that we will find. We will find Aniel. In the meantime, we will do what she asked. Orienting herself to them, she gathers the strength of her sisters.

The aged female sees in her mind, the skins of the Serengeti's ghosts across the back of the rock-that-roams and though she has no love of the Serengeti ghosts, no person should ever be treated as such. The Ghost Humans continue to approach and it is clear they are following the Sisters. It is as it should be. It is said that all things meet in the Serengeti eventually. The Sisters wait and the young grow restless, as is their wont. The tiny walkers say nothing, and after a while sit, slack jawed and boneless upon the grass. Without Aniel, they say nothing, they only follow the Sisters.

The Eldest opens her eyes as the rock comes into view, trailing a terrible cloud of smoke and dust, its roaring increasing as the Sisters come into sight. The Sisters stir but do not move, only their ears and tails continue their ceaseless twitching. The Eldest begins a deep sonorous moan and her sisters also follow, in concert. A rippling occurs through the air and gathers in front of the Eldest. The Sisters' dirge grows louder and the tiny ones cover their ears. The young ones fall to the ground as if dead.

The Eldest stops to read the wind and the approaching Ghost Humans, whose intent of blood and murder is written on the afternoon breeze mingling with the scent of other dead Sisters and skinned Ghosts; all of these hunter's earlier kills, collected as vile and disgusting trophies. The Sisters stop their singing as the Ghost Humans raise their boom-sticks, guns, and the energy that the Eldest was holding is released.

In that moment, the Serengeti breathed, a single collective breath, something that moved through all the nearby living things. The Ghost Humans breathed in that collective breath and when they exhaled they fell over dead; no marks, no scars, nothing to indicate their passing. Their collective breath returned to the Serengeti, their mother and their home. The Eldest turned away, horrified at all the waste. The loss of life.

She returns to her Sisters who touch her and console her while she weeps. They waken the young ones and the tiny walkers and they continue toward the waterhole they can smell just a thousand steps in front of them.

fragmented truth bits in layers of lies

Posted by Arnold L. Johnson on September 28, 2010 at 7:00am

Been digging and searching and sifting. A scientist remarked concerning carbon dating and archaeology, it shows the date of the layer. How many layers? Then when ego-centric and race-centric historians and scientist and theologians write themselves in as the source, the progenitors of everything known today, effacing the truth by simply turning Black faces to White faces, we all become liars. The Bible is explained with lies and the truth of it becomes mythic yet seems to work even within the lies overlaid. The mystery of that book is disputed because though written by men of faith, it was assembled (sometimes edited) by unclean hands. Some pages as old as the pyramids, some older. We forget "God" is eternal, how many creations passed through his hands, how many times his story has been acted out on good "old" earth. I have the spirit so I have an inkling but no exactness. I fight against the accepted, why? Because if the understanding I received was laced with lies someone else innocently received, then my receiving is an even deeper lie. Today faith means to close your eyes to all but the inkling of the spirit, that faith is very small. That inkling can't be quenched by reason, it simply exists.

The ancient Egyptians were white because and the Bible is white because........yet, the writing is on the wall and there are pictures, but don't forget the available pigments of the time, red ochre, black and brown the colors of the same clay that formed us, were all the rage. And those pyramids, biggest tombs you ever saw. What kind of mental whack job would build a mathematically precise edifice for himself at the expense of a thousand workers? They would have revolted, packed him in a crate and buried him in a unmarked sand dune. And why align it all with the Sirius star cluster and who are the Dogon who talk the same star stuff. Rumour has it that the Great Pyramid was a seismic machine like a huge piezo crystal, able to draw power via seismic events and convert it into energy of some kind. The enigma of the planet, how deep is a desert, a sea of sand? An epic battle between the men of clay and the erosion of sand continues till this day...........

The Destruction of the Universe and the Comic/SF Genre

Posted by Thaddeus on September 22, 2010 at 1:00pm

I have a problem with comic universes and science fiction storylines that offer the destruction of their universes by a single threat, no matter how powerful that threat may be. It may make for compelling storytelling in theory, but when you look at the science behind it, its just lazy storytelling. Destroying the universe is really a lot harder to do that you might think. As humans, we are simply not aware of the scale of power that is potentially available out there, so we jump from nuclear bombs, to destroying the universe without really looking at anything in between.

The cliff notes might look like this: muscle power (tentacle power, whatever), muscle with rock, thrown rock, bigger rock, add velocity, create rock or stick propelling device, add more muscle, store energy then propel matter, chemically propelled matter, explosively release chemical energy, explosively release nuclear energy, fuse nuclear matter then release energy, propel asteroids at planets, collect stray gaseous matter into stars, compress super amounts of matter until star heats, fuses and explodes in shortened lifespan then run from supernova, smash neutron stars together for galaxy-spanning gamma ray pulse, annihilate matter with anti-matter, add stellar masses until a super gravity field forms, create singularity (black hole), create super-massive black hole then trap other stars until galaxy forms, consume other galaxies, compress billions of galaxies into quasar, compress all matter in known universe into tiny super-singularity, release for Big Bang or alternatively, allow for membranes between universal branes to bang together, releasing an entire universe worth of energy disrupting previous universe, erasing all existing matter and start again overlapping previous universe. Surely somewhere in between the rock and the big bang we can find a story worth telling.

Galactus, Destroyer of Worlds

Creative License or "I reserve the right to destroy the Universe..."

To give you a summary of the article is to say this, plain and simple: The Universe is too damn BIG for Thanos, Galactus, The Kree, Skrull, The Infinity Gems, Master Order/Lord Chaos, Darkseid, the Anti-life Equation, The Anti-Monitor, Access or anything else, for that matter, to destroy in a single effort. Any creature or creatures powerful to know how to destroy the ENTIRE Universe would probably be too sane to do it or allow such knowledge to fall into the hands of creatures who would. And the logical problem to be derived from that though process is, what do you have them protect when saving the universe becomes routine? Other universes, perhaps even the Omniverse (the sum of all universes, no matter where or when they are, including all related multiple universes, timelines, or realities).

(For the record, I have the same problems with the Green Lantern Corp only needing 3600 members to patrol the entire Universe. Given that our galaxy alone has 100 billion stars, it means that each member of the Corp in our Galaxy alone had 2,777,778 stars to patrol!)

I know what you are saying, writers reserve the creative right to destroy the universe or to have heroes "patrol" the universe, if it will carry a plot; but I say fey. Writers have a responsibility to work to make their stories good, not to rely on lazy writing plots like "the destruction of all life in the universe" to make it seem important enough for the heroes to save it. I see this so often it almost seems that the universe is imperiled at least twice a year.

I want to give you a scale to work with but I need to give you a science lesson, so hang tight. (for the record, the numbers I am going to give you will quickly be beyond the realm of human comprehension, and that is exactly my point.)

Light is the fastest known thing in the Real Universe that we know of. It is capable of moving in normal space at 186,282 miles in one second. This means that to cross the distance between the Earth and its nearest neighbor, the Moon, (240,000 miles away) takes about a second and a half. While it may appear instantaneous at extremely short distances, say - in your room, space is so big that time actually passes between when you hit the switch and when it arrives somewhere.

To cross the distance from the Earth to the Sun at 93,000,000 miles or so, takes approximately 8.5 minutes. Can you imagine the fastest thing in the universe taking a whopping 9 minutes to cross between the Sun and the Earth. Seems like a slug when you look at it like that. No, what it really means is that space is really big. But lets look further. It takes nearly an hour for a beam of light to reach the planet Pluto from the sun (Pluto is 5,913,520,000 km from the Sun). This is the fastest thing in the Universe and yet takes an hour to reach a planet in the same solar system. But in one year, a beam of light can travel 6 trillion miles (10 trillion kilometers for you English blokes).

What does this have to do with the destruction of the Universe, you might ask? Plenty so read on.

Space is Big...
For a beam of light to travel to the next nearest star to Earth, Alpha Centauri, light takes 4.2 years. Alpha Centauri is approximately 25.5 trillion miles from the Earth. A radio message from here to there would take 8 years for a single exchange of "hello, is this thing on?"

The Universe is so large that it must be measured in lightyears because miles and kilometers are simply too small to do it justice. So our basic unit of measure is the lightyear or 6 trillion miles. Unfortunately the Universe is so large that we must still augment the Lightyear a bit further. The next unit of measure is called the parsec. It is considered to be approximately 3.3 lightyears long. This is the most common measure of interstellar or intergalactic distances.

This is a huge distance and we believe that even if the universe is flat and finite, that this would mean that the Universe is incredibly large. Its actual size is a difficult thing to explain but lets assume that we are not in the middle of the Universe but that everything in the Universe is receeding from us, we theoretically measure the Universe to be 75 billion lightyears from "center to edge".

Stellar Cosmology
The most basic building block of the Universe is the star. 90% of all stars in the universe are called red dwarfs (sorry, Superman). They are approximately the same size as the Earth give or take 10 to 200%. The remainder of stars are a variety of sizes and energy output from small burned out white dwarfs (hunks of transmuted carbon burning with incandesent heat, literally hunks of space-charcoal) to blue-white supergiants who burn themselves out in a stellar flash of 75 million years. There are stars estimated to be equal to the size of our inner solar system! (VY Canis Majoris). Stars are the basic expressions of the Universe's ability to convert matter to energy through the fusion of hydrogen to helium. This produces a byproduct of energy and recombinated matter. This fusion will occur until the star cannot transmute matter any further (yes, that means it will convert and fuse atoms until a star turns into IRON, a non-reactive, stable metal). The main sequence of stars chart (show below) notes the different physical characteristics of stars, their lifespans and galactic percentages.

The Earth's Sun (a G type star) produces totally per second 4x10 to the 26th power Watts of energy per second into space. Every second, it produces an amount of energy equivalent to the detonation of about 100 billion 1-megaton nuclear weapons. It has an internal core temperature of approximately 15 million degrees, cooling to a meager 6000 degrees at the surface. At these temperatures, most matter cannot even exist under normal conditions. Its internal pressures are greater than 20 times the density of iron or 150,000 kg/m3.

Occasionally a star with 9 times the mass of our sun, (a relatively uninteresting and underpowered specimen as star's go) explodes creating a supernova. This explosion is a magnificent representation of the power of stars and is responsible for the final transmutation of all the heavy metals in the universe. All the gold, silver and other super-heavy elements are formed in the supernovas of stars. The next time you think about any heavy metal, including the ones that make up your body, magnesium, iron, calcium, know that a star was destroyed to produce it.

Massive stars after they explode, their remaining matter collapses upon itself to form a singularity or black hole. This means that all of the remaining matter of that star is now shrunken to a single point in space, with an intense gravitational field surrounding it. This gravity is so great that, not even light can escape it. As an expression of natural phenomenon, it is one of the ultimate forms of power in our universe and a lynchpin holding entire galaxies together with the force of its gravity. It emits no form of radiation so it cannot be detected directly at all, only by its indirect effect on its environment.

Enough with the basics, now on to the good stuff!

The Good Stuff: How Aliens Do It...
A paper on the idea of intergalactic intelligence suggests that a civilization goes through several stages before it attempts to leave it's planet and expand into space.

Stage I is when a species utilizes it fuels on its planet to power its ascent into space. The most likely of these fuels are going to probably be radioactive, solar or geothermal in nature, but other alternatives might also be available. On planets that have superheavy gravity, other means may be necessary to achieve spaceflight. (Humanity in most superhero comics is a species of this nature.)

Stage II - Once a species achieves spaceflight, they will attempt to harness more of their next greatest power source, their star. In the beginning they will probably harness solar radiation by capturing it and directing it toward the planet or converting it into other forms of radiation. As their technology improves they will move into stage III.

(Most of the Marvel Universes races are at a stage between level 2 and Level 3. The Kree (shown to the right), Skrull, Shiar, all appear to be Level 2 to 3 even with the advent of other technologies such as faster than light communication and travel. Their planetscaping technologies and energy production/harnessing technologies seem primitive in comparison. Most DC races share a similar condition even in the 30th century of the Legion of Superheroes.)

Stage III is when a planet has harnessed all the energy of their star by destroying all the planets in their solar system and creating around their star a means of absorbing all of the energy of their star. This device was theorized by a scientist named Freeman Dyson and has been called a Dyson's Sphere. This world on the interior of a ball would be thousands of times larger than anything this civilization had ever known and could possibly support their species' energy needs for the lifetime of their star. (This is an incredible feat to destroy all your planets to create a new superenvironment around your sun to harness all 10 to the 38 power in Watts of energy being emitted by a star like the Sun every second.)

(Galactus would seem to be an example of a Level 3 life form since it has been theorized that his Worldship possessed an engine powered by a star in a manner similar to a Dyson Sphere. Tyrant also possessed similar technology but few other species have been seen to possess such advanced technology. Curiously enough the New Gods, who seem to have technology with the capabilities to create Dyson Spheres have not. It would seem that they have chosen to tap energy from the Source instead of harnessing it from the environment. Darkseid seems to use the geothermal energy of Apokolips but how it is converted to his personal use is as yet unknown.)

Stage IV is when a species is able to create such worlds around other stars to harness their energy as well or to utilize energy conversions that are more potent and/or efficient than stellar conversions. This would include the barely known quantum phenomena or matter/antimatter interactions. Even these feats, if they could be performed would not allow for energy creations too much greater than natural ones because the environment that would allow for their creation would be too difficult to maintain. (The Markovians from Jack L. Chalker's Well of Souls Saga could qualify as Level 4 intelligences; so could the "Q" or "Trelane" of Star Trek fame.)

I write all of these things to say that if a civilization has the power to perform feats that allow them to move their entire civilization while they terraform their entire solar system, it still does not all them the power to destroy the entire 17,662.5 billion light year area that our Theoretical Universe takes up.

Back to Destroying the Universe...or I'll have Black Holes and Quasars for $1,000, Alex....
If a species can harness a single black hole's incredible gravitation power and use it for evil, they still could not destroy the entire universe. I know where there is already a black hole a million times stronger than any single one formed from any single supernova. And it is right here in our galactic backyard.

At the center of most galaxies is theorized to be a supermassive black hole with the mass of at least a million suns. It is the superglue that holds galaxies together. Harnessing the power of such an object would make a species incredible, the 100 billion or so stars plus the power of the supermassive black hole at the center of it would be an incredible species indeed. But still not enough to destroy the entire universe, since the entire universe has an estimated 100 billion galaxies, each galaxy with at least 100 billion stars, each having at a conservative estimate 1000 planets with potentially intelligent life. There are super-large cannibal galaxies with over a trillion stars!

The farthest object that we have ever clearly detected in our Universe is a QSO-quasi-stellar object at 4,700 million parsecs away from us! This is a distance of almost 5 billion parsecs or 15 billion light years! This QSO or quasar is immeasurable powerful. It generates the energy output of a million galaxies, each with the energy of a 100 billion suns in a area that is less than 2000 parsecs in size! The brightest quasars consume the equivalent of 1000 solar masses a year.

If a species was able to generate the power of a single QSO, they still could not destroy the Universe, considering that we already know where a 1,000 of these things are and the Universe is still here. QSOs are so powerful, you can use them as navigational beacons between galaxies because they define the edge of the known universe and do not move in relationship to anything else. Creatures of the DCU's fifth dimension who seem to possess the ability to modify the reality of the third dimension, still seem to have inherent limitations to what they are able to do, no matter how seemingly fantastic they can be. The entire species of the "Q" or entities from the Fifth dimension could utilize all of the power from an energy source as a QSO and still have plenty of power left over for millions of years.

Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of the stakes being high when I am reading a story, but no matter who the antagonist is, when I look at the Earth and understand how truly insignificant it is in the overall scheme of things, (a solar prominence on the sun could swallow the Earth totally destroying all life on Earth with the force of 100,000 nuclear warheads in less than a second) I find it hard to argue that Thanos could destroy "all that there is" in a single second. On the other hand I do offer a couple of handy outs.

You can't destroy the Universe. Its where I keep all my stuff...

Our local galactic star-group (shown above) is about 1000 Kiloparsecs in size. It includes the Milky Way galaxy and about 20 other local galaxies including the Andromeda Galaxy. I believe that if a device or weapon or tool, of an incredibly advanced technology, far greater than any we have seen in the Marvel or DC Universes (I might make a case for the Wildstorm Universe, seeing how they have technology that has claimed to have captured a "fledgling or baby universe" at the moment of its "birth" and are using it as a powersource for the Authority's "Carrier", this is the only technology I have seen that might impress me able to rewrite a section of the local galactic space, a tiny area, in the overall scheme of things) I might offer that a species might have the ability to devastate a portion of Universal space similar in size to that. This would effectively "destroy the Universe" as we know it and still not make a dent in the overall Universal structure.

As a matter of fact, there is a scientific premise that might be exploited for this purpose. At the galactic level, there are several regions of intergalactic space at appear "empty" meaning apparently devoid of any intergalatic materials. These regions are called 'voids'. Galaxies are not generally found in isolation, nor are they randomly distributed throughout the Universe. Most are surrounded by a swarm of satellite galaxies and are themselves embedded in larger aggregates called groups or clusters. These large concentrations of galaxies form part of even larger scale structures such as the galactic filaments and sheets which contain millions of galaxies. Between these enormous walls of galaxies lie regions which are very sparsely populated - these are known as 'galactic voids'. From a storytelling point of view could have been local galactic clusters gone 'bad' due to the meddling of a powerful superspecies that could harness the energy of something greater than a QSO. The true origins of galactic voids are still being discovered and it is hinted that dark matter may be involved.

As for events such as DCU's Crisis storylines, I do not for a single instant believe that the entire Universe was rewritten. Instead, I consider that the fabric of their local universe (a 2-5 million light year region) was remade while the rest of the Universe was unaffected by the DC Universe's reconstructive surgery. This could include all of their parallel timelines, quantum realms, and nearby dimensional realms like the Fifth Dimension or the New Gods dimensions. I don't care what DC says, the universe should not be as easy to destroy and recreate as blowing my nose and thinking about it.

I think that nature abhors a vacuum and would allow the fabric of space to fold over the regions that were obliterated by poor management and incorporate them back into the Universe at large, managment free, at this point. I understand that in Marvel and the DCU are both trying to keep their characters fresh and their universal continuity somewhat stable but I believe a tiny bit of science might make their stories and ideas more palatable without having to destroy the universe every ten or fifteen years.

Now all of this is "in my humble opinion" and I have used a few planet destroying, solar system destroying and even galaxy destroying (very small, petite galaxies, 10,000 stars at best) storylines for my roleplaying games and writing, but I have only tried one time to tell the tale of the end of the Universe, and it was being used as a backdrop, not as an element the players needed to affect. I understand the high stakes gambit, but it is up to a good writer to find a way to increase the stakes without going just too damn far.

As an added feature, I have included a shockwave flash file called the Scale of the Universe. It takes a second to load, but once it does, it will take you on an interactive trip from the quantum foam of the structure of the universe to the very edges of our perceivable universe. An awesome trip putting everything into its proper place and perspective.

ebonstorm@gmail.com - A Matter of Scale

Originally published for the Metahuman Information Database.

All images are the products of their respective publishers - Walt Disney Company, Marvel Entertainment, DC Comics and Times Warner Entertainment.

Scramble for Africa (the remix)...

Posted by Sarafina Connor on September 22, 2010 at 10:59am

There's a discussion going on over there in the Black Futurist group. I thought I'd share a bit in a blog.

I'll go backwards:

SO, I turn on CNN and who do I see: BOB "BET" JOHNSON. He's celebrating the inaugural DElta (I believe) flights to Liberia. They did a whole segment on the "potential growth of a Middle Class in Sub-Saharan Africa" and the "tremendous untapped natural resources". . . (excuse me while I spit on some graves) Ok, I'm back. SO, he and Tony are going back and forth about the future of Africa and America's role (supposedly he's referring to African Americans. right.) in its development. China and Italy are already there building (and investing ) in the infrastructure, so now it's our turn I suppose. And who better to lead the movement but Bob Johnson... (sorry had to spit again)...

I'm not one for writing so I'll just share:

http://www.breakingtravelnews.com/news/article/robert-l.-johnson-takes-part-in-delta-air-lines-inaugural-flight-to-monrovi/

Last night, I was thinking about the Singularity, from a non-Kurzweilian perspective. Here's what this Brotha had to say:

http://appfrica.net/blog/2010/06/04/great-african-singularities/
hmmmm....interesting. verrry interesting.

BLOG NEWS GENESIS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF BLACK SCIENCE FICTION & MORE

Posted by Administrator: Jarvis Sheffield on September 20, 2010 at 3:30pm

I am pleasantly surprised with the last month’s progress. God is indeed good to me. Here is a brief recap of
things that have happened so far.

The GENESIS Anthology of Black Science Fiction was completed on schedule. We ran into a few technical issues
but got it done and we will continue to improve the process in the future.

Alien Encounters was a magnificent success. The attendance was great, the speakers
were phenomenal, and the crowd actively engaged the panelists and speakers with
intriguing questions and insight. Everyone in attendance had a productive and
informative time that they took away from the experience.

The publishing company has been established to publish works produced by Black Science Fiction Society called
Graves Sheffield Publishing. It is staffed primarily by me and my lovely wife
who has supported me throughout the process of making the project a success.
This coupled with 2 years research and tutorage by industry veterans has made it
possible to take dreams and turn them into realities.

We are eager to continue turning dreams into to realities. We decided to add to our goals movie making.
The idea is to partner with writers from the Anthology and start creating films
in the upcoming year.

Stay tuned, we will continue to plug away at this thing. Join the site if you haven’t already and share in the
community of like minded individuals of black science fiction.

Jarvis Sheffield

Administrator

www.BlackScieneFictionSociety.com

www.TheDigitalBrothers.com

www.GravesSheffield.com

My Favorite Thing Right Now . . .

Posted by Diane on September 19, 2010 at 3:00am

It's a year later, but I'm still rockin' out to Poetic Menace's (Marc Blackshear) "Coming of the First Born". It's still hot, just like Dreadlocks.

Go on over to Urban Style Comics and take a listen. And don't forget to check them out at Black Age of Comics in Chicago this October 8th - 9th.

"Who needs two eyes when the thirds' wide open?"

"Let the wicked of the earth be warned, the coming of the first born. "

Needless to say, I'm lovin' me some Dreadlocks!

Now if I could just get my eyes to glow like that.

The Aspect War - Prologue & Chapter 1 - Slumber

Posted by Thaddeus on September 19, 2010 at 2:30am

Prologue

She slept.

If you can call this thing of nightmare, a her; dragonscales rippled with a watery sheen and the ever-so slight rise and fall of her breath. Each scale shone as if it were comprise both of darkness and the tiniest slivers of light. It was once said that, to stare at them was to be lost in their shimmer, and for a moment witness destruction spanning thousands of years in a single second. Seeing her was to court madness.

She dreamed. She once roamed the Earth, free and the world trembled. She inspired legends of terrible djinn, fiends from worlds beyond, all were tales of her or her many, many children. She incited madness, lust for power, and ultimately the destruction of all she and her children touched. Sodom and Gomorrah were both victims of her wrath. Mad prophets would later claim it was some other god. Soon after, she consumed said prophets; mangy, stringy things, which stuck in her teeth and gave her a bout of indigestion, but could never find all of the books that took the credit away from her and were later published.

Thinking of those mad prophets made her think of dusty Babylon. Brilliant Babylon knew how to treat a being of her stature, they worshiped her, revered her and gave her the proper homage until they too betrayed her. Cast her into darkness, silenced her destruction. As a parting gift she destroyed their Hanging Gardens and left a seed that would ensure their ultimate destruction.

They could not kill her, she was a god. But they could imprison her and cast her into a darkness that lasted for millennia. A cooling soothing darkness, one which softened her rage, quieted her powers and hid her from the view of man. The darkness was connected to the Void and the Void was everywhere and nowhere. And for a time, she was forgotten. Many of her children were destroyed by heroes of various ages, eventually forced into hiding or exile, lest they too be destroyed. And they too were forgotten.

The darkness hid her terrible bulk, shuttered away beyond the light from the early morning. The green canopy overhead blocked all but the most determined of misty light and kept much of her from view. The monolithic temple hid the rest of her. She was not a thing most humans would want to see. In fact, no human had seen her this way for over a thousand years. Those that had, inspired new religions, talk of serpent gods and the destruction of the world.

She slept easily during those times. They made sacrifice to her and she grew strong again. But she could not attract attention. So during the night, one night a thousand years ago, she drew her new people to her into the Void and they waited, serving her, making new things, and waiting. No human had seen her since. And she preferred to keep it that way, until the prophecy spoken of two thousand years ago came to pass.

This dragon, this monstrosity of scales, this frightening creature of myth and legend, this mother of monsters, eater of men, ravager of worlds, slept deeply and dreamed of mad prophets who said she would return to the world. She had a special penchant for those mad prophets, who even today, preached the revelation of her return, free from constraint, free from morality, free to sow and reap humans like the wheat of dusty Babylon. Such dreams gave this living monstrosity a fearsome shudder and the humans nearby for a thousand miles, in every direction experienced an earthquake.

These quakes were becoming more common for them, more powerful, some causing nightmares. Dreams of more terrible quakes to come, some that spoke of a time, where monsters would rise up and slay men and bathe in their blood. No one ever spoke of such nightmares. Even to acknowledge them seem to drive men to madness. So most kept doing what they always did, living lives of quiet desperation.

Even in her sleep, their fear and terror fed her, pleased her, and for a moment excited her. Then she returned to sleep, a deeper sleep, and in that sleep, she dreamed again. And often those dreams were the stuff of human nightmare, capsizing ships, destroying buildings, releasing volcanoes. Today she dreamed a dream of modern life, putting on a business suit, dark blue, carrying a slim and stylish briefcase and going to work; an insurance firm in New York City, specializing in insuring the rare, the expensive and things so valuable they were irreplaceable. She would not work there very long. Just long enough to ensure that some of those things would cease to exist, through unfortunate accidents, hostile takeovers, theft, extortion or murder; a woman simply has to have hobbies between attempts to destroy the world.

Chapter 1

He woke.

The first thing he noticed was the chill. It was a pervasive thing, it felt as if it froze the very marrow of his bones. Not normally affected by weather, he found the sensation unpleasant, but not unbearable. Standing up, he began to take in his surroundings. There was no light -- no that is not right, there was no normal source of light. No lantern, no torch, no lamp, no light bulb; yet the room gave off a subtle luminescence, centered on where he sat. Driving his vision further past the illumination, he noticed that there was a radius to the field of unlight and the area he was sitting in was larger than he was able to initially perceive.

"Curious." The sound of his voice, flew free. Encoded with his desire, it fled into the darkness and did not return. The very nature of its failure told him everything he needed to know. This subtle use of his power told him he was not in the world as he knew it. He realized he must be in a nearby Shard or worse, lost in the Void. As he considered this, his apprehension began to take shape.

Almost casually, he inspected himself and found everything seemed to be normal. He was still wearing the grey and black suit and vest common to his attire and the last thing he remembered wearing to work. His shirt was still the silken, Italian blouse he favored for formal meetings. He was wearing his favorite leather shoes, with an added non-slip surface beneath them. Not that he ever feared slipping, but it was a habit from a bygone era when one's footing might cost one's life. And until now, He had been very careful.

He looked down at his hands. They were still the strong hands of a Roman soldier, a bit more weathered, a bit less callused, but still capable of relieving a man of his life with a variety of tools. But the thing he was looking for was gone. His ring was missing. The sigil of his power was missing. This did not mean he was powerless, it meant that for his duty to continue, the ring moved to his successor. That meant he could not leave this prison. And that his power was in the hand of a mortal, for the first time in two millennia. A mortal He truly loved but had poorly prepared for this day.

He could only hope that his impressions all those decades ago were right.

* * *

The Director tried to wake from a dream that seemed overwhelming real and quite visceral. It was not his normal condition to dream, having not done so for many years since coming to work at Death, Incorporated. Having not dreamed in decades, left him open to the strange, surreal nature of this dream. He was standing in the middle of a field surrounded by monstrous creatures of all shapes and sizes, wielding a sword of ice and shield comprised of a field of force laying waste to everything around him.

In the distance, he could see demons and angels flashing swords of flame and lightning, illuminating the battlefield. This seemed to last days and nights and then with a final flash of lighting, the battle ended. He was the only thing standing unscathed on the field. Taking in the horrible vista, he wept, openly.

Time passed.

Sensing moving in the corner of his eye, he turned and dropped his terrible, ice-sword, which froze the very air near it and the blade shattered as it struck the ground. It was an Angel still moving slowly, feebly trying to remove the corpse of some horror draped across it. The Director found himself striding toward the Angel with a strange ambivalence in his core. Grabbing the nearest limb of the giant white gorilla, he flung it from the Angel, who sat up.

"Did we win?" the Angel croaked, his voice dry and likely burned from angrily flung cocoastrum during the battle. "I can't see you, please come closer."

"No, I do not think your side won," the Director intoned gravely, "we are the last things alive here, so I can safely assume, my side did not win either. Do you have a name?"

"I was once called Malik, the Guardian, and I guarded the doors to Hell," the Angel glowed visibly upon the recitation of his former station and for a moment seemed more majestic than his current condition, covered in the blood and offal of other creatures would allow.

"You may call me, Aurelius," the Director said. "I think I was once the general of this army but now I am not so sure."

"Well met, former general of a once mighty army. You must have been formidable to have defeated this mighty Host..." Malik began. "I cannot remember why we were fighting, though General. Do you have any memory of the conflict?" The Director seemed surprised by the Angel's confession and had to think deeply himself.

"To be honest, I have no memory of why or how this battle took place. I am willing to forswear any further conflict if you are Malik, of the Angelic Host," the Director's feeling in this regard seemed sincere, even as this very real dream transpired.

"General Aurelius, as much as I appreciate you taking the time to free me from confinement, I am not able to forswear violence toward your person. There is still the matter of the Heavenly Host who even now, tell me to rend thee, limb from limb," Malik seemed pained to admit this and sat back on his haunches and spread his wings. While he was sitting, he appeared to slowly get cleaner and his injuries began to shimmer and heal themselves. "Perhaps we could simply sit a bit longer and see if we can untangle this since there is no one here but you and I. Perhaps we can come to an agreement."

General Aurelius - the Director took in the scene and for a moment was surprised by the carnage - there seemed to be a variety of warriors from a variety of ages, lost in time and space, vast incredible armies with amazing technologies all lay about the battlefield. The General's senses transcended the five and with his extended awareness could see ripples in time and space where these armies were snatched and conscripted. He could also sense the ruptures that the enemy used to reach this battlefield between Time and Space. Until he used those senses, his awareness was limited to this place, this space, this time, suddenly he was aware of a thousand times, a thousand places, where He reigned and suddenly realized where and who He was.

"Malik, Angel of the Host, I declare this conflict completed. And as an act of Mercy, I shall allow you, the final survivor, to return to your Host. Remind them, this is our final conflict. The next time we meet, I shall destroy you and yours utterly. Know this and never return," the pronouncement was clearly delivered and chilled the very air around the both of them. There was a weaving of force, of malice, of murderous intent in those words. The General was sure his words were relayed to the Host, even as he said them.

Malik, clearly shaken by the tone, and the message, stood and suddenly his twelve foot stature, seemed to overshadow the tiny General before him. "General, looking around the battlefield, it is clear that you and I are at the locus of something terrible, but I do not believe that you are in any position to make demands, or to cast threats. From where I stand, it is you, who should be looking at surrender. I am Malik, the Guardian, the warder to Hell, the hand of God and Sealer of Doors. You are in no position to make demands." Malik suddenly burst into white flames and a blue flaming sword appeared in each of his hands.

The General looked at the Angel and was momentarily in awe. "Beautiful." With a momentary pause, he whispered, "I'm sorry." The General raised his hand and suddenly the Angel appeared to be in a fearful wind, his flames flickered and were blown backward, wisps blasted back as the wind increased. Malik roared and leapt forward, blades flashing forward, blue fire glowing like the sun. The General Aurelius, the Director, watched in horror as his outstretched fist clenched and some unknown force exploded forward and simply erased the Angel Malik, Guardian and Warder to Hell, Hand of God and Sealer of Doors, from existence.

The Director screamed, a long wail that caused fear in all who heard it, and then he woke, his right hand burning. On his hand was the ring from his dream, bearing the Aspect Skull of Death backed with a nuclear plume, the symbol of the destroyer of Worlds.

Thaddeus Howze © 2010, All Rights Reserved

Currently Reading: "Best African American Fiction 2010"

Posted by A. Jarrell Hayes on September 18, 2010 at 3:35pm

I'm about halfway through reading the anthology Best African American Fiction 2010, series editor Gerald Early and guest editor Nikki Giovanni. My reaction so far: disappointment. With the word "best" in the title I was half expecting to be floored. I wasn't. A couple of the tales in this first half have obvious continuity flaws, and some I found just not interesting as a whole.

At this point, my favorite overall story is "A Few Good men" by David Nicholson. It is a story about your typical barbershop conversation between men about women and how to handle them relationship-wise: either as a fool or as player.

Another story I found interesting is an excerpt from the novel Yellow Moon by Jewell Parker Rhodes. It's a detective-mystery novel about vampires and I think reincarnation. I'm not sure. The excerpt was a little fuzzy, and probably wasn't the best selection to choose from the book -- the excerpt was mostly dialogue, a conversation with some key characters as how to track down this ghost of a vampire. I would much rather had read an excerpt with more physical action. But I'm interested in reading the full novel.

Then there's the story "The Torturer's Wife" by Thomas Glave. The story is a disturbing tale of the wife of some brutal military officer, who has sexual dreams featuring the corpses of the men her husband has had brutally slain. The prose is very dream-like and fluid, descriptive and haunting.

There are other stories that offer bits of excellence, but overall fall flat for me. I hope I find the second half of the book more entertaining and enjoyable.

The Aspect War - Chapter 4

Posted by Thaddeus on September 18, 2010 at 3:04pm

Cuculane ran.

His footfalls ghost-like, his legs blurred through the undergrowth, whipping up a trail of dust, grass and leaves. The wind carried his all consuming rage, a spicy scent, as his power grew within him. He channeled that rage, into his power, for his power grew best when stoked by his fury. No day before this had ever kindled this new level of rage, and he thought no day might ever again. No matter how monstrous, how unforgiving, how demanding he was, the only father he had ever known, the High King of Avalon, Fagan the Cruel, Firelord and Master of Caer Caleban, was dead and Cuculane had loved him. The thought stung his eyes, blind though they were, and tears streaked his cheeks, but they did not stop his progress; nothing save Death could. As his eyes burned with restrained tears, he thought of how differently today had started.

Cuculane was on his way to the western tower, striding in his war-gear to partake of a training exercise with the king's Red Guard. His normally dour mood was buoyed by the idea that he might be allowed to become a member of the king's personal defenders and bodyguard. These were twelve of the king's finest warriors; masters of numerous weapons and sorceries arcane, they were chosen from thousands in the kings army. Each had to best one hundred of his battle-brothers and many perished for this considerable honor. Then each potential recruit would be forced to battle each of the Red Guard in single combat. Only if he could go undefeated against them, would he, as a graduation exercise, face them all. Today, Cuculane was prepared to graduate. The thought made him smile, inwardly at least.

As a member of the Red Guard, he could wear the anonymous red armor, fully covered and able to be hidden in plain sight. Then everyone might forget his shame, his failure of birth, his slavery to the kingdom. That he was a noble, but born of the Ur-Selig Court. Surely this would silence the whispers. This is an accomplishment that could not be denied, could not be claimed, as so many of his successes were, a matter of mere chance. He would meet in the King's private training arena in the far tower and the king would preside over his inauguration or his defeat. There was the potential for a fatal injury but the Queen, having made his armor reassured him. There was no better mage-smith in the kingdom.

His new armor and weapons were a gift from the Queen, upon his eighteenth day of birth ceremony and he wore them with great pride. Their craftsmanship had stood him in good stead during his Quest Year. After his return, his war-gear was cleaned, repaired and returned to him, as good as new by the armor-technicians, fresh with new qubar coatings, new protection wards and plated with the family colors of red, black and white. He could not see these things, vision was denied to him, an accident of his birth, he was told. But he was blessed with other forms of awareness, so his lack of vision was only of limited concern most of the time.

As he came to the final bridge between the castle proper and the king's personal tower, he heard the sounds of combat and the sounds of conjured flame sizzling through the air. An unexpected explosion tore through out one of the tower walls and a terrible beast is blown free, afire, and it screams, a sound so terrible, the staff in the castle proper flee, wailing in terror. The monstrosity screams all the way to the ground, nearly a half mile from the castle.

Cuculane opened himself to his surroundings, the wind spoke to him, smoke told him of the enemy, their scent strong within it. The ground, rumbled and in that rumbling, he knew their numbers, their speed, their weight and their power. Sorcery, crisply scented, cinnamon sparks, telling of the flames cascading through the air incinerating everything in their path, everything except these horrors. The flames screamed their frustration, as the creatures simply refuse to burn. They glowed as metal heated but did not die, at least, not at first.

The flash of brightswords sang out to him, their rune-etched blades singing a song of devastation, each clang of defense or swish of offense, each unique, each telling of their ballet of death and triumph. But their songs were too few, the enemy too strong; this was not the song of impending victory, this was the song of defiant resistance against overwhelming odds. Was that even possible? This was the Red Guard, the twelve of them could clear thousands of Men under any circumstance, no matter what the field of battle. They should be unstoppable.

With his senses tingling, their information producing a world unseen by most, Cuculane pulled his spear into a two handed grip and sprinted across the causeway. Suddenly, the door on the other side flew open, blasted off its hinges. The door split into dozens of ironwood shards narrowly missing Cuculane, who easily sidestepped them, and a member of the Red Guard, Guardsman Prethos, from his sword-song, was backing out of the explosion cloud.

His bright-sword flashed furiously, its flaming edge hungrily consuming chunks of the creature, creating sparks flashing against its steel-hard paws. Half the size of a horse, with the agility of a tiger, this creature screams caused Cuculane to stop in his tracks, involuntarily. He had encountered these hexapeds before, even killed them during his Questing, but these were four times as massive as any he even knew existed, each step spoke of their density and physical power. Each of these terrors weighed six hundred pounds comprised of dense bone, armor plate stronger than steel, with teeth so sharp and jaws so strong, they could bite through the axle of an automobile. Through the open door, Cuculane could hear dozens of the creatures surrounding the high king and the Red Guard.

During the struggle, Guardsman Prethos pushes the creature back with an enchantment. The very wall, taking on the shape of a great hand, clutched the creature and squeezed it in an attempt to crush it. The wall trembled from the strain and the creatures screams seem to destabilize the sorcery. But it held long enough. Prethos was already focused on another spell, this one was not one normally cast in combat, because it required expansive gestures.

To Cuculane, the wind spoke of a barrier, something that would be between him and the king, the formation of a Gulgan; an impenetrable wall meant to keep anything within it trapped. And everything outside of it, safe. You would cast a Gulgan, when you know there is no hope, and you were buying time with your life. Finishing his spell, he turns back to the hexaped, who has shaken off the last pieces of wall and had scrambled back toward Prethos, who having taken the creature's measure and freed from the task of spell casting, brings his sword down fully on the skull of the leaping creature. The blow does not stop the mass of the monster from crashing down on Prethos.

Inside the tower, the battle song has changed. Fire flows freely around the room engulfing everything, the Red Guard and the king are combining their sorceries, each of the songs merging together, creating an ensemble of sounds, a waterfall of flame. The creatures fell back, as if this were unexpected and they seemed to be, thinking, considering their plan of attack. Then as a unit, they creatures howled. The Gulgan shuddered, and Cuculane was knocked off his feet even behind its' protective energies. Getting up, his nose bleeding, he listens for the flame song. He hears nothing but the cinders bemoaning their fate and the fate of everything around them. Prethos rolled the dead behemoth from his body, having been momentarily pinned by its bulk, and rose to his feet.

"Run my Prince, think well of us, for today, we failed the High King. But I will do what must be done," and with that he took the blood of the creature on his sword and drew a blood-rune on the wall of the Gulgan, a rune of destruction, black forbidden magic. Inside, there is movement, both from the creatures and from the Red Guard. The howl of the beasts disrupted the flame magic and killed several of the Red Guard. The king rose to his feet, holding his great spear out in front of him, its three prongs alight with its mightiest magic. "It is ready, my king," whispered Prethos as he fell to his knees. "Run boy, I have never seen the likes of these things, ever, and I have lived three hundred years in Avalon. If this is what the future holds, we are no more. Tell them, leave or perish."

The ground rumbles again and Cuculane is aware of the numbers, two dozen of the creatures still live, but less than five of the Red Guard and the king remain.

I know you can hear me. There is not much time left. We are all spent, but if these creatures get loose in the castle, Caer Caleban is finished. Whoever struck at us, decided to start at the head. They hope to break our spirit. Don't let that happen. The creatures gather their courage. Of all my children, you my stepson, were the only one I trusted. Save our people. Avenge us.

There was a flash of light. Cuculane did not see it. But the sound was the purest sound he has ever known. He knew he would never forget it. Then there was a blast of withering heat, an explosion he felt even through the barrier of the Gulgan. Then nothing.

* * *

Cuculane ran through the forest, a ground-eating lope only matched by gazelles, he could hear the hexapeds out in front of him. All pretense of stealth behind them, the beasts screamed as they lead Cuculane's own hell-hounds through the forest at breakneck speeds. Cuculane moved with feline grace, gripping his spear ahead of him, leaping clear of the brush and landing on the other side and listening. The sword on his back was only of arm's length but with a blade so sharp, it could slice through the trunk of a tree with ease; he feared it would still not be enough.

Cuculane's armor barely moved, and made nary a sound, even at his full out run. It was comprised of a mesh of qubar chain and ceramic plates that were light but strong and did not obstruct his movement. The armor would deflect a longbow or a bullet with equal facility. His legs were relatively lightly armored with only a warded mithral mesh to protect them. A silvered hobnail boot with a raised knob and a protective sole would keep him safe from the razor grass of his family's keep in Avalon. He wore no helm, it interfered with his super-acute hearing.

His eyes were dark, strange pools of liquid blackness, with no irises, and no vision. Their lack of vision did not prevent him from knowing every step, every tree, every blade of grass, each whispered to him its location, its temperament, and submitted to his will, moving aside if possible, warning him if not. Each step was sure, powerful and propelled him to greater effort. Listening to the wind, it still spoke of the tragedy of King Fagan's death, spreading it from tree to tree, each shuddering with the news before passing it to the next one. Cuculane heard their whisperings and remembered...

He woke up covered in a fine rock powder, in his mouth, on his skin, in his hair. He had been unconscious for only a few minutes, but it was long enough. The wind screamed at him, berated him, consoled him. He strode into the center of the court and found thirty of the six legged armor-plated monstrosities strewn about King Fagan's body.

The nearby trees extolled the horror of the creatures landing within them, burning with awful fire and lying dead beneath them, at least a score or more. The castle walls wept chips of stone and bemoaned to Cuculane where the creatures were blown through them with such force, people on the other sides were killed by shrapnel. The air was alive with the screams of terror, pain, and suffering.

Kneeling, he touched the High King, held his hand and felt the life leave him. King Fagan, Firelord of Caer Caleban, High King of New Avalon fought valiantly and his body showed the signs. He had invoked his balfor armor and its black, ensorcelled, stone covered his body from head to food. Not that it mattered, the creatures tore slashes through it as if it were little more than a delicate foil, leaving deep and terrible gashes all across his body, a lesser man would have died seconds after receiving any one of them.

The Gulgan contained the explosion destroying only the tower, every living thing within it and then itself. Without it, the entire castle and the city surrounding it would have been destroyed. There was no way this many enemies could appear on the grounds of the castle... unless they had help.

Thaddeus Howze © 2010, All Rights Reserved

Ebook stats, and the Slush Pile...

Posted by Larry Winfield on September 11, 2010 at 9:43pm

I have my novel placed in about a dozen ebook sites, either for sale or for free download. Only half of these keep stats, but so far i have 845 copies of the book downloaded, and 494 times the novel has been viewed online. Granted, there are very few sales, but then, this is an ebook and the goal is exposure, so I'm happy with these numbers, for now.

---

On another front, I had a disturbing thought the other day - that the growing number of self-published novels in individual author sites and free (or low price) ebook sites, all clamoring for sales or reviews, is becoming the online manifestation of the ubiquitous 'slush pile,' destined to languish in electronic obscurity no matter how well written or received they may be, if the authors aren't pushing them at publishing companies. Am I included in this literary limbo?

I thought at first that because I didn't have the $500 or more for a professional editor or proofreader to comb through my manuscript, just having a single grammar or spelling error would condemn my novel forever, but looking around the blogosphere, I actually found some comfort.

What actually qualifies as slush or truly crappy writing? According to DustinM from 'Who Is Going to Read the Slush Pile?' at Blog Fiction:

By 'Crap', I don't mean stories that are trite or have characters that aren't "real". By Crap I mean major, awful, blunders. Things like:

* The Story isn't finished and stops either mid chapter or even mid-sentence
* Spelling and Grammar is so atrocious that it's hard to understand
* Blatant Plagiarism (word-for-word) or even more suble versions like (same story with changed names & dates)
* Doesn't match the story or description
* Huge logic or story blunders, like a character's name gets changed half way through the story.
* The story is missing either a beginning, middle, or end

That made me feel a lot better. So, going by that measure, really terrible writing should be easy enough to spot. In that case, just how much slush is actually in the 'slush pile'?

I found a couple encouraging points at Salon.com, in the letters section replying to a June 22nd article "When anyone can be a published author" by Laura Miller:

"Fears of slush are greatly overstated

I've read slush for a living before, and I've worked for a top five New York publisher. Almost all of it is obviously garbage two or three pages in, and can be summarily dismissed without much effort.

Personally, I'm all for the replacement of gatekeepers with tastemakers. There is a much lighter touch to the latter. Do the genuinely funny youtube videos have a hard time rising to prominence? Not that I've seen. Reading literary fiction certainly involves a greater investment of attention, but I'm confident the same dynamic can prevail.

—Sylvain "

"The Revolution will not go through Manhattan

This whole idea of the publishing industry being just a bunch of well-meaning literature lovers puttering around their tiny little cluttered NY offices is nonsense. Publishing is controlled by large multi-national conglomerates. The industry is driven by marketing. When the self-publishing revolution topples it, will there be bad books? Sure. (There are plenty of bad books now, so I don't see why we have to nod obediently when the publishing industry tells us that we don't know what we're talking about). Something else better will rise in its place.

Besides, pretty much every other art form has embraced DIY. Take music for example, you can write an album, play every instrument and sing, record and distribute and it yourself and nobody gives a shit about that, as long as it's good. Same for film and visual arts. Only in books is DIY a stigma. And I understand why: it is a direct threat to their business. And that is all.

—AchillesisCrying"

Ok, so I feel a lot less slushy now, at least until my book gets thoroughly molested by agents or prospective publishers regardless of the fans I've won so far. Cool...

How We Can Promote Afro Speculative Fiction

Posted by Stafford Battle on September 11, 2010 at 1:00pm

A comment has been posted on the Internet about "How Should We Promote Black Sci-Fi?" I respond, "Writers of African speculative fiction could have a significant presence in the literary world if we use the Web correctly."

We must cross link. Meaning, use BSFS as the hub, but always, place web hyperlinks on your individual web sites to find other pages related to our genre. Google does a TERRIBLE job of finding links to African American speculative fiction or African American Science Fiction. Be sure to use appropriate meta tags on your web pages so that readers can find you.

Search for your web site frequently, and take action to improve your rankings.

Visit all our sites. See me here and at:

http://www.sbattle.com

http://ww.afroscifi.net

http://www.africanamericansciencefiction.com

If you are not listed, send me an email. I will list and promote your book or site for FREE.

Toys Wonderful Toys!!!

Posted by Terrence D Thompson on September 8, 2010 at 11:29pm

Here are the deets of my toys. I will reveal the quote prices when I get them. Depending on what it costs, will decide if go with http://www.patchtogether.com/.

THE AGE OF SLEEPING

The world man knows is customizable planet called a Walkabout. A ever changing sphere half,made of "Core Elements" that can refined into any
"source" that is demanded. A time and place when man spends his entire
life in his spacesuit.These suits serve as
habitat,transportation,communication ,ect. Virtual luggage for the mind
and body that can reproduce every human function while adding new ones.
The mind moves the behemoth, not the body you born with ,it is all but
obsolete. Our flesh these days serves only as "plan b". The idea was
to give us the capability to survive indefinitely over any
distance,environment, or terrain. Remember, beware of any"body" wearing
"clothes" which acronym for weapon. "All dressed up and no place to
go",maybe the death of you!

CHARACTERS

SHIN_KAWA: A "wataru" who avoids the towns and regularly awake and outside his spacesuit. Its his personal preference to "exist". His secret dream is
to dress up enough so he can fight his back to humans who live
naturally.

HID_EO: She bullies others with a powerful clothed soldier spacesuit,she is absolutely in love with this existence. HID is taken back when she meets SHIN who is not afraid of
her while inside or out of his suit!

DOWNLOAD C.O.D OST FREE EP PREVIEW WTF !!!

Posted by Terrence D Thompson on September 8, 2010 at 11:17pm

A manga with free ep ost? Hell yes!! I dont limit myself to any one genre jerkface!

My good friend RILL ILL hip hop remixed anime and VG songs I hand picked! I wanted these songs remixed for at least 3+ years or more!

SNIPPET C.O.D OST PREVIEW

WAITED SOOOO LONG!

Posted by Terrence D Thompson on September 8, 2010 at 10:47pm

I know many have waited a long time for this. I thought it would be a good time for a art dump and sneak preview! All doubts aside guys, full steam ahead!

CORE OF DREAMING is the official title of my book! C.O.D is a short story compilation graphic novel.

Genre? Let me think...get ready for mouth full.. (of words) SHORT STORY SCIENCE FANTASY FEATURING OTACKU ACTIVISM AS SEEN THROUGH BLUE COLLAR EYES!!

NO BS INNER FANBOY: Gee terrthom that tells me jack and sh!t about whats actually in the book!

Oeffingkay!! Finally after all these years,what will you see in C.O.D? Welllll....

Giant Robots

Tony touch

Big booty tactical espionage

Gurren Laggan Air Yeezys

Pokeman smoking blunts

Briman47

Invisible swords in 3d

Medium Robots

Black people

Swammy

Machine gun weilding contortionist

Steampunk rednecks

Big Daddy Boone

Otacku Activism

Anthony,Ryan, and Joseph

Jehuty g-string

Little robots

Jello

Stretch

1877

Spectacular Weekend in Atlanta

Posted by Diane on September 5, 2010 at 11:02pm

What can I say?

Alien Encounters had great interviews and panel discussions at the Auburn Research Library, I met fellow BSFS'ers, listened to Avery Brooks break the science for those who did not know Paul Robeson, Samuel Delany and others, and finally got lots of pics of my folk doin' the costume thing a

t DragonCon.

I've posted the first series of pics on the Black Author Showcase facebook page, so click and take a look ( I probably have a picture of you sideways).

Oh, and did I mention I have some great video snippets of Avery Brooks? I tried to get a brother to say my name, but that didn't work out.

So check back here and on the Black Author Showcase for the latest from this fantastic Labor Day weekend.

BLOGS

All Posts (6487)

In the Spring of the Tree

Writer's Notes

Post-Occupation: Part One

Chaos Chronicals digitized

The Aspect War - Chapter 5

A Fall to Earth, Chapter 1

fragmented truth bits in layers of lies

The Destruction of the Universe and the Comic/SF Genre

Scramble for Africa (the remix)...

BLOG NEWS GENESIS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF BLACK SCIENCE FICTION & MORE

My Favorite Thing Right Now . . .

The Aspect War - Prologue & Chapter 1 - Slumber

Currently Reading: "Best African American Fiction 2010"

The Aspect War - Chapter 4

Ebook stats, and the Slush Pile...

How We Can Promote Afro Speculative Fiction

Toys Wonderful Toys!!!

DOWNLOAD C.O.D OST FREE EP PREVIEW WTF !!!

WAITED SOOOO LONG!

Spectacular Weekend in Atlanta

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