 
There Goes the Neighborhood

Earthly Fantasy/Science Fiction Short Stories

by

Gary J. Davies

Published by Gary J. Davies on Smashwords

There Goes the Neighborhood; Earthly Fantasy/Science Fiction Short Stories

Copyright 2013 Gary J. Davies

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free e-book. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to download their own free copy.

These stories are works of fiction created by the author and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are a production of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my wife Susan, who puts up with my time consuming hobbies, and to my favorite author James P. Blaylock for his early enchanting and inspiring elf-laced fantasy novels. Special thanks to my artist-brother Robert Davies for creating the dragon of the cover.

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Contents

Introduction

1. There Goes the Neighborhood (An odd neighbor and house materialize overnight.)

2. Perchance To Dream (Cryogenic dreams.)

3. The Shrinking Nuts Case (A private detective confronts ultimate shrinkage.)

4. Critters (A father confronts critters and ghosts.)

5. Cube (An alien artifact confounds its human guardians.)

6. The Cursing of the Bikes (A Demon Hunter looking for pie encounters a demon biker.)

7. A Quiet Retirement (A retiree with elfin niece encounters the supernatural.)

8. Turtle Talk (Turtles respond to ecological holocaust.)

9. The Walking Man (An unscrupulous businessman encounters a curse.)

10. Dragon Dreams (A psychic detective confronts a murderous demon.)

11. Solution to an Employment Problem (A scientist makes use of another universe.)

12 The Myth Makers (Off-Earth humans cope with their past and future.)

13. In His Image (Technology displaces humanity.)

14. Izzy's Last Thoughts (A space-alien crashes to Earth.)

15. Perfect Shower Day (A naive man discovers what's behind his perfect showers.)

16. Farsight (Psychic human confronts people-hunting alien.)

17. Virtual John (Man becomes virtual.)

18. If Einstein Could Fly (Future Earth alternative to technology.)

19. Ageless (Immortality both accepted and avoided.)

20. Raising Baby (The dragon of story #1 attracts danger.)

About the Author and Pending Novels

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Introduction

The short fantasy/science fiction stories of this collection mostly take place on contemporary Earth, or on some slightly futuristic or altered Earth where a technology, ghost, dragon, demon, curse, or space-alien intrudes. Only two of the stories include off-Earth action. Vampires and zombies are steadfastly avoided. Sex and violence is not explicitly presented; such detail is not germane. The stories are in no particular order except for the first story and its sequel the last story, which influenced the title chosen for the collection and provided inspiration for the dragon cover art.

Short stories are a wonderful format for both author and readers. For the author, it is very satisfying to take a story idea and bring it to first-draft fruition in a short time: a story concept that inexplicably pops into the writer's head can result in a full first draft within days. Short stories also provide value to the author because they sometimes inspire or otherwise provide useful material for novels. Characters, settings, plots, and even entire short stories of this collection have been reused by this author as starting points for novels.

The interesting challenge for the author of the short story is to craft in a relatively few pages a complete and pleasing enough story to be worthy of the attention of both the writer and readers. To accomplish this, the author has the advantage of much greater flexibility than is practical with novels. For example because of much smaller size and complexity, significant short-story re-writes are relatively easy, including changes in plot, characters, or voice.

Novels present the ultimate challenge for the story author. Novels more completely create an alternative reality, characters, and experiences which for an extended time can be shared with readers. The accomplishment is great but the price is very high. Novels can take years to write, requiring a huge commitment of time and effort that is lost if the effort falters. It has been my unfortunate experience when writing novels to encounter 'writer's block' in mid-story. When writing a short story such difficulties are rarer and far less consequential.

From the reader's perspective, there are similar short story advantages. Since the entire story is conveniently compact, reading it requires only a few minutes or hours, after which normal life can resume for the reader. This contrasts favorably with novels, which may cost the reader several precious days and nights of committed reading time to consume. Midway through reading a novel, there is risk that a mid-story reading crisis may develop wherein the reader simply wants the story to be over with - a sort of 'reader's block'. More annoying still, a story plot may require several novel-length volumes to come to a satisfactory conclusion, greatly increasing the required reader resource commitment. Reading a short story is inherently a short-duration, low risk activity.

Note: This is the re-edited 2017 version of the 2013 original. Only minor corrections have been made. Thank you, readers, for your warm and helpful remarks with regard to the original release!

Enjoy!

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Return to Contents

There Goes the Neighborhood

Earthly Fantasy/Science Fiction Short Stories

1.

There Goes the Neighborhood

My wife Marjorie noticed it first, as I happened to still be busy driving the old Ford at the time, and was essentially brain-dead after two hundred blissfully boring miles of it. "My God, Ed!" she exclaimed. "There's a new house right next-door to ours!"

"Huh?" I mumbled numbly, as I pulled off Valley Road onto our driveway. At our rural hide-away we didn't have any close neighbors, except for Thornhill further up the road, and he was more of an anti-neighbor. I had heard Marge plainly enough and understood her words, but their impact was dulled by the fact that they didn't make any sense whatsoever! Nor did the sight that greeted me when I finally looked in the direction that she was excitedly pointing!

Indeed there it was, a white Cape Cod style house, sitting in the midst of a well landscaped yard, in what had been an uninhabited wooded lot full of wild pine, spruce, oak, maple and birch when we left for our summer vacation only two weeks earlier. "Son of a gun!" I exclaimed, absolutely dumbfounded. I also felt deeply disturbed. This was our sanctuary from the rest of the world, and now that sanctity was being violated by some unknown intruder(s)!

"It must be one of those modular homes," reasoned Marge. "You know, the kind that they bring in on trucks and throw up in only a couple of days."

"But just look at it!" I exclaimed, as I exited the car and walked numbly towards the immaculate white picket fence that now formed a border between properties. "It doesn't even look new! It looks older than our own house! Well, maybe not older exactly, but you know, better established. Just look at the landscaping and fence! Bushes and trees and grass like that don't just appear overnight! And those flowers!"

"Brought in by professional landscapers, I would imagine, Ed. How else could it have been done?"

Of course she was right; she had to be.

"Mike Thornhill must have had a change of heart," she noted.

"Thornhill?" I had been so overcome by the sheer impossibility of the mechanics of the thing, and traumatized by the prospect of having an immediate neighbor, that I hadn't seen the big picture. Suddenly, everything became clear. "Thornhill, that bastard, he must have sold out to some developer! He knew that we would be on our annual summer vacation, and he got all this done while we were away just to avoid trouble." I marched off down our driveway towards the road.

"Where are you going, Ed?" Marge asked. "We have to unpack the car!"

"That can wait. I'm going to give Thornhill what-for, Marge. It won't change anything, but maybe I'll feel better."

Thornhill owned all the land along this stretch of Valley Road except ours. We had been trying to buy the lots next to ours from him for years, to prevent anyone from building on them. But he had refused, saying that's why he bought all the lots around ours in the first place, to prevent more neighbors like us, and that he suspected that if we owned them we'd build on the lots ourselves. Now the slimy bastard had gone and done it himself, obviously as a low blow against us!

Thornhill's place was a couple of hundred yards up the road. His big old farmhouse on a hill overlooked a mile length of Valley Road, rather as a feudal castle or plantation mansion might overlook the holdings of subjugated peasants. But Mike Thornhill was even more of an isolationist than Marge and I; what he wanted to see was his own woods and fields, not neighbors. When Marge and I moved in twelve years ago, things had nearly come to blows. Something momentous must have happened for him to change his mind. Maybe these new folks were relatives of his? That prospect sent new chills down my spine. I imagined a monstrous army of Mike Thornhill look-alikes of various sexes, sizes, and ages, all dedicated to driving Marge and I bananas.

When Thornhill finally answered the door after several minutes of my ringing and pounding, I almost didn't recognize the man. His gaping eyes were fearful and bloodshot, and his hair and clothes disheveled, as though he hadn't slept or groomed in days. He seemed to have shrunk in height by several inches, gained years, and lost dozens of pounds of muscle. His normally robust farm-exercised frame now seemed hardly more physically imposing than my own thin, desk-potato body.

To my surprise, he seemed actually happy and relieved to see me. Before I could utter a single word he shook my hand vigorously, hugged me, and pulled me into his living room as if I were some long-lost brother of his.

"Really glad to see you, Ed; this thing is driving me nuts!"

He wasn't going to get off easy by being friendly. "Listen here, Thornhill, you told us that you bought up all the land around ours to prevent more neighbors. You said that you wouldn't let anyone build on that land. Even if you changed your mind, why did it have to be the lot right next to ours?"

He shook his head. "Me? No, you've got it all wrong! I didn't do it; nobody sold or built anything!"

The man was loony-tunes. "Then how did that house get next door to mine?" I thundered.

"It was the damnedest thing, Ed. In the middle of the night a week ago, I heard an explosion. At first I thought it was your place blowing up. Ha! Now that would have been a neat trick to pull while you were gone, wouldn't it?" He grimaced menacingly, giving me just a glimpse of the old shit-head Mike Thornhill, but then the fear returned to his eyes. "I went to investigate, and there it was."

"What was?"

"The inhabited house, the fancy manicured yard full of flowers, the whole damn thing!"

"So it all just magically appeared in the middle of the night?"

"That's it exactly! That's what I've been trying to tell folks, but they don't believe me. I can't even get the county sheriff to come out here. It's got to be evil wood sprites or whatever!"

"Evil wood sprites?"

"My old grand-daddy used to talk about them. But why would a sprite build a people home? Can you answer me that?"

I couldn't begin to. "Have you met the people living in the house?"

"First thing. There's a man living there, but he's weird. A sprite probably, a man-eating fiend! I demanded payment for the land of course, but couldn't even get a straight answer out of him."

"Imagine that," I remarked, as I made my way towards the door. This visit had gotten me nowhere. Either Thornhill had actually gone nuts, or he was pulling a masterful hoax.

"You going to investigate things for yourself?" he asked.

"Maybe."

"You couldn't get me near that evil sprite house again for anything. Don't push too hard, that's my advice; there's no telling what a sprite might do. If something happens to you and your wife, then it will be just me and him again. I sure as hell don't want that!"

"Right, of course not," I replied, as I smiled, nodded, and cautiously walked away. Always humor a crazy person; that's one of my guiding principles in life. I felt safer when I heard his front door slam shut and lock with him inside.

Thornhill was totally bonkers. I would interrogate my new neighbor to find out the truth of things. I wouldn't be confrontational though, I would be friendly, but I would cleverly sneak hard-hitting questions into the conversation.

As I approached the new house, I noticed more oddities about it. There was no driveway or garage, and no car was in sight. Situated out here in the middle of nowhere with no public transportation, how did our new neighbor get around? Bicycle? Also, both along the road in front of the new house and in its front yard everything was perfectly neat and clean; there were no muddy tire tracks, stones, nails, mounds of unused concrete, Coke and beer cans, broken bits of siding and lumber, Twinkie wrappers, cigarette butts, or any of the other typical tell-tale signs of construction. The only two building contractors in the area were Whicomb's and the Belfry Brothers, and neither of them could put up a clothesline without leaving mounds of trash. So who had done this job? I mentally added that question to my growing list.

The red-brick walkway that led from the road to the front porch and door was incredible! The bricks were perfectly uniform and level, and the repeating pattern they formed was intricate and artistic. I couldn't imagine Whicomb or the Belfrys constructing even the walkway, let along the yard or house.

Despite recent near-draught conditions in the area, the yard was more than just neat, it was perfect. The lawn was greenest grass, as pure and pristine as any golf green I have ever seen. I didn't see a single weed, dead twig, or leaf on it anywhere. The trees were glorious; perfect in symmetry and health of leaf and limb. The flowerbeds were full of thousands of spectacular flowers, and everything was in full bloom without a hint of wilt. Many of the flowers were blooming out of season; I had never before seen spring tulips and daffodils bloom in July, along-side summer zinnias and fall mums. There were also thousands of exotic looking flowers that looked like they would be more at home in the tropics or in a green-house than in a northern Wisconsin yard.

The house, a mid-sized Cape Cod with inviting country porch, was similarly perfect, even close up. The siding was smooth and so white that it seemed to glow, but it wasn't vinyl, aluminum, or wood. I poked at it and still couldn't tell what the heck it was. The white front door was similarly without blemish and of mysterious construction. When I knocked on it, it was like trying to knock on a mountain of solid Granite; I gained no sound, but only sore knuckles for my trouble. Fortunately there was a doorbell.

Mere moments after I rang the bell, a short, thin, middle-aged man opened the door to greet me. He looked pleasant and vaguely familiar, not at all the demon that Thornhill had me expecting. In fact, I felt my animosity towards the whole situation rapidly drain away, almost as though having a new neighbor was a good thing. "Yes?" he asked with a wide smile.

"Hello, I'm your next-door neighbor, Ed Shornfeld. I wanted to introduce myself." I returned his smile and extended my hand. He shook it mechanically with a loose and strangely cold grip.

"I have taken the name John Smith. Sorry, I don't normally buy things from door to door sales people, Ed Shornfeld, as may be the custom here."

"Me either."

He paused to consider my response. "Perhaps though, I should appear to attempt an exception in this case, as you are a neighbor. May I ask what you are selling?"

"Can't think of anything," I confessed.

"Most puzzling. Not at all as predicted from research and from Mr. Thornhill's visit. But just as well, as I have as yet acquired none of the esteemed material objects that you describe as money," he admitted. "Of this I informed Mr. Thornhill also."

"That's OK; I just stopped in to say hello."

"My having no money does not discourage you then, as you are not selling anything?"

"Right!"

He smiled even more intently and motioned for me to sit down with him nearby on the porch, in chairs that oddly enough I hadn't noticed before. "It is not then correct to simply assume that a visitor is selling some material thing, or simply wants money, as Mr. Thornhill did?"

"Not around here. This neighborhood is too far from any town to get sales people. You might get a Jehovah's Witness once in a blue moon though."

"I know of no blue moons in this star's planetary system. By the term 'neighborhood' do you refer to your home, that of Mr. Thornhill, and this home?"

"That's a good enough working definition. It's more than a mile to the next bit of civilization."

"And you state that it is too far from the city? Would you like then for this neighborhood to be closer to a city? Which city would you prefer?"

"No, no, I like it right where it is!"

"And you only came to say hello?"

"Yes, to exchange greetings. Would have done it sooner, but my wife and I were on vacation."

He nodded his understanding. "On vacation? Have you found then that it is better in the Bahamas, as has been frequently stated by humans using long-range communications methods?"

"I'm sure that it is, but these humans went to Duluth."

"Very interesting! You support the proposition that it is indeed better in the Bahamas, yet you decided to experience a small nearby city."

"My wife's relatives live there. Besides, vacations are much cheaper in Duluth."

"Cheaper?"

"Cost less money."

"Why?"

"Probably because it is better in the Bahamas."

He nodded his head slowly, as though mulling my statements over, then broke into a smile. "Your vacation and mine may have something in common, Ed Shornfeld. Yet I do not yet fully understand everything you have told me. Perhaps after I study your statements further, additional discussion would be helpful."

"Sure. I'll be available on most summer days, and then on evenings and weekends, after the school-year starts. My wife and I are both school teachers."

"Excellent; I am in a learning mode. Also, I would be most interested in meeting your wife. Your wife is female?"

"Darn tooting she is! Best kind of wife to have, in my view."

"She is apparently the only female human in the neighborhood; I believe it would be very interesting for me to meet her."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice was telling me that this guy was an oddball of yet to be defined eccentricity, and a little too eager to meet Marge, the female human. Marge was a very attractive 34 year-old woman. "I'm sure that the experience will be interesting for her, also," I heard myself say, regardless.

"Will she come here or should I travel to your home?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"Perhaps you should go ask her?" He stood, and I followed his lead.

"I'll go ask her now. Nice meeting you, John." We shook hands again, and this time his grip was properly warm and firm.

"Thank you for stopping-by, Ed Shornfeld," he said, as I turned and started to walk away. "I am encouraged, for your visit has been very helpful to my studies; especially your input confirming the definition of what constitutes the local neighborhood."

"Sure thing, John," I replied. Nice guy, I thought. What was the fuss about? He would make a good neighbor. Right?

As I walked home I tried to make sense of the conversation. We had a few misunderstandings to begin with, but then we fell into an effective sort of rhythm, I thought. Effective from Smith's point of view perhaps, but not from mine! I hadn't asked any of my questions! I realized then that somehow Smith had run the whole thing! The conversation had been odd somehow, in ways that I couldn't quite put my finger on, just as Smith's house and the yard were odd.

The oddness became even more apparent when I recounted the Thornhill and Smith conversations to Marge. She was carrying the last loads of luggage into the house. As her ever helpful husband, I held doors open for her.

"So Smith is a likeable type and will make a good neighbor?" she asked.

"I guess so."

"I thought that you didn't want any neighbors, likable or not?"

"Somehow I'm not so sure about that now."

"And Smith is interested in meeting me?"

"That's the way he put it. Especially once I confirmed that you're a female wife."

"A female wife? Isn't that pretty much standard, even nowadays?"

I shrugged. "He specifically inquired. He also wanted to know if you'd prefer to meet him at his place or ours."

"His, definitely! I want to see this perfect house of his. You say that you sense that he's odd? Maybe he's homosexual, or even from California."

"I don't know if he's quite that odd. Why don't you ask him about his sexual preferences when you meet him? You could cleverly sneak it into the conversation."

"Right. So you want me to simply come out and ask this guy about his sexual preferences; then if he does or doesn't make a pass at me, I suppose **t** hat cinches it."

"Maybe I should go with you."

"I didn't have to go with you."

She had me there. Still, I was a bit apprehensive when she immediately went next-door. I watched TV. Ten minutes went by. I paced in front of the TV. Twenty minutes went by. I peeked at Smith's house through our dining room window with my binoculars. I couldn't see them. They weren't on the porch; they must have gone inside. Smith's window blinds were drawn closed. Thirty minutes went by. I began to practice Kung-Fu moves in front of the dining room mirror, imagining that I was delivering deadly blows to Smith.

Our front door sprang open. "Ed!" announced Marge, "I've brought Johnny to see our place. Why on Earth are you jumping around like that?"

"Aerobics," I replied. "Got to keep fit. Nice to see you again so soon, John." As we shook hands warmly my apprehensions faded away quickly. His hand felt normal I noticed, and his grip had improved even further, as though he had finally learned exactly how shaking hands was supposed to be done.

"I am most impressed by your home and its contents, Ed Shornfeld." He walked about poking gently and reverently picking up common objects from Sears and K-Mart as if they were long-lost art treasures. "To think that all of this was actually physically manufactured, or even made by craft of hand! These objects have astounding texture and detail, including apparent imperfections! How delightful!" He picked up an item and stared at it intently. "What's this?" he asked, with evident awe.

"That's an ashtray," explained Marge. "Just in case a visitor absolutely has to smoke. Not that we'd ever encourage such a thing."

"Ah, yes, I recall the human smoking ritual. But aside from practical utility it is in the likeness of some sort of living creature."

"It's a dragon," I volunteered. "I love dragons, but Marge would only allow one in the living room if it also served as an ashtray."

"A dragon? Yes, yes, I recall them now! They are extinct in this time-frame."

"Unfortunately so," I lamented. "Wisdom and terror in one titanic, scaly, rambunctious package that breathed fire, flew, and lived for centuries. Too bad they're all gone!"

"Wonderful! And these wall fixtures! Were they also produced by craft of hand?"

"Yes, painted by starving artists. Actually, Marge did that big landscape painting. I bought the paint though."

"You are truly gifted, Marjorie," Smith said. "Your work is the best here. But you are not starving I hope?"

"No, Johnny," laughed Marge, "don't be silly. That's just an expression. It reflects an over-supply of art, from an economic viewpoint. Paintings, music, writings, sculptures, you name it; they're mostly dirt-cheap. People produce such things because they enjoy doing so, even if they aren't paid."

"What magnificent object is depicted here?" he asked, pointing to the tree in the foreground of Marge's landscape painting.

"That's a larch tree," explained Marge. "I've always wanted a real one, but I've had to settle for this painting."

"The texture of its foliage is fascinating," he remarked.

We let Smith wander all through the house and answered his dumb questions, one after the other. Kitchen, bathroom, basement; every place and every thing seemed to be full of wondrous surprises for him. Despite his obvious intelligence, all of his knowledge seemed to be superficial. It was as if the man had attended a few seminars on living, but had no direct experience with it. I began to wander if he had recently suffered from total amnesia, or escaped from an asylum or monastery.

But that didn't fit either. Even an escaped monk would know what a toilet is for, and that kitchens are used to prepare food, which is then eaten, and so forth all the way to the toilet experience. But such concerns were in the background, for Marge and I were totally captivated by John's child-like innocence, friendly charm, and boundless curiosity.

It was many hours before he finally left us, at which time our point of view dramatically changed. After we ran to the bathrooms and wolfed down some fast food in the kitchen, we sat in the living-room and talked about our odd visitor.

"Am I going crazy Marge, or did we just give a total stranger an exhaustive tour of our home, and tell him all we know about everything from sex on waterbeds to using anti-cling sheets in the drier?"

"At least he seemed to already know something about sex; he mentioned having learned about it on TV."

"That's right; he did make several references to having seen this and that on TV, as if it were his main source of knowledge. What I'd like to know is how he got to be middle-aged without knowing what a toilet is. At least he didn't ask for a tour of our yard."

"But he did! That's where we were before we came inside."

"I thought that you were in his house the whole time!"

"No, I never even got a glimpse of the inside of his house. I mentioned right off how spectacular his yard was, and he insisted that he see ours. We went to our backyard and I swear that he fussed over every single plant, even the dead ones. He examined closely that strange old circle of rocks in our yard that the Indians made, and then he went bananas over living insects and birds; it was as if he had never seen real ones before."

"Creepy."

"But only now that we stop to think about it."

"Say, did he look familiar to you?"

"No, not at all," she answered. But then her jaw dropped and she pointed at the TV, which she had been casually watching as we talked.

My jaw probably dropped too. There was John Smith, our John Smith, doing a TV commercial! He even introduced himself as John Smith as part of the commercial! What's more, there was his Cape-Cod house, or at least the front of it. The commercial itself had something to do with a delivery service; I didn't pay attention to the details. So this was why Smith looked familiar to me when we first met; I must have seen that commercial before! We hadn't seen any TV while on vacation. That meant that the commercial was made before Smith and the house arrived here! As we watched, the commercial aired again, and I wrote down details about it.

What did it all imply? Was Smith an eccentric actor who took the name of his TV character and designed his home to look like the TV prop?

I spent the next morning on the phone, finding out that the commercial was made in Hollywood, and that the actor's name was Nathan Osborne, not Smith. Osborne could not be reached. I gave his answering service my name and number, and told them that I had an acting job for Osborne.

Several days went by, with several hours of each of them occupied by Smith. He would drop in and ask us this or that about practically anything at all, and for some reason we cooperated fully. Each time after he left, we would swear to each other that the next time that Smith showed up we would politely tell him that we were on our way out, or simply too busy to talk to him. But then whenever he returned, we would again fall all over ourselves to do whatever he wanted. We re-toured portions of our house and yard, and watched TV together while Smith asked naïve questions about the programs. While we did that I hoped that Smith's commercial would air, but it didn't.

One day a couple of weeks after it all started, as Smith watched me work in my backyard, I pointed out exactly where Marge always wanted her larch tree to be located. The next morning we discovered a superb 60 feet tall larch in that very spot! Marge insisted that it must have been Smith's mystery landscapers, but I knew better. "How? When? We've been home the whole time! Wouldn't we have noticed a monster truck and whatever equipment it takes to dig an elephant-sized root-ball hole and put a twenty-plus ton tree into it?"

"Did they dig?" Marge asked. "Look at the flowers and lawn surrounding the trunk. It's the same stuff that's been there all along!"

I looked. She was right. There were my marigolds, right where I had left them, growing right up to the trunk of the massive larch. With a shovel I poked around, and concluded that no earth near the tree had been recently disturbed. Thornhill's wood sprite theory was looking better all the time.

From my infrequently used liquor cabinet I retrieved brandy and chugged some down to calm myself so that I could further talk this all over with Marge. "Maybe I should go ask Thornhill what else he knows about wood sprites," I suggested.

"Don't be silly, Ed. Sprites, mites! Its Hollywood landscapers, that's what it is. Our new neighbor is a bigger and richer actor than we know about, that's all. If Johnny told them not to harm your precious marigolds, then they simply dug them up and put them back so carefully that you can't even tell that they did it. Don't see that lunatic Thornhill again, just ask Johnny about it!"

Maybe it was the booze, but Marge's landscaper theory was now looking better to me than the wood sprite alternative. In my mind, I tried to picture an army of stealth-Hollywood landscapers in black ninja outfits and night-vision goggles, sneaking around in our back yard in the dead of night, using sound-muffled tree planting equipment to plant the larch after they floated everything into the yard quietly by giant dirigible. Just then the phone rang.

"Shornfeld? Nathan Osborne here," said the voice. "My service says that you might have a job for me, mate."

"You sound British," I replied. "Are you really the Nathan Osborne that played John Smith in the SHIPIT commercial?"

"That's me. But gawd, mate, I'm an Aussie, not a bloody Brit! I can sound American like I did in that SHIPIT flit, or give you whatever other accent you want, even British. It's my specialty! I have three more days of shooting here in Hollywood on a Pepsi flit, then I'm free for whatever you need."

"You're in Hollywood?"

"I'm wherever you want me mate, for the right money."

"You haven't been living here in Wisconsin for the last couple of weeks?"

"I have apartments in Hollywood and the Big Apple. Where's Wisconsin, mate? Near Miami?"

"But there's a man and a house here in Wisconsin that look exactly like you and that house in the SHIPIT flit!"

"It's not me or that Hollywood stage-house mate. Maybe you've just got copies of us," he laughed.

I didn't laugh. My head was spinning. Copies? Suddenly I realized that's exactly what everything next door was, copies: too-perfect versions of grass, trees, house siding, and so forth! And John Smith himself, what was he really?

Our doorbell rang. Our old-timey phone cord was long enough for me to peek outside through a window. It was Smith. I mumbled some apologies to Osborne and hung up. Then I numbly let Smith in, as I had done dozens of times before.

"Thank you so much for the larch, John; it's so beautiful," said Marge, unsuspecting.

"Think nothing of it. It's a real tree though, unlike mine, so take care of it. I wanted to leave you with mementos of my visit; you've both been so wonderful!"

A real tree unlike his? I realized that John had been blatantly throwing us hints about himself the whole time, hints that I had put aside as merely evidence of an odd point of view or manner of speech.

"You're leaving?" Marge asked, stunned. I was both relieved and saddened by the prospect. Whoever or whatever John was, I had to admit that I genuinely liked the guy!

"Alas, I confess that my vacation time is complete. I must today return to my usual work."

"Which is?" I asked, hoping against hope that he'd say 'acting.'

"The closest parallel in your society is probably a used car salesman." I must have looked shocked. "In my world it's an honorable profession," he added.

"Your world?" asked Marge, puzzled.

"I am not at liberty to divulge details of course, but my world is not this one, as you have probably long suspected. Nowadays you humans would call me a space alien."

"We have noticed a few oddities," I said, putting my arm around Marge to help keep her from collapsing to the floor. She was of course shocked to learn that Smith was a space alien, while I was actually relieved that he wasn't an evil wood sprite.

He nodded in agreement. "Oddities, yes. We try to blend in, but our skills are imperfect. We make use of contemporary human artifacts and myths. Quaint concept, using space ships to travel about in. In the past we used to simply appear mysteriously in your forests and your people used to call us wood sprites."

Damn! Thornhill was right!

"I think that you blend into this neighborhood very well Johnny, wherever you're from," said Marge, forcing a smile. I could tell that she was close to tears. Whoever or whatever Smith was, he was still Johnny, her friend. She walked to her landscape painting, took it off the wall, and handed it to Smith. "Please accept this gift from us."

"Why thank you, Marjorie!" gushed Smith, who seemed to be sincerely moved. "Hand made! You have no idea how much I will treasure it! We lost such skills long ago."

"You could have copied it, or bought or taken anything you wanted from this planet," I remarked.

"No. A copy would be just that; it would be easily detectable as a copy by one of my species. As for buying or stealing, that is not permitted. Gifts between friends are allowed however, and warmly welcomed." The painting simply disappeared then; it had apparently been instantly transported away by Smith!

The action brought gasps from Marge and I. "Your superior science seems like astounding magic to us," I remarked.

He shook his head. "No, actually our superior magic seems like astounding science to you. We don't bother with science. But I'm sorry, I am in a bit of a rush, and there is one more subject to address." He looked at us sadly. "I really hate to bring this up; you've both been so good to me! I've hardly had to influence you with spells at all."

"For heaven's sake Johnny, what is it?" asked Marge.

"Specimen collection. Even though this is primarily a vacation, I am obligated to bring one of my sentient study subjects with me back to my home world. Permanently."

A cold shock ran down my spine. I stepped closer to Marge, put a protective arm around her, and she held me tightly in return.

"I was wondering if you two would miss Thornhill terribly?" asked Smith.

I had visions of the three of us waving good-by to a gloating Thornhill from a spacecraft as we flew away.

"He won't make as good a test subject as either of you two, but I take it that you would rather stay here together?"

"Afraid so," I stammered, greatly relieved. "I'm sure that being a test subject would be an honor and an adventure, but we would rather stay here and together, of course."

Marge nodded in agreement. "You won't hurt Thornhill, will you?"

"Certainly not. He'll live like the king he always wanted to be, for the most part. Very well then, it's settled. Good-bye my friends."

Smith and I shook hands, and Marge gave him a big hug.

"Oh, by the way, the tree was for Marge, but I left something from Earth's past underneath it for you, Ed. If you take proper care of it, it should grow to be much bigger than the tree. Good-by." With that he winked out of sight, as the painting had before him.

We ran outside and looked next-door. No house could be seen; Smith's yard was a kaleidoscope of twisting misty colors and flashes of light. In a few moments it all cleared, to be replaced by the familiar missing woods of pre-Smith days, while a house-sized flying saucer silently rose above the trees. At a large window in the craft we could clearly see Smith. He was smiling and waving at us. Standing next to him was poor Thornhill, with his terrified face and clenched hands pressed against the window. Then the thing shot up and disappeared into the clouds without a sound.

After a few moments of stunned silence, we both ran to the back yard. Under the larch was an enormous green egg-shaped object. As we stood gaping at it, it cracked open, and out clawed a three-foot long dragon, much like the ashtray dragon in our living room. Its predominantly green scales, spikes, and spiny frills glistened like emeralds, and from its fang-filled mouth a long red forked tongue flitted about, tasting the air. Its eyes were at first white with red pupils, but moments later they shifted to pitch- black while it looked about as though searching for something. When finally the eyes focused on me they quickly returned back to their original flashy red and white colors. The monstrous looking thing squawked and crawled to me, where it rubbed against my legs like a friendly cat, with apparent affection.

"Well son of a gun!" I remarked. "There goes the neighborhood!"

****

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2.

Perchance To Dream

Absolute zero, or close to it anyway, that's how cold the cryogenics people promised that my body would be kept. My so-called death was painless as promised; it was like going to sleep. I now await my second life. I'll be revived in a future world where my cancer problems will disappear as easy as a finger-snap.

They didn't say anything about dreaming though, if that's what this is. Fortunately I drift in and out of it, or I'd go crazy. I still might, unless they wake me soon. Hang in there Johnny!

The wheels on the specially designed gurney that carried the body squealed in protest of the cold as Mark maneuvered it out of the deep freeze and into the lab, where Mary was already calibrating the neuron scanner. Mark was glad to be back in the lab, where the temperature was only slightly below freezing, and there was another live human being with him; that freezer full of bodies gave him the creeps. Mary gave him other feelings. "Clamp the head in a little further down, Mary. That's better. Say, we've done this now hundreds of times, is something still bugging you?" Mark helped her adjust the scan focus.

"Just the same-old same-old. If there's still brain activity, how do we know they're really dead?"

"Because the court says so, that's how. Cryogenics as recently practiced has been officially declared to be assisted suicide, which is illegal again, thanks to the fickleness of the law and public opinion. So somehow our genius research gurus got dibs on the freed-up frozen material, and here we are. End of story. Pass me the other leg strap. I don't want this one thawing out and kicking me in the balls as I slice him up, like that one tried to do last week."

"That was a reflex action," she laughed. "Anyway he missed you by a mile. Probably not enough of a target. The room temperature control has been fixed though, so it won't happen again. This frozen stiff will stay that way all day. But don't talk about the stiffs that way, Mark; they're people, not simply material. Maybe you're pissing them off."

"They're not people when we get through with them."

"Thanks for that news flash. What I mean is, we don't really know for sure that they're not thinking, otherwise we wouldn't be doing this research in the first place. Ready yet for the laser slicer?"

To sleep, perchance to dream? The rub is, my thought, though perhaps slowed, seems clearer than ever. Maybe it has to do with super-conductivity and less randomness at low temperatures. That hypothesis seems unlikely, but of course what does anybody really know about the frozen human mind? More brain research is needed.

Not by me though, I'm going to do something different, next time around after I'm thawed out and revived. Paula. That was her name. I'll do research on a girl like Paula. I can remember her clearly. Boobs the size of melons. She was hitting on me, I know it, but somehow I let the opportunity slip right by me! I didn't know how the hell to deal with women then; things will be different in my second life.

"Listen Mary, they aren't thinking anything at all, not the way we do; there are just a few random flashes of the neurons going on in the frozen material that the researchers want to study. They don't know exactly what the activity signifies, but believe me, it can't be much. Speaking of activity, have you got any plans for tonight?"

"Is that all you think about? They warned me in school about doctors, but they skipped the chapter on horny lab-techs."

"Well, I'd be happy to complete your education. But about these cryo-stiffs, Mary: you think too much about this stuff. There's a better chance that five hundred monkeys with typewriters would come up with Shakespeare than our researchers will find that these stiffs have any coherent thoughts whatsoever. Meanwhile I'll keep slicing away their brains with this laser and you'll just keep scanning for final synaptic activity, until the Ph.D. types upstairs say they've got it all figured out. Pass me the laser, and let's get cooking."

For in that sleep of death....

"Mark, what victim number was that, by the way?" Mary asked, as hours later she washed her hands. They weren't bloody, even after dealing with thousands of sections of brain sliced thin enough for her to scan before they thawed. Not even her gloves had directly touched the frozen flesh; but she scrubbed her hands thoroughly several times anyway.

Mark glanced at the file. "Number H-33B, 55731, if it means anything to you. Ha! Well look at this, the dude's name was Dr. John Rubin, MD! The guy was a frigging MD!"

"John Rubin? Didn't he do brain research upstairs in this very building? Christ, that would be ironic, wouldn't it? But no, not that number, Mark, I mean the one you keep for yourself."

Mark pulled a little note pad out of his shirt pocket. "The Doc was number 500 for us, on the dot."

"That's what I thought," she laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about what you said earlier about five hundred monkeys with typewriters. Even with just random neuron activity, could this one have been thinking Shakespeare? Maybe the big brains upstairs will someday decipher my neuron measurements and find out that they mean that he was thinking of a line from Shakespeare when you sliced him up. Maybe this guy's brain represents monkey number five hundred, and my neural activity measurements represent the typewriter."

"Not a chance Baby, I've been to the zoo, and I KNOW what those horny little monkey dudes are always thinking about! Not Shakespeare, that's for damn sure. Let's go to my apartment and I'll show you what they really think about!"

"That IS all you can think about, isn't it!" she said, laughing.

"To the very end and beyond, Baby."

"Not tonight Mark, I have relatives visiting again. Another rain-check?" She gave him a quick consolation hug. Visit your apartment, Mark? Ha! Not in your lifetime!

"Sure Mary. I'll see you in the morning." Boobs big as melons, he thought, licking his lips. Maybe tomorrow night!

As she walked out the door smiling, she paused and looked back at him. "I'll see you in the morning. You slice the monkey, and I'll work the typewriter! Baby!"

****

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3.

The Shrinking Nuts Case

Wham! Something massive but soft hit me like a ton of marshmallows, waking me up and crushing the wind out of me. Hell, I couldn't even utter a curse!

"Where is Jake, you little pervert!" roared an inhumanly deep voice. Wham! Wham! Wham!

It was one bitch-of-a fantasy/nightmare come true! Between blows I looked up in the dim light to see a truly colossal dame: voluptuous, dark haired, pissed off, completely naked, and holding an enormous pillow in her huge hands, with which she was beating the crap out of me. "I am Jake!" I was finally able to blurt out between the crushing blows. The beating stopped. Lights came on.

"Boss! Is it really you? Oh my God!" bellowed the giant, clearly distressed.

I finally looked up past the stunning bod and recognized the face of Elaine, my secretary. Now I recognized the rest of her too; I had seen it all before often enough, but not this huge. When Elaine finds me sleeping at the office she often wakes me up with a little sex. Triples her value to me as an employee, and I figure it makes up for the low pay I give her. But what had happened to her? She looked twelve feet tall at least, and sounded like a tuba!

I slipped off the sofa, and got another little shock. Standing up involved a drop to the floor of several feet, and left me standing in an enormous room with twenty-foot ceilings and giant furniture. It sure looked like my private-detective office all right, but it was huge! I also noticed that I was wearing only a giant baggy white tea-shirt that dragged on the floor. Though still soft the material it was made of was almost as heavy as canvas. "What gives, Baby?" I asked the giant Elaine. "Why is everything king-sized?"

"You shrank, Boss!" she said excitedly, as if a crazy statement like that could explain anything, while she put her clothes back on.

Hell, at that point I didn't even mind losing the view! There are a few things, like death, taxes, or apparently talk about your body shrinking, that can sometimes get a guy's mind off sex temporarily. "People don't just shrink Baby!" I said sarcastically. I sat down in my leather recliner; or rather I climbed up into it. "Besides, wouldn't I feel it happening?" I was shifting my butt and pushing to get the huge chair to recline, but it wouldn't budge in inch. "Shi-i-t!" I appropriately complained.

"Who the heck knows what it feels like? This ever happen to you before? And your voice is higher too, Boss. That's because your vocal cords and everything have been shrunk proportionally. Your linear dimensions have shrunk by well over 50% I estimate, and you cube that to figure out the mass loss. By the way, with an over 88% drop in body mass you might as well forget about getting that thing to recline. Anyway, length and mass reduction no doubt explain the multi-octave change in your voice pitch. You sound like a chipmunk."

She was showing off her university degrees and brains again, and though it usually bugs me when anyone does that, especially when it's a beautiful woman, at the moment I was too buzzed for it to bother me, and I let it pass. This whole thing made me dizzy! What kind of chipmunk? The kind with the cute little black and white stripes down its back? I had to sit there for a minute and think. As I did, it finally sank in. I had shrunk! Nutty as it was, it was the only damn idea that made any sense whatsoever! "Jesus-H farking Chee-rist!" I complained astutely, shaking my poor little shrunken head.

"Well, at least it hasn't impacted your vocabulary," she remarked. "I suppose that to work properly, all organs have to have been shrunken proportionally. They must have thrown in something to compensate for brain-volume loss though, at least for the higher brain functions, because you seem to be just as, ah, intelligent as ever." She walked to her receptionist desk and rummaged around for something. Now that she had her heals on, she looked thirteen feet tall; A damn good looking thirteen foot giant at that, even when dressed!

I wasn't thinking about giant dames or shrunken brains though, I was worrying about other organs that I was more fond of that also might have shrank. I copped a quick feel through the tea-shirt. "Holy shits!" I exclaimed. Ultimate shrinkage!

As though she had read my mind, the giant Elaine pulled a ruler out of her desk. "Let's see how you measure up, big boy," she said, as she walked towards me with a mischievous grin on her big face.

It was extenuating circumstances; I knew that I wouldn't measure up.

"Stand up, Boss," she instructed, as she pulled me off the chair. Then to my relief she only measured my height. "Two-feet-six-inches," she announced. "That's less than half your original six-foot-two: close to a sixty percent loss in linear dimensions." She lifted me up by my under-arms. "Fifteen pounds or so, I'd guess. I've hefted heavier turkeys."

I was glad when she finally put me down; I don't like being picked up like a little twerp. I don't see how kids can stand it. "This is nuts!" I said, as I headed for the liquor cabinet. I keep booze in the office mostly to ease the miseries of my customers; it's part of my business model. Almost any broad whining about her rotten husband is more likely to pay for my surveillance services if she has a couple of belts of rot-gut in her. I tried to open a new bottle of brandy that seemed to weigh at least twenty pounds, but the easy-open twist-cap wouldn't budge.

"Let me do that, Boss," Elaine volunteered, and she soon poured us out a couple of shot glasses of the good stuff, a full one for her, and a half-full one for me. She chugged down all of hers before I could even manage a sip of mine.

"I didn't think you drank, Baby," I remarked, sucking mine down to politely keep up with the lady. I had tried to booze her up often enough right after I hired her, before I found out that for sex I didn't have to get her drunk. I hadn't offered her a drink in months. Why spend good money on booze to get laid if you don't have to?

"You know I don't normally drink," she replied. "But this isn't exactly a normal day, especially for you."

"Hell Baby, I've been in worse jams before," I said, though offhand I couldn't think of any. I tried to be my usual macho self as I returned to my recliner, but climbing up onto a chest-high chair while holding a giant bottle of brandy isn't easy, and the giant Elaine ended up helping me again, damn it!

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I plan on getting drunk," I said sensibly. I was struggling with the big bottle, positioning most of its weight on a chair-arm so that I could control the thing better as I drank from it.

"You're already drunk, Boss. That drink I gave you was the equivalent of at least five shots, given your tiny little bod."

"Super! Think of the money I'll save on booze."

"Not that I can blame you, but don't you think we should try to do something? What if you're still shrinking?"

That was a discomforting thought; so discomforting that I put the bottle down after only a couple more big yummy gulps. "OK then, do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, you should be measured every so often, to see if you're still shrinking."

"Great idea; that way we'll know just how lousy things are. No; what I mean is, Baby, have you got any ideas on how to get me back to normal?"

"You could call your doctor, or go to the hospital."

"Hell no, woman! Those jokers can't even deal with head-colds! I'd end up as an exhibit at some damn university or circus or something!"

"You're probably right. OK, so I guess it's up to the Jake Simon Detective Agency then."

She was right. It was up to me. "Shi-i-t!" I said astutely. The financial implications hit me especially hard. This meant that I was my own client, and I knew what a deadbeat I was.

"Do you think that you might possibly need some help on this one, Boss?"

She had been bugging me to help out on cases as an actual detective, but I had always come up with excuses so far. I had my job and she had hers, I figured. Mine was man's work and hers was whatever woman's work I wanted from her. But maybe I could make an exception, just this one time, as I certainly didn't know what the hell to do to solve my little shrinkage problem. "OK, you're hereby promoted to detective, second class," I announced. She was Catholic, so I crossed myself.

"What about pay?"

Crap! I'd have to pay her too! "Same pay."

"Figures."

"But you've got to earn it, Baby. Got any ideas?"

"Got questions. Like for instance, where did the rest of you go?"

"What do you mean?"

"You lost about two-hundred and ten pounds since yesterday. Ever hear of the conservation of mass principle? The science folks are rather fond of that one. So what happened to it?"

Suddenly I realized where it went. "Shit," I explained very precisely.

"You don't have to cuss all the time, do you Jake? This is serious."

"No Baby, I mean, shit is where it went. Last night I felt really lousy, that's why I never got back to my apartment. I figured it was some kind of stomach virus. I had an unbelievable case of the runs."

"While you shrank?"

"I don't know Baby, I drank a little rum and I was mostly asleep and I felt like hell. But I guess that's right, I must have been shrinking and pooping myself away. Now that I think about it, I kind of remember that the pot seemed to be getting bigger. Damn near fell in a couple of times. I was too sick and tired at the time to worry about it, I guess. I've had weirder experiences when I was liquored up."

"OK, my next question is, how? You still think it was a stomach virus?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Well, when did you first feel sick?"

"Last night about eight, I think. I had to cut-out of an important meeting with a new client. I suddenly felt like I had to do a big number two, but I've got a strict policy not to take a dump at the residence of a new client. It ain't professional."

"Yeah sure, we're a first class professional act."

"First class all the way, Baby. Anyway, the office was closer than my apartment, so I came here fast. Really fast; I was afraid I'd explode in the Ford before I got here. I figured I'd take care of business here and sleep it off, then get back to the client today."

"What client? Where?"

"That's top secret; I promised confidentiality. It's a matter of principle."

"Really, shorty? Is your integrity more important than your shoe size?"

She had me there. "John Grisim, at the Tower Arms downtown."

"THE John Grisim, multi-billionaire?"

"Impressed?"

"First let me see what he paid you."

"Shi-i-t! I left before he even gave me a retainer. I must have been even sicker than I thought!"

"What did he want from us, detective-wise?"

I noticed that she had said 'us', like we were partners or something, but I let it pass. "He was just starting to explain it to me when I had to cut-out. He mentioned some kind of game for rich guys. Weird as hell! He wanted me to help him."

"Help him how?"

"Save him, he said. From death, possibly. I don't know for sure; he didn't get into the details. He gave me some papers with a few rules of the game on them or something, and then I got sick and left his place, and that was it. End of story."

"I don't get it."

"Which part?"

"Any of it. No offense, but why would a billionaire hire you? He must already have his own security people."

"Maybe he heard about me someplace. I've cracked some pretty big cases, you know."

"You've only handled divorces and lost dogs since I've worked here."

"Well, I've found some damn important lost dogs! As far as this game thing goes, Grisim gave me the impression that rich folks get bored sometimes. Life's too damn easy for them."

"Sure; being filthy rich must be really tough."

"Once in a while they just like to do something crazy, like drugs, sky diving, unsafe sex, or something. They probably get bored as hell counting all that money."

"But what kind of 'game' kills people?"

From the pocket of the suit-coat that I wore the previous night I retrieved several papers, folded down to pocket size. Pocket-sized yesterday; almost newspaper-sized today. "He gave me this stuff, but we didn't have a chance to talk about it." I handed the papers to her, and she studied them for several minutes.

"Most of it is just stuffy legal wording describing what the game winners get, and so forth," she said, after looking them over. "The winner can get up to half a billion dollars. Nifty. But there isn't much useful information here; the names of the game participants aren't even included."

"Too incriminating," I reasoned. "Who the players are is probably only known by the rich participants and whoever runs these things for them."

"As to rules for this so-called game, there isn't much here. All that Grisim has to do is show up at the First National Bank before four this afternoon and prove his identity, and he gets the money, or at least his share of it. It's to be split between all participants that show up."

Just show up and you get millions of dollars? That didn't sound like much of a game at all! "Crashers allowed?" I asked, hopefully. A few million would do wonders for my own bank account.

"Low-lives like us need not apply, I'm sure. Oh! Here's a couple of very interesting things. First, any player that impedes or causes the death of any other players during the course of the game forfeits his share."

"Then why was Grisim worried about getting killed or whatever? What's the other interesting thing, Doll?"

"This one is really weird," she laughed. "It's supposed to be a clue. It simply says that 'one plus one multiplies,' whatever that means."

"Doesn't seem too helpful. I need more to go on than that."

"OK then, I guess we head for the Tower Arms, right Boss?"

"You've got to be kidding. I can't go out and be seen like this; what about my tough-guy rep?"

"What rep? Would you rather wait until you're small enough for me to carry you around in my purse?"

I let the wise-ass crack about my rep pass. "Let's go then," I said, heading for the door.

"Wait a minute, Boss, I'll get you some clothes first," she said. She was right; I couldn't traipse around town in a giant tee-shirt. She went to the little shop downstairs, and was back in ten minutes.

"These are baby clothes!" I complained. "I can't wear these!" The Super-Man briefs were OK; everything else sucked big-time.

"That's the best stuff they had in a size three extra short and puny."

"But what's all this shit on it?" I pointed out the teddy bears and bunny-rabbits on the shirt and overalls.

"This is as plain as they come at that shop. At least these are mostly blue. The only other thing in your size was a pink outfit with purple dinosaurs all over it. You want me to get you that one instead?"

"Nah, these will do." I went into the bathroom in order to put everything on. I wasn't about to display my shrunken little body to anyone, not even Elaine. I had a hell of a time with buttons and snaps; I guess Elaine was right, I was a little drunk. Even so, how the hell little kids could do this, even if sober, puzzled the heck out of me.

Everything was baggy as hell, the overalls were short, and the shoes were so wide that they almost fell off my feet when I walked, but it all more or less fit. Elaine was waiting for me with another purchase when I came out of the bathroom. "What the hell is that thing?" It looked like a cross between a backpack and a folding lawn-chair!

"It's an infant carrier. You sit in it and these straps go around my shoulders and hold it on my back. Great idea, right?"

"Wrong, Baby! I won't be hauled around town like a papoose."

"If you walk you'll draw a crowd for sure. You look like a shrunken little man, not a kid, especially with that odd strutting swagger of yours. With you on my back, wearing this hat, maybe we'll get away with it." She pulled out a blue, strap-on baseball kind of cap with a big yellow bird on top of it and put it on my head, despite my protests. "And clean up your language; try to talk like a kid!" She put me in the carrier, and then hoisted me onto her back, without even giving me a chance to object. I decided to go along with it. She had that determined look on her face that she gets sometimes.

"If I'm the kid, I guess I can't be calling you Baby," I wisely reasoned.

"You call me Auntie, and I'll call you Junior," she stated.

She was turning into a real take-charge kind of broad, something I normally can't stand, but I let it pass. "I'll need my wallet and gun, Auntie," I requested. I hid them under my overalls, tucked into my shorts. I was comforted by the feel of cold deadly steel down one leg and a wallet full of credit cards down the other. Some of the cards were so new they even had some room on them. I made a grab for Auntie's boobs, as that would have comforted me even more, but my new arms were too damn short. Toddlers probably miss out on a lot of good stuff, I figured.

The cab drive to the Tower Arms was pretty uneventful, though the driver tried to stretch out the route and I had to set him straight. Surprised him. He also seemed surprised when I was the one to pay for the cab, with cash from somewhere down in my overalls.

After we got out of the cab at the Tower Arms and Elaine hoisted me onto her back again, there he was suddenly, bigger than life and twice as ugly: Detective Joe Kebony, my old partner on the Force. "Hi, Baby!" he said, as he lumbered towards us grinning.

Baby? He had spotted me, and I braced for more ribbing. He'd tell the rest of the guys at the Precinct, and they'd tell everybody in town, and I'd never hear the end of it!

Instead, he ignored me, and to my surprise the bastard planted a hell of a kiss on the willing lips of Elaine! The kiss went on and on and didn't stop. My first impulse was to climb down and punch the slug's lights out, though I probably wouldn't be able to reach much higher than his knees, but I found that I couldn't even get out of the carrier; Elaine had me strapped in good. Finally, I squirmed high enough to reach around Elaine and whack the big bozo alongside the head.

"Ouch! What the hell was that? Hey! Is that a kid? What gives?"

"It's Jake's nephew from South Jersey."

"Hey! He's sticking his tongue out at me! The ugly little cuss looks just like Jake! How'd you get stuck with the little brat?"

"Just a favor for Jake."

"You're too good for that bum. We still on for tonight?"

"Sure."

I kicked Elaine in the back for all that I was worth.

"I have to get going, Joe, I'll see you later," she said. She gave the big ugly bastard a quick goodbye kiss and we headed for the hotel.

"OK, Baby. When you see Jake, tell him he still owes me fifty," said the cheap bastard.

When we were out of ear-shot, Elaine let me have it. "What am I, a punching bag or something? That kick hurt!"

"What's with this 'Baby' bullshit? Why would any broad put up with being called that nowadays? This is the twenty-first century, for Christ's sake! And what's up with the kissing, and why the hell would you be seeing that bum tonight?"

"He's a nice guy. Besides, I thought he was your best friend."

"He was! So why are you going out with the ugly stinking bastard?"

"The usual reasons, not that it's any business of yours."

I was dumbfounded. After all, she had me, practically whenever she wanted me, at least during business hours on most week-days. What more could any dame want? Sure, I had told her a couple of times that she shouldn't get too serious about me, but that was mostly to keep her from bringing up crazy things like marriage, or meeting parents, or whatever. I never really even thought about her having a private life outside the office. But a dame is just a dame, right? So why was I getting all bent out of shape? "Oh sure, kid, it's a free country. I just kind 'a wondered, is all."

She didn't say anything back, but I caught her reflection in a door as she entered the hotel lobby, and she had one of those 'I gotcha right where I want you Mona-Lisa smiles on her face that they all get. What it really meant exactly, I didn't have the foggiest. Who the hell can figure women, so why try to?

Meanwhile as planned she took us straight to the elevators. Grisim had bought the whole damn building and used the seventh floor for himself. "For luck," he said. Me, I always figured that 'luck' business is total bull. Chance is real, that's for sure, but you can't control it by throwing horse shoes over left shoulders at mirrors or however that goes. Good karma don't hurt none, but in a pinch it's usually brains, balls, and fists that matter most, and not in that order.

We ran into our first real problem when we got off at the seventh floor, in the form of two big ugly gorillas that pointed two very big guns at us. That would have been enough to turn me around, even if I was full-sized, but Elaine took it right in stride. Elaine isn't scared of men, period, except for the ones that are complete shit-heads. She packs plenty of ammo of her own: great looking ammo that turned any sane guy's thoughts to mush.

"Hi fellas! I'm Elaine King, of the Jake Simon Detective Agency. Mr. Grisim hired us yesterday. I need to see him right away, please."

"Just a moment," said gorilla number one, while the second one spoke quietly into a little walkie-talkie device.

After a minute, one of them escorted us into an apparently empty hotel suite, where a knock-out female introduced herself as Jane Fey, head of security. When I visited Grisim the previous night, I hadn't seen Fey, but I had seen several other knock-out chicks, enough to convince me that Grisim's hiring policy was slanted towards well-built young blonde babes. Damn good policy! Jane Fey was no exception. They made quite a pair, Fey and my Elaine; one light haired and the other dark haired, and I had a great butt-level view of them both after Elaine at last freed me from the damn baby carrier.

Fey frisked us and used a bug-snooper to make sure we weren't wired. She took Elaine's cell phone. She found my gun and took it, of course, with a gentle touch. "Who's the kid and what's he doing with a loaded gun down his pants?" she asked. If she had searched me just a little more closely, the statement could have had another meaning. I guess I was starting to get used to giant women!

"Sorry. He's my nephew that my sister stuck me with at the last minute," explained Elaine. "He's a good kid though; he won't bother anybody. As to the gun, it wouldn't fit in my purse or in my clothes." True, Elaine's clothes were too sparse and nicely packed to hide a gun. The totally goofy explanation seemed to satisfy Fey, who wore equally well packed, tight clothes; she just nodded and spoke quietly into a walkie-talkie.

Fey and Elaine sat down at a small table to talk. A moment later yet another spiffy blonde broad strutted in, this one wearing an expensive business suit-coat and skirt outfit that showed off her nifty legs. "All right Ms. King, where is your boss?" she demanded.

"He's on other business. Who are you?"

"I'm Alicia Tweed, President of Grisim Enterprises," she started to respond.

"And you're here to simply observe my discussions with Ms. King, Alicia," injected Fey. "I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind."

Tweed obviously did. She glared at Fey like she wanted to kick her teeth in. "As long as the Corporation's interests are addressed," she replied curtly.

"I don't work for the Corporation," responded Fey equally caustically, "but as the Corporation also works for Mr. Grisim, I'll try to protect its interests."

"Humph!" responded Tweed. "Then let's get on with it." She sat down at the table facing Elaine, but she also faced off against Fey. You could tell a lot from tone of voice and body language: these too spiffy broads hated each other's guts!

They all ignored me. I, on the other hand, had a great view of three sets of luscious legs under the table as Fey began the questioning and Tweed stared daggers at her. I suddenly felt hungry.

"Do you know why Jake Simon visited Mr. Grisim last night?" Fey asked.

"Mr. Grisim was interested in the services of the Jake Simon Detective Agency, of course," said Elaine.

"What sort of services?"

"That's why I'm here today, to find out the details."

"From Mr. Grisim?"

"Certainly. Is he available now?"

"Why didn't Simon come himself?"

"Like I said, he has other business."

"More important than his business with Mr. Grisim?"

"He's a very busy man. He has some big cases."

"He's a two-bit gum-shoe who would sell his soul to have a rich client like Grisim," interjected Tweed. "We checked out his pathetic credentials."

I figured that in response to that wisecrack Elaine would need to punch her lights out or something, but she didn't. I was under-cover myself and had to keep my yap shut.

"Whatever Grisim wants from us is between him and us. I'd like to see our client," Elaine requested.

"So would we," said Fey. Tweed gave her an icy stare. Fey had let a cat out of the bag, apparently, and there were plenty of cats in this room already: beautiful, long nailed, tough broads that could go at it any second. Me, I just sat there, taking it all in. Tweed shifted and I could see up her skirt almost to heaven. I had a sudden vision of Tweed and Fey, going at it in a mud-wrestling grudge-match wearing tear-off string bikinis, no holds barred. And I was becoming very thirsty and hungry.

"What do you mean? Isn't Grisim here?" countered Elaine.

"Did Simon tell you that he'd be here?" asked Fey.

"He must have thought so, or he wouldn't have sent me here to talk with him."

"Or it's a cover," Fey retorted.

"A cover for what? What's going on here?"

Fey hesitated.

"You might as well tell her the rest," said Tweed. "The cops will anyway, as soon as they come back with their warrants. I won't be able to stop them next time, Jane. They'll be swarming all over this place."

"Grisim is missing," explained Fey. "Since last night when your boss visited him in his rooms. In fact, as far as we can tell, Jake Simon was the last person to see him. Simon and Grisim went in, and only Simon came out. Guess who our prime suspect is?"

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Elaine. She was upset, and I thought she might lose it and blow my cover. I had to do something quick!

"Auntie, I need go potty," I announced, in my best infant-accent. Nobody paid any attention. "AUNTIE, I NEED GO POTTY NOW!" I screamed. I grabbed my crotch to emphasize the emergency.

"We'll leave you two here to wait for the cops," announced Fey, as she got up and headed out the door, motioning Tweed to follow. "You can go potty all you want to, kid. Help yourself."

I didn't much like these corporate blondes, no matter how great their legs were. Tweed gave me a particularly mean look as she strutted out. I caught a glimpse of one of the gorillas posted just outside the room, and I heard the door lock after it was closed.

"Well, big boy, you're really in a mess now, aren't you?" a calmer Elaine said.

"I have to go potty," I said loudly, motioning Elaine towards the bathroom. "Auntie help Junior go potty?"

She looked at me like I was demented, but she let me pull her by the hand into the bathroom. There I turned the sink and shower on, and flushed the toilet. Then I jumped up into her arms. She caught me, just like I figured. "Hold me Auntie, I'm scared," I announced loudly. Then I whispered into her ear. "Bugs, Baby; this place is probably bugged. That Fey broad wants to solve this one herself."

"You don't have to pee, Junior?" she quietly asked.

"No. I'm hungry and thirsty Baby, but right now I have to get into Grisim's suite and see the scene of the crime, before the cops haul us out of here. Maybe I'll be able to figure things out."

"Where's Grisim's suite?"

"Two or three suites down the hall on this side of the building."

"You know how to get to it?"

"No way possible that I can think of," I said, glancing towards the door. "They've got too much muscle."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here." She put me down and started to fill the bathtub. "Look outside the window, Junior. What do you see?"

I looked. "Too high up, Auntie; Junior is scared!" I jumped back into her arms. It was a damn comfortable place to be, and we could whisper more freely. "What the hell are you getting at?"

"There's a ledge, Boss. Not a wide one; maybe ten inches, but it's wide enough for tiny you."

"You're nuts!"

"Meanwhile, I can stay here and pretend that I'm giving you a bath. Kids take them all the time."

"No damn way!"

"You have a better idea?"

I returned to the window and studied the ledge. It was a warm calm day, and the ledge seemed to be wide enough. Good thing it was only seven stories up. I decided to go for it.

I tried to open the window, but of course Elaine had to do it. Before I could crawl out onto the ledge, she gave me a really friendly kiss and wished me luck. A hell-of-a crazy fantasy flashed through my mind just then when she kissed me, having to do with staying here and taking a bath with Elaine, instead of crawling out on a narrow ledge and falling to my death. This was followed by sudden, tremendous hunger, and a flash of dizziness that caused me to fall flat onto the floor.

"Are you all right?" she asked me, concern etched on her huge but pretty face.

"I don't know. Maybe it's lack of breakfast. I haven't eaten anything today. Have we got anything?"

I drank some water, while she found me some mint chocolates from on the suite's bed, a few complimentary cans of V-Eight in a small refrigerator, a half-dozen little envelopes of sugar, and best of all, a Slim Jim from her purse. As little as I was, that should have filled me up to the gills, but all it did was reduce the hunger a bit, and get rid of most of the dizziness.

I crawled out the window and onto the ledge in a crawling position. It seemed a hell of a lot narrower now that I was on it. I made the mistake of looking down just for a moment, before squeezing my eyes shut in terror. "Shi-i-t!" was all that I could say, about a dozen times. Only seven stories hell, it seemed more like hundreds! I felt dizzy again and on the verge of toppling; I had to tell myself again and again that I was safe. How the hell could a guy fall from a crawling position? Then again, I hadn't done much crawling in decades, so what the hell did I know about it?

"You OK?" she whispered, right above me.

"Oh, sure; green is my normal color. And did I mention that I'm still hungry?"

"I didn't know that you were afraid of heights."

"Seemed like a damned good opportunity to find out."

"Just don't look down. You should occupy your mind with something else. Maybe you should think of food, or sex or something."

Sound advice probably, though a little late. I took a couple of deep breaths, turned my head towards the building, opened my eyes, and started crawling. I did think of sex, but oddly enough that made me so hungry that I could only think of food, and that led to more dizziness. But inch by inch, foot by foot, I was moving. After what seemed like only a couple of lifetimes I was passing by the bathroom window of the next suite, followed by the bedroom and what I expected would be living room windows.

What would normally be a living room had been converted to a dining area/kitchen with a big table and chairs. I crawled in through the window and discovered in the giant refrigerator several brown-bags and thermoses; probably lunches for the security and office staff. I thought about the size of the gorillas that probably owned the stuff, and what they might do to me if they caught me, but it was no use. I had to have more to eat, regardless of the consequences. Hopefully afterwards I'd feel better and could continue on to Grisim's.

Given my size, a fraction of a single lunch should have satisfied me, but I gobbled down everything that I could find like I hadn't eaten in weeks. Sandwiches, drinks, fruit, and junk food for at least half a dozen big people was gone in minutes. I think that I could have even eaten a little more! I began to worry about my trip back from Grisim's rooms, assuming that I made it. I could be very hungry again by that time. So, using my newest Master Card, I phoned in an order for a dozen pizzas, using the land-line phone in the room. The pizza joint was practically next door and I paid extra for a rush job, so hopefully more food would be sitting in that room by the time I passed it again.

Out on the ledge I made faster progress, though for some reason the ledge seemed narrower. In minutes, I was in Grisim's suite, looking at the alleged scene of the alleged crime. As I looked around for clues, I gobbled down some of the food that I found, and drank maybe a quart of water. Fortunately, there was still a lot of tasty stuff lying around from last night. I concluded that other than a missing John Grisim, nothing had changed since the previous night. I couldn't figure out what the hell had happened to Grisim! He was simply gone!

I crawled back towards Elaine's room swiftly, though the ledge seemed even narrower. I glanced into the room from which I had ordered the pizza and saw them arrive already, carried by the two gorillas. They were put on a table; then one gorilla picked up one of the pizzas.

"The pizza guy said those are for the cops when they get here," said gorilla number two.

"Tough for them," said gorilla number one, as he went out the door with the pizza, leaving only eleven on the table. Though I felt run-down, I wasn't hungry or dizzy anymore, and I decided to skip the pizzas for now.

When I crawled into the bathroom through the window, Elaine gawked at me and made a big fuss. She backed me up against a wall, and measured me using, of all things, a sheet of paper that had inch-marks scribbled on one edge. "I made this back at the office, so that I could measure you without lugging around a ruler," she whispered. "There, just as I thought. Roughly thirty-three inches. You've grown three inches!"

I was elated. "No wonder these britches are getting tight, Baby." I studied myself in the mirror. Wrists and ankles were showing, and my toes were jamming the ends of my Keds. "I better get out of this stuff, while I still can." I stripped right in front of Elaine of course, as I felt pretty damn good about growing three inches, and I was no longer as self-conscious. "Well, how do I look Baby?" I asked her, when I was naked.

"Good enough to eat, cutie," she replied, licking her lips.

That was enough of an invitation for me. To make a long story short, I jumped her. If you've never made love to a giant before, don't knock it; it was great. Hey, women are all about the same height when they're lying down anyway. But when we were finished, I was famished, totally. The hunger of a short time before was nothing compared to what I felt now! "Feed me, Baby," was all that I could croak, I was so weak!

There was no more food, but Elaine gave me water, and after drinking a quart or so of that I was well enough to evade Elaine and stumble out the window after the pizzas. Though weak and tipsy, I was desperate. I staggered along the narrowing ledge; crawling would have been too stinking slow! Halfway there, I had to fight back hysteria when I realized that I was buck naked! Laughter, weakness, and dizziness damn near toppled me off the ledge, but I wasn't scared at all. Nothing mattered except getting food!

At last I was there: pizza heaven. I climbed in through the window. There were extra cheese pizzas, and pepperoni pizzas, sausage, green pepper, and onion pizzas, and meatball pizzas. Best of all, there were two huge everything-on-it pizzas. I ate them all, feeling stronger as I did, and washed them down with a gallon or two of water. For a little while then, I felt cold to the bone, as if my body was busy doing something else, and couldn't be bothered with keeping me comfortable. I wrapped myself in a short hotel robe and blankets, and after a minute, I was well enough to set off again. I wore the robe, which came down almost to my ankles.

The trip back on the ledge was lousy. The ledge was narrow as hell, so narrow that I couldn't crawl; I had to walk sideways, with my butt and back pressed against the building.

Elaine gave a squeal of excitement when I squeezed in through the bathroom window, and backed me against the wall for measuring. I was bigger again and I knew it; I came almost to Elaine's shoulder! "Almost four feet tall!" she announced, grinning like crazy. "How do you feel?"

"Better, but not perfect; I still feel a little cold. At least I'm not hungry anymore at all."

"Interesting," she said. She kissed me then, in a very friendly way, and then paused to study my reaction. "How do you feel now?"

"Are you sure that we're out of food?" I asked.

She kissed me again, and her hands were all over me. When she stopped, I stumbled to the sink and sucked some water from the cold tap.

"Just as I thought after you gained your first few inches," she whispered. "Sex, or even the thought of sex, stimulates your growth, that's what the game riddle meant about one plus one multiplying!"

"But that's for the players of the game! I'm not even a billionaire!"

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were after Grisim, but they got you, too."

"You think this is what happened to Grisim?"

"How else could he have disappeared past those gorillas outside? It's a viable hypothesis, anyway. Did you eat or drink anything while you were with him?"

"Just a couple of peanuts."

"That's all, just two nuts?"

"Two, that's all; I had just come from Burger King."

"Did Grisim eat any nuts?"

"He was wolfing down handfuls of them when I left. The peanut jar was about a third empty when I searched his suite just now. It was full when I ate my two nuts."

"Those were shrinking nuts," she concluded.

Shrinking nuts?

"Tell me what else you saw in Grisim's suite," she asked.

"Well, I for sure didn't see a miniature Grisim."

"What about poop?"

"None that I noticed. The place smelled good, as a matter of fact."

"Better than it did last night?"

"Yeah; flowery. The bathroom anyway."

"Like maybe it had just been cleaned and deodorized?"

"You might be right! By the same person or persons that gave him the jar of shrinking nuts, probably. It had to be an inside job for sure," I concluded.

"Possibly Fey and/or Tweed?"

"Hell yes, and/or others," I reasoned. "Maybe that's why Grisim wanted an outside agency like me to help him. Think about it! Super rich types are always surrounded by their own people. The only way to get to him would be from the inside. He would know that!"

"What do we do now?"

"Well Baby, we can't screw around here all day, much as I'd like to gain back my other hundred-plus pounds. We're out of Pizza. Sex without food would probably kill me. Sex is what I want to die of someday, but not right now. Besides, I'm not going back out on that ledge again; it's getting too damn narrow."

"We could just wait until the cops come."

"Now that's another thing that bugs me, Doll. Do you believe what they said? If the cops thought there was fowl play here, no damn President of a corporation would stop them from snooping around. So why aren't they in here yet?"

"That's what I wanted to know," said Fey, from the doorway.

"You all know far too much already," said Tweed, from behind her. She and the gorilla with her held guns that pointed at both us and Fey! "Well, well. Jake Simon, I presume. I almost didn't recognize you earlier, little man. I don't know how the hell you figured out that eating and sex would restore your size; John here sure as hell didn't tell me about it until a minute ago." She nodded towards the gorilla, evidently John. "We had a hell of a shock when the pizzas got here, addressed to the police that we had never called, and then they all disappeared. Clever. Fortunately for us you ordered pizza instead of calling the cops."

Oops.

Tweed and John moved us all into the living room, where two additional nifty looking women with guns joined us. It looked like Fey's whole damn security squad had sold her out!

"You traitorous bastards!" said Fey, bitterly. She advanced towards Tweed with clenched fists, but got pushed back roughly by John gorilla.

"Want me to rough her up some?" asked the grinning gorilla.

"Not yet, dear," replied the smirking Tweed. "There are a few lose ends to address first."

"Like getting rid of us," I ventured, referring to myself and Elaine.

"It's not what I planned on, but I think it will work out. Jake Simon and company will be killed, hopelessly trying to defend Grisim from Fey, who will of course also be killed." She turned towards John gorilla. "Watch them," she ordered, as she exited the suite and locked the door behind her.

"How does it feel to be a traitor, John?" Fey asked.

"Shut up, bitch." The big ugly lug took a swipe at Fey, slapping her across the face.

That was the opening that I'd been waiting for. I leapt forward and caught Johnny boy square on the jaw, putting everything I had into a wicked right hook.

He has supposed to drop cold, like they usually do. Instead, the ape grabbed the collar of my robe and with one hand lifted me clean off the floor, while he swung his pistol barrel at me with the other.

Fortunately, the blow never reached me. Fey kicked the wind out of his guts from one side, while Elaine clobbered him over the head with a chair from the other. The big man crumpled to the floor unconscious.

The three of us were left standing there, breathless and grinning at each other "What next?" asked Elaine.

Fey put her finger to her lips, signaling us to be quiet. Then she went around the suite and quickly retrieved four electronic 'bugs' from their hiding places, and placed them under a pillow on the bed. At last we could freely talk. "We go after the bastards," suggested Fey, still steaming. She retrieved John's gun and covered the door with it.

"That's going to be tough, doll, with only one gun," I pointed out.

"You're right," conceded Fey. "Too tough. Tweed has four armed fighters, plus herself, not counting John here. Those odds aren't good. Direct attack should be our last resort."

"We should call the cops," I heard myself say. I can't remember ever saying that, before or since, even when I used to be a cop myself.

"No good," said Fey. "After that pizza business they sabotaged all the land-line phones."

"Shi-i-t," I remarked astutely. "And they already took our cell phones."

"I don't get it," said Elaine.

When she says something like that, Elaine is on to something; I just had to get her to spill it. "Get what?" I cued her.

"Lots of things. Why would Fey attacking Grisim be a plausible story? And why are we still alive? What other loose ends are there to tie up, before they take care of us?"

Elaine and I stared at Fey, who remained silent. "Fess up," I told her. "You must know more."

"OK," she sighed. "Two of us were part of the Games from the start: me and John. We secretly work for an independent outfit that sets up the Games. John was supposed to put trace amounts of the shrinking drug in Grisim's food; just enough to shrink him by an inch or less. His shrinkage shouldn't have even been noticeable."

"Except to the bank people," said Elaine. "They measure the Game participants accurately to help identify them, it's in the Game rules. A slightly short Grisim would lose out on his share of the prize dough."

"I sure as heck noticed my own shrinking," I said, bitterly.

"Something went wrong," Fey replied, shaking her head.

"Johnny went in with Tweed," concluded Elaine. "Grisim and by accident Jake were given mega-doses of the shrinking drug in those shrinking nuts, and their deaths could all be blamed on you and the Game, Fey. But what does Tweed get with Grisim gone?"

"Power. Wealth. Tweed is company president, but Grisim always ran things," explained Fey. "She hated that situation and him, though I could never convince Grisim of that."

"You at least got him worried enough to bring us into the case from the outside," I pointed out. "What about the money at stake with the Game? Won't they lose that?"

"Chicken feed, compared to control of a multi-billion dollar financial empire," said Elaine.

As interesting as all this was, we were still trapped and going nowhere. "OK, but why haven't they killed us yet?" I asked.

"They have to kill us at the last minute, or the cops won't swallow their story," reasoned Elaine. "The forensics would be screwed up. But what are they waiting for?"

"They keep searching Grisim's suite," confided Fey.

"Grisim!" said Elaine. "That has to be it. They still can't find Grisim! He ate so many of those damn shrinking nuts that maybe he shrank down to nothing!"

"Or maybe the overdose killed him," said Fey. "Until a short while ago, I was hoping that he was still alive; spirited away somehow by you, Simon. But the bits and pieces that we heard you two talking about in here didn't add up that way." She was very upset. I got the impression that she liked Grisim, a lot.

"Well, whatever they're doing, we can't just stay here and wait for them to kill us," I said.

"Grisim might still be alive," said Elaine, comforting Fey. "He's hiding, maybe. We have to find Grisim before they do, or before they decide to give up looking for him and just get rid of us immediately."

"You're right!" agreed Fey.

"How the hell do we do that? We're trapped in here," I noted.

"We have to use the ledge," said Elaine.

"It's too small for even me now," I explained. "Besides, you two would never make it. Your weight isn't distributed right." I looked at them closely. I very much liked the way their weight was distributed, but those absolutely fabulous butts and boobs would topple them off the ledge and be the death of them, I was sure. I had to get myself a big drink of water.

"But you got back here OK from your pizza binge," insisted Elaine. "Just one more trip to Grisim's for the peanuts, Jake, then after we eat some we can all fit on the ledge. Then maybe we can escape from the building or at least hide from them."

"That's nuts," I exclaimed, not even trying to be punny.

"You have a better Idea?"

She was showing off her smarts and getting too damn bossy again, but I let it pass. Soon I was again on the ledge, making for Grisim's suite. All in all the trip wasn't too bad, maybe because I was too worried about falling or getting shot to think about sex, which could have made me dangerously weak and dizzy with hunger again.

When I got to Grisim's suite there were Tweed and gorilla number two, in the living room. They were on their hands and knees looking over, under and behind chairs and other furniture. "Come on out Mr. Grisim," said Tweed, in what she must have thought was a sweet voice. "We only want to help you." Her voice, if a super tiny Grisim could hear it at all, probably sounded like thunder.

The jar of shrinking nuts was still on the coffee table, near the bathroom door. That made sense; it had to be left there for the cops to eventually find it to implicate Fey. I slipped in through the bathroom window quietly and peaked out into the living room. I was lucky. While Tweed and her buddy were occupied with chairs on the other side of the room, I grabbed the nuts, and beat it back out through the bathroom window.

Five minutes later Elaine was counting the nuts to figure out how many Grisim ate, and talking about how much we should shrink. "Half a peanut or so would probably get me and Fey small enough to walk on the ledge. At least one of us has to stay big enough to handle windows and carry the others to Grisim's suite. But someone needs to be shrunk down to Grisim-size to talk to him and sex him bigger. That could be dangerous, maybe fatal; we still don't know the side effects from taking so much shrinking drug."

"The sex requirement leaves me out," I said, with relief, knowing for sure from his blonde-bombshell staff selection that he wasn't gay. Besides, I sure as hell didn't want to be shrunk again and would rather die than have sex with a man!

"I could do it," said Elaine. "But Grisim doesn't know me from Adam." She and I both eyeballed our companion.

"I'll do it," stated Fey, settling the issue. "I'm not leaving here without Grisim. How small will I get?"

"That would be useful to know," acknowledged Elaine. "We know approximately how many peanuts Grisim ate, but I don't know how much he shrank." Then she started yapping about assumptions about linearity, models that could be computerized, having data on only one instance of the phenomenon that was outside the range of interest anyway, and something about having too many unknowns to answer that question. I didn't understand any of it, and even worse, we were wasting time. The woman was too damn smart for our own good!

"The bottom line is this," I told Fey. "If you eat the peanuts, we'll find out soon enough how small you get. We need to get moving. Either eat those peanuts, or we have to do the frontal assault. And even if that worked we'd still need to deal with your shrunken boss."

Elaine gave Fey a large pile of peanuts, and ate just half of one herself.

Fey had barely finished hers when the process began. Apparently the more peanuts involved, the faster the reaction. "I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Is that supposed to happen?" she asked innocently. The poor bastard! We hadn't told her what to expect.

Fey and Elaine retreated to the bathroom. I guarded the door and our friend Johnny, who had regained consciousness and was flexing his over-sized muscles against the electrical cords that we had tied him up with. I blind-folded his ugly puss. So I was doing my share, but I knew that the women, and especially Fey, were going through hell. Of course, since they were women and build for stuff like childbirth and sometimes getting beat on by men, they could take it, I figured. Only a few pitiful moans and a lot of toilet flushes could be heard from the bathroom over the sound of the TV.

After fifteen minutes, Elaine emerged from the bathroom looking like a kid-sister version of her former self in baggy clothes. Actually, she seemed almost normal in size compared to me for the first time all day. I was finally bigger than her, like I was supposed to be. She looked damn good actually, and I suddenly felt hungry and thirsty. "You OK, Baby?" I asked her. I pulled her to me and gave her a deep kiss.

She responded hungrily for a moment then abruptly pushed me away, but she was smiling. "Later, big boy," she said. "We'll crush Jane." She pulled some kind of little plastic make-up thing-a-ma-jig from a shirt pocket, opened it, and held it out for me to see.

"Jesus-H-farking Chee-rist!" I exclaimed, as I squinted at it. A tiny naked woman less than an inch tall waved at me and gave me either the OK sign or the finger, I couldn't tell which. "She's H-O scale! No wonder Tweed can't find Grisim! Hell, maybe he's on the bottom of someone's shoe by now, been carried off by a spider, or flushed down a toilet!"

"Hopefully not," said Elaine. "Hey, be careful; don't breathe so hard, you'll blow her out of there!"

A few minutes later we were outside of Grisim's Suite, peeking in at Tweed and Gorilla number two. They were obviously tired of looking for Grisim. "I don't get it, where the hell can the little twerp be?" Tweed shouted. "You were supposed to grab him." She poked the gorilla.

"I'm sorry Ms. Tweed; I busted in here fifteen minutes after Simon left, and Grisim was already nowhere to be found. Just some poop in the toilet and a little on the bathroom floor. I still say he shrank down to nothing."

"Then how do we prove he's dead? Hell, I figured that an overdose would promptly kill the bastard, and we'd find him lying around in here, only slightly undersized. An overdose of practically any damn thing kills!"

Just then John and one of the security chicks came bursting in. "They're gone, Alicia. Got the drop on me and must have gone outside on the ledge again."

My heart stopped beating at that point. In moments they were at our window hauling Elaine and me inside at gun point. We were prisoners again and John took back his gun. This time they were taking no chances; they tied both of us up immediately. Of course they noticed that there were only two of us and that Elaine was smaller, but they didn't know where Fey was or what she had become.

"Where the hell is Fey, Simon?" they demanded again and again, as the two gorillas worked me over real good. But I wasn't talking.

When they started to slap Elaine around, something in me snapped. "OK, OK, I'll tell you!" I whined. "She fell."

"Fell!" responded Tweed, with a gleeful smirk on her face that I'd never forget.

"Off the ledge. When the cops find her they'll be up here." Of course, I knew that would be unlikely. There was a big wooded area in back of the hotel, and railroad tracks in back of that; that's why folks could prance around half the day on that ledge and not be noticed.

Tweed must have known it too, because she was still smiling. "John, send someone down to look for and hide the remains, just in case," she ordered. "Everyone else should fan out and search all the rooms along that ledge. It wouldn't surprise me if Mr. Simon is mistaken." They gagged us, and the bitch even kicked me before they left.

"Oomph," said Elaine, through her gag. I turned my head to watch her. She was wiggling and grunting, apparently trying to get out of the ropes, but all she could do was squeeze her little make-up box from her pocket. Only as it clattered to the floor and popped open did I realize that Jane Fey was still in the damn thing, and had probably been killed by the fall, which must have seemed like a hundred feet to her!

To my amazement a tiny figure climbed out of the box, and then climbed to the top of it, apparently to get a better view. A half a minute later, little Jane jumped down and ran across the room, where she was quickly joined by another equally small creature. It was Grisim, it had to be! The two hugged and stood there for a short time, probably talking. Then they headed for me.

I fought the urge to kick or twitch when I felt them climbing my leg, yanking on my leg-hairs. Actually, it tickled like crazy. They felt like bugs; it's a good thing I was tied up or I might have swatted them flat as a reflex action. It was a relief when they climbed onto the outside of my robe; I had been afraid that they'd just continue on up my leg and underneath the robe, to where no man has gone before. I couldn't even feel them on the robe, which was fine by me.

In a short time they were standing on my hand, jumping up and down and pointing at the end-table next to the chair that I was tied to. Straining at my bonds I was able to reach close to the edge of the table, and they nimbly hopped onto it like a pair of grasshoppers. On the table was an assortment of snacks from last night, which the couple quickly explored. They heaped a little pile of chips, cheese dip, and Jell-O at one end of the table. Then they stood closely together. Then they were lying down together and rolling around.

I thought for a moment that they were fighting, but then I suddenly realized that they were humping like sex-crazed rabbits. After only a short time they stopped, slowly crawled to their stash of food, and quickly ate it all. Then they were making whoopee. Then they were gathering food and eating again. Then they were making love again. Then they were eating. Then humping. Then they were gathering food. Then screwing. Then they were eating. I lost track of how many times they did it, all in only a few minutes. All the time they were getting bigger. When they reached hamster size they pushed the remaining food off the table, jumped down to the floor, and to my relief finally did their love making out of sight. I could hear their shrill little chipmunk voices though, which was almost as bad.

Finally, I felt a gentle tugging at the ropes around my legs. Jane Fey and John Grisim, each about two feet tall, were untying me and Elaine.

"We ran out of food," Jane explained, in a voice so high that I could just barely hear her. The tiny cutie was wearing a hand-towel sarong thank goodness; I was hungry enough already.

"Lock and barricade the doors," said Elaine, as soon as she could speak. "They'll be back any second, and we're finally all here for them to kill." She was being bossy again, but I let it pass.

"OK genius, now what?" I asked her, after the doors were blocked shut.

"We must inform the authorities immediately," said Grisim.

Duh! "How?" I asked.

"Help me make rope," said Elaine. She soon had us all tearing sheets in strips and pulling chords from the draperies. Our makeshift rope wouldn't hold my weight or Elaine's, which is of course why we hadn't tried it earlier.

"I get it. I have to climb down and get help," said Fey.

"Not without me, darling," said Grisim resolutely.

Darling?

"He's right," Elaine said. "You both have to go. Grisim's dead once they break in here."

We gave the two courageous little people instructions and phone booth quarters, and lowered them to the ground far below, apparently safely. They might still have a dangerous time of it, dodging stray dogs, drunken psychos, and other average city dwellers, not to mention the goon that Tweed sent down there to search for Fey's body. Still, they had a chance of making it.

But Elaine and I would probably be dead before help arrived; Elaine knew it and I knew it. We looked into each other's eyes, and held each other tight. It made me hungry as hell, but I didn't care.

"You know," I said, caught up in the moment, "I was thinking of making you a full partner."

"Equal pay?" she asked, unbelieving.

"We already get equal pay," I said. It was true; as meager as her pay was, I didn't take home any more than she did.

"I knew that," she said. "I just wanted you to say it."

"Now how did you know that?" I asked, amazed.

"I do the books, silly. I'm not dumb, you know."

"That's an understatement," I acknowledged. "But you've got to forget about Joe Kebony. This partnership has to be exclusive."

"Joe who?" she asked excitedly, and gave me a deep kiss.

There was pounding and shouting at the door. Tweed and company had returned. They were really pissed off already, and it would get even worse when they noticed missing sheets and chords and people. The door shuttered as the gorillas started to bust through. I figured we were goners, but Elaine figured different.

"Out on the ledge partner, it could buy us some time," Elaine said, pulling me to the window.

Soon we were edging along the narrow ledge, this time hand in hand. More noises and shouts came from Grisim's suite. Any second, I expected to see Tweed or John at the window pointing a gun at us. They wouldn't even have to shoot us. It wouldn't take much to get us off that narrow ledge; soon we'd both be falling close to a hundred feet!

Really weird thoughts went through my head just then. That it wouldn't be too bad a way to go, together like that. That at least we had saved our client. Stupid thoughts. Then I suddenly realized that it would be the worst damn way to go, together like that, when we were really caring so much for each other, and the hell with clients, rich and poor alike. We held on to each other and kissed as the weird thoughts spun through my head.

There were more yelling and shuffling around sounds from inside the room and then silence. "You guys staying out there all damn day?" said a familiar voice. Joe Kebony's ugly mug was grinning at us from the window a few yards away. He was a beautiful sight.

Joe and a couple more cops were inside, but Tweed and her goons had already been arrested and carted away. Grisim was there too, the moment we got inside, handing me a check with an integer and whole bunch of zeros tagged on after it. He and Jane were both several inches taller; they must have been at it again somewhere along the way. "We have to go get ready for the bank," he said, as he pulled Fey into a suite and shut the door. They were carrying several big buckets of chicken.

Elaine eyed our check from Grisim and gave me a big kiss. The shrinking nuts case was history and I was headed for the bank too!

"Does this mean our date is off, Baby?" Joe asked Elaine. Then he finally noticed our unusual appearance. "Hey! You two guys shrank too!" he observed. What a genius!

"Our honeymoon will take care of that," said Elaine. She smiled and kissed me again.

Honeymoon? It never fails. Mention partnership and a woman figures marriage, honeymoon, and the whole damn nine-yards! I had been thinking more along the lines of just a quickie and more pizza back at the office, but I let it pass.

****

Return to Contents

4.

Critters

"The critters are a-coming," pronounced my nearest neighbor Slim what's-his-name from my doorstep, grinning gap-toothed in his torn, mud stained would-never-again-be-truly-white tea-shirt and ripped denim overalls, and chewing on a piece of hay and/or tobacco or God knows what they chew on out here in the boonies.

I probably misunderstood him. I was new to the South, to living in the country, and to this neighborhood, if that's what it's even called out here in the middle of nowhere; fresh from a northern city where more people lived comfortably in single square block than survived in this entire back-woods county.

Was the man actually suggesting that even MORE animals were a-coming? It seemed to me that I had been up to my eyeballs in 'critters' since I moved here two months earlier. Still, I didn't really much mind them; they were part of the price to be paid for this slice of God's country, and far less of a hassle than the sixty-mile commute over narrow cow-paths to the nearest outpost of civilization where I worked. Besides, I had achieved elevated social prominence at the office with my critter stories. "They've already come," I informed Slim. "For example a mystery animal has been getting into my garbage can."

"Probably jess coons," drawled Zeke Potter, from beyond Slim. Zeke was wide-bodied enough to be seen to each side of Slim. "If'n it was bears or skunks, you'd a knowed it!" He laughed, his big round belly shaking under a khaki work shirt with buttons strained beyond reason and fat, bare skin squeezing out between them hideously.

Slim thoughtfully stepped back to the porch edge to spit out a disgusting brown wad of whatever-it-was he chewed onto my front lawn, as I looked with disbelief at my watch. It was not quite six AM on a Saturday. Would these two yokels ever come to the point? I figured I had at least three more hours of sleep coming to me.

Slim continued, flashing his less than white teeth. "We don't mean to worry you none Mr. T. It probably won't amount to nothing a'tall, if'n you follow our ad-vice, but we thought it'd be the neighborly thing to give you fair warning. Did you hear the distant drumming last night? THEY always hit around here the night after THAT happens don't you see, if there be a full moon."

"And there be one," added Zeke, his round grinning head rolling a nod atop his Humpty-Dumpty body.

I couldn't possibly have seen or heard anything the night before. I had slept like a log after driving from my ex-wife's place and back, mostly over twisting country roads. Only the potholes kept me awake during the final stretch; after that I was dead to the world. I still wasn't fully awake now, and didn't want to be. "What critters are you talking about?"

Zeke and Slim looked at each other, their smiles disappearing, replaced by looks of surprise.

"Well now, didn't ole Howie Long tell you none about the critter problem hereabouts?" asked Zeke. "Before he sold you his place?"

"He said something about wanting to get away from animals in the forest, but I didn't really pay attention. It just wasn't important." I yawned as I stood there in my pajamas. SLEEP was important!

"Man-ohhhh-man, Mr. T., that tweren't fair of ole Howie a-tall!" declared Slim, shaking his hairy head. "It's a good thing then that we done stopped by. Howie, he don't like to talk on it; that's gotta be it. Can't fault him none for that I guess, after what he's been through."

"It were his own fault," stated Zeke. "We done told him not to try'n stop-um, but he went and killed that'n, and that were the start of it."

"Yep," agreed Slim, shaking his head. "He shot himself a critter, then he lost his own young-in in return."

"Now wait just a minute. What are you talking about? Bears, mountain lions, wolves, what?" I asked, definitely feeling now that I was being hoodwinked. What was next, snipe hunts at midnight? How stupid did they think I was?

"All them critters and more," said Slim. "Some things that be spirits of the long gone, like them Injins. Maybe some things that ain't never lived, 'cept in twisted minds. No Mr. T, there ain't no one name for-um, that us or you'd a heared of. So we jess calls-um critters."

"Some of the ones I seen could 'a been wolves, at one time," added Zeke. "They be the noisiest, cept'n maybe for them yelling Injins."

"Them and bears and buffalo be mostly ghost critters of course, along with the ghost Injins," added Slim. "But there be plenty of real critters too, thousands of them. Howie shot him one mean looking coon. But what they aire, live or no, don't matter none. You jess leave out for-um ALL yer food, Mr. T, anything and everything you got 'il do jess fine, and you'll be Ooooh-K."

Ghost wolves and bears and buffalo and Indians. Right. "You guys are putting me on."

"Don't hold nothing back of food, or try to fight-um off, or they'll get even, that's what ole Howie found out, when he done lost his boy," admonished Zeke.

"You can't stop-um, so don't think you can. You gotta remember they ain't really out to hurt nobody, and jess keep still while they go about their business," added Slim. "If'n I were you, I'd put all my food on this here front porch by nightfall. They maybe won't even come inside the house then."

"But don't you count on it," added Zeke, laughing. "They's a curious bunch. They might just want to check you out real close, you being a newcomer, and living in Howie's old place."

"They paid a lot-a 'tension to ole Howie. It were his ad-verse attitude, don't you know," explained Slim, as he fished a disgusting old leather pouch from a pocket, and fumbled a big gob of tobacco from it and into his grinning mouth.

"OK, fellas," I laughed. "That's enough, I get the picture. You want be to put all my food out on the porch for the raccoons tonight, and then you guys will have a good laugh." I ushered them off my porch.

Zeke walked slowly away, shaking his head, clearly insulted, while Slim turned back to face me, his face serious, his eyes looking into mine. "Truth is, Mr. T, Howie thought the same about it, and we ended up with State Police, and hounds, and T-V reporters here-abouts for near a month after his boy disappeared. We don't want that same thing again, no way. Tell you what. I got me some food to spare, what if I's to put some on your porch here for ya? That might help some."

"No," I said firmly, as I slammed my front door shut. I was tired and grumpy and out of patience. It was six AM on a Saturday morning, for Christ sakes!

I watched them amble down my long driveway until it made a turn into the woods and the motley pair was blissfully lost from sight. I headed upstairs for my warm soft bed.

"What were those men here for, Daddy?" asked Laura, standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom in her white cotton nightgown with little bunnies all over it, rubbing her eyes. How quickly she was growing. She was in kindergarten already! Seeing her one weekend a month wasn't enough, not nearly enough. All the weekends in a lifetime wouldn't be enough.

"Nothing important, Pumpkin," I reassured her. "Go back to bed; it's still too early to get up." I took her small, warm, soft hand in mine and led her back to the bed.

"Did they say about the drums, Daddy?" she asked, as I tucked her in.

A chill went through me. "What drums, Honey?"

"Those drums from in the woods last night, Daddy. Didn't you hear them?"

"No," I said, trying to show nothing but reassurance. "There are no drums in the woods Pumpkin; it must have just been a dream." I kissed her cheek. "You go back to sleep now."

Those two bastards were worse than I thought. I could picture them trudging through the woods in the moonlight, beating on drums and laughing, and probably pausing now and again to pass a jug of moonshine between them. They must have been trying to spook just me though; they didn't know about Laura, unless one of them happened to see her when we drove in. This was the first time I had her here with me at the new house.

Maybe my ex-wife Jane was right, maybe this country house was a mistake, but I didn't listen to Jane anymore, maybe I never had. I bought the remote house in the woods as much for Laura as for myself. I just needed to get away, but Laura loved being in the woods and seeing the wild animals there, just as she loved trips to parks and zoos.

This wasn't a storybook forest though; this was an isolated rural area, apparently inhabited by loony hicks who got their kicks trying to frighten newcomers. My heart and mind still racing too much for sleep, I got my new rifle out of the box, read the instructions, and loaded it. I hated guns, but now for the first time I was glad I had one. It was only a twenty-two caliber target rifle, but I knew that a long-rifle shell could slam lead through several inches of soft pine and kill just about anything around, including humans. I put it on top of my big bedroom dresser where Laura wouldn't even see it. She was an innocent in all this; too young to understand mean senseless adults. Whatever happened, I would keep her safe from it.

We passed the day together idyllically, exploring the house and the surrounding woods. I was with my little girl again! Trees, birds, flowers: everything was a wonderful miracle to her, while to me she was the greatest miracle of all. I soon forgot about critters and up-to-no-good, good-old country-boys.

However, that night I was careful to lock all the doors and windows. After Laura fell asleep I went into her room and sat in the rocker next to her bed. I opened her window just a crack and listened to the comforting, normal sounds of tree frogs and crickets for several hours, until I finally nodded-off to sleep.

I woke to the sound of Indian tom-toms and chanting, howling, hooting and growling, rustling and snorting, coming from immediately outside the open window! Slim and Zeke must have hauled a whole damn stereo system out there, to create such a racket! Laura woke too, but I closed all the windows and comforted her.

Open or closed, windows didn't seem to make a difference to the sounds, which were growing louder and seemed to be coming from everywhere! A wolf howled, impossibly close, sounding like it was somewhere in the house! Indian chanting seemed to be coming from the closet, and then also from under the bed. From outside there were sounds of dry leaves shifting and twigs snapping, as though a whole heard of animals was stampeding through the woods around the house!

"I'm not scared, Daddy," Laura announced, after a few minutes. "It's just the animals on parade, like in the book." Sitting on the bed, her little body was swaying back and forth with the beat of the drums and the chanting. The sound was strangely mesmerizing. I felt something enticing about it, something familiar, ancient, and primal, but at the same time it was horribly strange and therefore terrifying.

I had to do something. I stepped to the window looked out cautiously through an opening I made in the venetian blinds. Something large and dark flew past, with a screech and a flap of wings, and I jumped back, but not before noticing plenty of shadowy motion at ground level down among the trees. I returned to the window, expecting or perhaps now desperately hoping to see Slim and Zeke stumbling about, but I could only make out a sea of shifting shadows, all through the woods as far as I could see. The strange shadows and rustling noises had to be made by breeze-blown trees and leaves in the moonlight, I reasoned.

I opened the window and pressed my nose against the screen, and waited for my eyes to focus better and for my tired brain to recognize what I was seeing, while a gentle breeze brought in unmistakable zoo-type smells, noises and sounds. Terror shot through me, as it became clear that the shadows were impossible numbers of animals, rambling about in time to the Indian drumming and chanting, while they snorted and growled and howled! Critters, countless thousands of them! Some shadows were far too big to be even bears or deer, others were as tiny as mice, but it was too dark to make out exactly what most of them where. Thousands of apparent birds and bats also moved through the air!

I struggled with my confusion and my fear. I had to DO something, didn't I? To regain control? God knows what they were up to! I had to protect my property and above all Laura! Animals are afraid of people, I reasoned, so I screamed and cursed and banished them all at the top of my lungs through the open window. In response a big shadow paused and reared up towards me. I could make out big wide-spaced eyes only a foot or two below me, looking up into mine. It was an impossibly huge bear; I had seen Kodak and polar bears in zoos, and this one was much bigger! It roared at me in defiance, and the sound and putrid breath knocked me back from the window to sprawl rag-doll-like against Laura's bed. Strength had drained from my body and soul! Animal sounds were everywhere now; tiny footsteps on the roof, shuffling and scraping of claws in the hallway, and hoots and grunts and snorts and howls and roars from everywhere! And through it all came Indian chanting, wailing, and drums!

I reached for Laura. The bed was empty! The pounding of my heart was suddenly louder than the drums and chants and howls could ever be, and I sprang to my feet and switched on the lights. There were no lights! I ripped the blinds from the window, letting in as much moonlight as possible. Ignoring the dancing critter shadows on the walls, I looked and felt desperately for Laura in closets and under the bed, calling out her name again and again. She was nowhere in the room! Could she have opened the door and walked out while I shouted useless nonsense through the window, or had something monstrous come in and made off with her through the very walls or floor?

I stumbled into the hallway where it was even darker and into the back of a big black bear. I bounced off it, but it seemed not to notice me among the riot of pressing animal bodies, sights and sounds. Hundreds of wild animals crowded the hallway, and their grunts, squeals, squawks, and musky scents filled the air. I felt unknown furry things scurry against and past my legs, their clawed paws stepping on my bare feet, while bumping me this way and that as I stumbled about. Feathered wings fluttered against my face. They were all converging on my upstairs pantry, where they pulled out bags of flour and sugar and corn meal, ripping them open, and lapping up the contents ravenously.

I studied this all for only the brief moments needed for me to satisfy myself that Laura was not there. I bumped my way past furry and feathered bodies into the bathroom and then into my own bedroom and quickly looked in places she could have hid, all to no avail!

Then I remembered the rifle! In an instant it was in my hands, reassuringly solid and deadly, and I worked my way through the wild throng to the stairs with it grasped firmly, my best hope and my strongest link to sanity.

On the stairs I stepped on something soft, which I picked up and examined in the near-darkness. It was Laura's nightgown! I screamed in despair and ran down the rest of the steps, stumbling into and pushing aside grunting, squealing animals as I went. At the bottom of the stairs the front door was ripped from its hinges and hundreds more critters poured in from outside. There were squirrels, raccoons, skunks, opossums, foxes, wild-cats, wild pigs, bears, and others, grunting, hooting, growling and screaming!

In the living-room, light poured from the roaring fireplace fire that I hadn't lit, and moonlight streamed in through the windows to display a dozen chanting, drum pounding Indians and scores of animals of all kinds, swarming around my Laura. She was standing in the middle of the room wearing only her panties, her little body swaying to the sound and vibrations of the drums, her skin glowing red in the firelight, as chanting Indians circled her and painted black and white lines and circles on her bare skin. I could her little voice chanting in chorus with the others!

I shouted her name again and again with no results! I ran towards her, but my path was blocked by an impossibly huge bear, maybe the one I saw outside. I didn't care how big it was, my desperate terror had grown now beyond all reason or fear. I swung my rifle butt at it. To my surprise, the rifle and I passed through the bear as if it was not there, and the creature instantly disappeared. At that the Indian figures dimmed for just a moment, becoming translucent. I could see the fireplace fire right through the body of one of them, confirming what my neighbors had said about them being ghosts.

The critters and Indian ghosts all turned to stare at me then, as if my act of passing through and extinguishing the bear had finally gotten their attention. The chanting and chattering paused for just a moment, then resumed anew with even greater intensity as they returned their attentions to Laura!

I thought that she glanced up at me then, and that there was a flash of recognition in her eyes, but my view and my path to Laura were then completely blocked by a big black bear. I shot off the gun into the air and swung the butt at the bear as I stepped towards it and Laura, but this time I encountered immovable solid flesh and fur and muscle that reared up and at me and swung a mighty blow to my head. I blacked out realizing that this bear was real!

****

I woke with my head pounding painfully, and tried to sit up, but was held down firmly.

"He'll live," pronounced a familiar voice, as my eyes opened to confirm the speaker's identity. It was Slim. I could see Zeke standing behind him. "You had us worried there, Mr. T!"

"Laura?" I asked, sitting up despite Slim as I looked desperately for her. The living room was empty and disheveled, including a lamp broken on the hardwood floor around thousands of muddy animal footprints, and ashes that filled the fireplace. "Laura!" I shouted.

"Who the deuce be Laura?" asked Slim, helping me to my feet when he realized that there was no stopping me.

"My five-year old daughter Laura, where is she?"

"Daughter! Hell's-fire man!" snorted Zeke angrily. "We didn't know you had no daughter! That's a whole other ball game! Hell, we'd-a done a sight more to for you an' her last night if'n we'd-a knowed about a daughter!" He ran off through the house to look for her, followed by Slim, while I dizzily struggled to join them, stumbling, and dripping blood from my aching head. When we found no sign of her inside or out, Zeke phoned the County Sheriff.

I blubbered incoherently they told me later, when asked questions by the Sheriff, State Police, and FBI during the search over the next two weeks. I saw Jane one day, sitting in one of dozens of vehicles that came to join the search. I tried to get to her but she just looked up at me from in the car with pain and hopeless worry etched upon her face, as a strange man got out of the driver's seat next to her and firmly walked me away. It must have been her new husband Frank, I realized later. We had managed to avoid each other until then.

They found no signs of Laura, and suspended the search after the third week. They didn't tell me outright, but I was a key suspect. Despite thousands of animal tracks and so-forth found in and around the house, and the injury to by head that could have been made by a bear, my story was totally absurd. Ghosts don't exist, and wild animals just don't behave that way. I was loony or guilty or both. My neighbors were also suspects of course, as this same thing had happened three years earlier to Howie Long's boy.

They arrested Mr. Long a few days later, I saw it on TV. Now I recognized all too well that blank despairing look in his eyes, which I had months ago attributed to sadness about selling his home. It was the same look that now I had. Long had killed both his son Tom and my daughter, the authorities claimed. Mindless, worthless bastards, what the hell did they know about anything? Long didn't even seem to mind getting arrested. I almost wished they had arrested me instead; what did any of it matter anyway? The critters had taken my Laura!

One morning bright and early Slim and Zeke were at my door. "Come on in," I invited them drearily, seating them in my living room. These men and their kin had trudged through the woods looking for Laura more than anybody else, and put up with police and reporters. If I had listened to them in the first place, Laura would be alive and home. "I owe you fellas a huge apology..." I began, but Slim cut me off.

"Tain't so," disagreed Slim. "We all feel bad about what happened, but that ain't important."

"What's important is your little girl," said Zeke, stating the obvious.

"Laura is gone," I said, the words almost choking me.

"Cops say Howie Long done it," said Slim, sizing me up. "What do you think?"

"That's bullshit."

Zeke nodded his head. "Just wanted to make sure yer mind ain't addled, like they says in the newspapers. We don't want to get yer hopes up too high, but we got us an idea."

"Might not work a-tall, but we thought it'd be neighborly to give it a try," added Slim.

"Idea?"

"To be-a get'n back yer little girl," said Zeke.

I could only stare at them blankly.

"We tried to get Howie to do it to get back his'n, but he wouldn't have no part of it," said Slim. "Maybe he was scared, or just too stubborn."

"I'll try it, whatever it is. I'm not scared of anything anymore," I said.

Zeke nodded his head. "We figured that a fella that wrestles with bears might feel that-a-way. Anyway, here it is. There's an Injin reservation south of here that's got some old Injins still a-living there."

"We went and talked with-um one time, some years back," added Slim, "about our critter situation."

"One old timer took us aside and told us that there was an older tribe here before they come. On warm moonlit nights they done something special with the animals and the animal spirits," continued Zeke.

"Moon Dancers, he called-um," said Slim. "He said that some youngsters in his own tribe got pulled into it, and danced with them ghosts and animals for a time, for'n they got-um back."

"Got them back?" I asked incredulously. "How? What do I have to do?"

"Join up with-um for a bit," said Slim. "Dance with-um, like your girl done. But you stay awake, and stick with her, so at dawn she don't go back with-um, to wherever they be when they ain't Moon Dancing in this-here world."

"How?" I asked.

"That's 'bout all the old man done told us," said Zeke.

"When can I do it?"

"When the moon's near full."

"Do they come at every full moon?"

"No," said Slim. "One time in a year or two is normal, if that."

"I can't wait a year!" I blustered.

"Might not have to," said Slim. He pulled an old-looking leather pouch from a pocket. It was not unlike the one that held his tobacco in terms of general appearance, but this one was covered with burnt-in markings. He placed it in my hands. "The old Injin done give us this-here. Yer tribe is supposed to sing and beat tom-toms around a fire about midnight, a couple nights running, at the full Moon."

"Naked," added Zeke, grinning, "or darn near so. With these here markings of the pouch painted on-um. It's supposed to draw the whole she-bang to ya, captured spirits and all. Your daughter too, Lord willing."

I looked inside the pouch. Inside was dust, or maybe ash, and what looked like tiny bits of charred, ancient bone. I studied the markings on the pouch more carefully. What I had first took for meaningless lines and circles were ancient runes, plus pictographs of all sorts of animals. Many I recognized as animals that still lived in the forest, but there were also buffalo, elephants, and other beasts that I had only seen the bones of in museums.

"What the hell could I sing?" I asked. "I don't know any Indian words!"

"The old man said language or race don't matter none," explained Slim. "Your tribe has just got to sing praise to the spirits of critters and such."

"From the heart," added Zeke.

"I don't have a tribe," I objected.

Zeke and Slim looked at each other and grinned. They stood up and stripped of their shirts, yelling, laughing, and clapping their hands, and started doing a terrible parody of Indian dancing all around the room. Runes and pictographs were drawn with markers all over their bare backs, stomachs, and chests! I had my tribe, and the moon would be nearly full tonight!

I drove to town and bought three sets of Cuban bongo drums. That was as close as I could find to Indian tom-toms. Meanwhile Slim and Zeke gathered firewood. All night the three of us sat around a fire in the woods in back of my house, chanting and singing and howling at the moon. We must have looked ridiculous in our paint and underwear, but this was dead serious business. We got cold and mosquito bit, but that was about all that happened.

The next night we took a pinch of powder from the pouch and added it to our body paint. Slim brought some hooch, as he called it, and passed the jug around. We were even less inhibited as a result, and bongoed and danced and hooted and barked so much that we almost didn't notice the faint sound of answering drums beating in the distance.

The third night, we built three fires, and danced and sang out loud while wearing pouch-powdered paint as we had the night before. Around the campsite we had placed several bales of hay, sacks of seed torn open, mounds of day-old bread, fifty pounds of beef, and some fruit.

Zeke noticed them first. Birds, dozens of them, and then hundreds and thousands of them, were softly settling into the trees all around the fire. Big and small, they included both night and day birds: crows, owls, hawks and eagles, herons and vultures.

Two huge dark shadows passed over our heads, with a rush of wind that almost snuffed out our fires. Two impossibly gigantic and ugly birds with wingspans of several yards landed on a fallen log near the fire. It was two black vultures that stood as tall as men, with eyes that sparkled in the firelight and bore into ours. I vaguely remembered reading of long extinct birds their size. These were only ghost birds, I hoped.

I glanced at my companions. Despite the fear in their eyes, they kept up their singing and drumming and dancing, but they passed around more hooch. We heard dozens of wolves howling but, but a translucent brown bear as big as a Volkswagen came next. It settled in quietly near our fire and simply stared at us. Much smaller bears, black ones, discovered the food we had left out, and started eating. These I suspected to be real bears, drawn from the neighboring woods, but I resisted the impulse to poke them in order to find out for sure.
Drummers and chanters came towards us through the trees; Indian spirits, mostly adult, painted much like we were. They looked almost solid, but ancient and colorless. We altered our own singing, drumming and chanting to match and join in with theirs as best we could.

Several Indian children and a few adults came dashing into our midst, singing and laughing, running with hundreds of animals of all sorts. There were coyotes and wolves and foxes, badgers, wildcats and mountain lions, deer and elk and buffalo, squirrels and chipmunks and raccoons. Birds of all sorts real and ghostly flew with the cavorting creatures. A translucent hairy elephant with huge tusks came trumpeting majestically through the crowd, followed by a huge ponderous beast that I recognized to be a giant ground sloth!

Everything moved and made sounds in time with the chanting and drums. There was something about it that reached to the primitive core of the brain. I didn't have to try to immerse myself in it; I couldn't help being part of it! It was me and I was it with every fiber of my being!

Someone was shaking my arm, disturbing my perfect one-ness with it. I shook them off but they persisted, and shouted something in my ear that I didn't understand. "Laura!" What did it mean? "You done slipped too far into it, you got-ta pull back just a bit," they said. They forced nasty tasting stuff down my throat, dimming my thoughts. I found myself standing between Slim and Zeke, sharing their rot-gut jug, and swaying not quite so perfectly with the critter music.

Slim and Zeke pointed across our little clearing and nodded. There she was, my Laura, dancing among the Indian children! She looked much as she had when I saw her last, nearly naked and painted, though now mud was spattered on her, and she might have been thinner, but she looked real, alive, healthy and even happy! I resisted a powerful impulse to run to her; that had availed me nothing a month earlier!

An older boy perhaps twice her age followed her every step. At length they both paused briefly to eat fruit that we had left out, and I realized with a shock that the boy was real too: a thin white boy in very ragged shorts, his skin darkened by sun, his long, tangled hair half-way down his back.

"That be Tom Long," Slim said in my ear. "You dance towards her slow; me and Zeke will keep playing. We got to keep-um here till dawn. If'n they run off we'll lose-um." He took my drums and handed me the half-full jug of hooch. "You take this'in; we got us more," he said, pointing towards an identical jug in his other hand. Then he pushed me towards Laura.

I had to join in with Laura somehow! I danced with the beat, moving towards her cautiously. As long as I moved and chanted as the others, no one paid attention to me, but if I tried to 'cheat' a little to get to her faster, dozens of critters and their Indian friends turned towards me, suspicious.

When I finally got close to her, she moved rapidly away, pulled by the boy. I worked towards them again, and he pulled her away again, laughing. It had to be deliberate. He made a little game of it, pulling her away, then hiding behind grunting bears and Indians and growling cougars. We were soon running more than dancing, and after a short while I was out of breath, and the exercise cleared my brain of hooch. As I rested I found myself slipping dangerously into the critter-spell again, until I took another swig of the mind-numbing hooch.

We went on like that for what seemed like hours! I was nearly exhausted; this couldn't go on! I tried calling her name, but this time not shouting it out of cadence, but making it part of the chant. I was at last rewarded when she looked at me and smiled, but at that the boy pulled her away again.

I had to try something else. I began calling his name also, again and again. It slowed him. I caught him looking at me and thinking about it. As I got closer and closer to them, my anxiety and desperation mushroomed, and I lost all focus on dancing and chanting. They were only a few steps away.

Suddenly I heard a scream, and the drumming and chanting abruptly stopped. An ancient spirit Indian stepped forward and pointed at me. He didn't look happy. I had been found out. Several real bears drifted my way, their menacing, dark eyes fixed on mine.

"Dance, Mr. T!" yelled a voice at my shoulder. It was Slim, with Zeke by his side, re-invigorating their dancing and chanting for all they were worth. Each took me by a shoulder and together we jigged and jammed drunkenly about the joy of nature. This time though, Slim and Zeke slipped their own names into their litany of revered animal names. Then they added Laura's name and Tom's.

Suddenly I understood. Our names all belonged with the critters! We added Jim, my own name! Slim, Zeke, Jim, Laura, Tom, we sang, over and over. The old Indian gradually smiled, then nodded, and all the Indian chanting and animal wallowing restarted, more rambunctious than ever. Among the Indian words chanted by the spirits now I heard our names. More, I somehow heard our names among the howls and grunts and chattering of the animals and animal spirits! I felt more animals than ever rub against my legs, and flutter over our heads in the soft night breeze. I rubbed back. We were indeed one with nature, all of us; all part of a grand celebration that was life and death eternal!

The old spirit Indian danced slowly towards us then, hand in hand with Tom and Laura. He put their hands in mine as we all chanted, looking deep into my eyes. Then he smiled as he withdrew. He said nothing, but I sensed that my tribe and I had been assessed as worthy; worthy to live in these woods and to raise our children among the critters! As the dull glow of dawn began to return color to our world, and the moon started to disappear in the bluing sky, the spirits and animals faded away with the morning mists. Only we five humans remained!

Laura leapt into my arms, hugging me. "I danced with the animals, did you see, Daddy?"

"Yes Honey," was all that I could choke out in reply, between happy sobs and kisses.

"Mr. Zeke," asked Tommy, "can you take me home? My Pa's gonna be mad at me being out all night."

"Sure, Tom. But don't you worry about him being mad at you, he's just going to be very happy to see you." Zeke took Tommy by the hand and started to walk out of the forest, followed by Slim, my daughter, and myself. My two country neighbors could hardly walk, nor could I, as exhilaration gave way to exhaustion, hangovers, and mosquito bites.

"Slim, Zeke, we owe you more than we can ever repay you," I started, when we finally got back to the house and Zeke had phoned the police to tell them to free Tommy's dad.

"Wasn't anything that good neighbors shouldn't do, Mr. T.," shrugged Slim.

"I'd be much obliged if you'd call me Jim."

"Sorry, we can't do that, Mr. T." replied Zeke. "Too confusing."

"My real name is James," confessed Slim.

"Slim Jim?" I asked, incredulous.

"The guys in the office hung that one on me."

"Office?"

"I'm an investment broker. Work for Zeke and Zeke's Pa, Andrew Potter." He took a swig out of the hooch jug he carried, and passed it to Zeke.

"The multi-millionaire investor Andrew Potter?"

"Don't spread that around," implored Zeke, after he took his own swig from the jug. "We like our privacy and our simple country way of life. It's a return to our roots, you might say. Say, how's about if we just call you J.T.?" He handed me the hooch jug.

"Sounds like a respectable good-ole-country-boy name to me," I agreed, accepting the tribe jug gratefully. I took a big swig of tangy hooch that nicely warmed my throat and tummy. My grin was miles wide. I was home and where I at last belonged! We all belonged here together: me, Laura, our tribe, and the critters!

****

Return to Contents

5.

Cube

The cosmic being who lost it wasn't very concerned. It was a simple trinket after all, merely an interesting plaything. It wasn't worth another trip across the Multiverse just to retrieve it.

The water-blessed planet where it was lost teemed with primitive life in its seas; clearly it was a planet with potential, but one that would not support sentient life for hundreds of millions of its years, if ever. Environmental impact would be negligible. Probably.

****

Memorandum for the Record # 47-000237; 246/2347

From: Earth Geodetic Survey Office, 3rd District

To: Alien Artifact Subcommittee; Central Council

Subject: International Park Object Investigation

Sirs/Madams:

As regards our scientific investigation of the structure and function of the suspected alien artifact (hereafter referred to as the Object) discovered recently by our staff in the International Park of this District, I can report only meager progress. The Object remains totally impervious to all standard methods of interrogation, including material analysis through chemical, mechanical, particle/energy beam and quantum attractor techniques. In addition, it continues to resist all efforts to move it; indeed, it remains 'stationary' relative to the surrounding rock strata, despite the removal of all supporting strata structures. That is, it currently defies Earth gravity and 'floats' several meters above ground level, through mechanisms unknown and as yet totally undetected (see holographic images and parametric data provided as Attachment (1)).

As long as it remains thus, fixed within the confines of the Park, more extreme means of physical examination are out of the question. Indeed, there is growing journalistic and scientific speculation on a possible relationship between the Object and the amazing growth and regenerative phenomena long observed for living things within the surrounding Park. As a result, there is increasing public and political pressure for even our current, limited investigations to be completely terminated. The concern is that the Object could cease its operation due to ignorant blundering on our part.

However, in relation to the archeological investigation of the site, I am pleased to report discovery of apparently relevant hand-written narrative material (see printed excerpt and Notes provided as Attachment (2)), found encased in the artificial rock structure that hid the Object. Verified to be authentic and of the same period as the encasing rock and mortar structure that had encased the Object and delayed its discovery, the attachment is definitely of mere human origins, yet appears to provide important clues to the Object's properties, and to identify the historical circumstances of its burial three and a half centuries ago. We ask that the document be submitted to the Council Science Board for further study.

Sincerely; Sheldon Jans, Chief Geologist, Earth Geodetic Survey Office, 3rd District

Attachment (2) Excerpt:

My name is Hank Krenson. I'm writing down my story in this journal that we Krensons have started so we can keep track of what happens with us and the Cube.

We always kept to ourselves up on the Mountain; my family, my Pa's family, and his Pa's family. Living isolated that way isn't so unusual for folks in these parts of Oregon, but we were more serious about it than most, and with good reason.

In back of the house a grove of huge trees stretches up the valley for a mile till it hits the Mountain. I learned early on not to ask too many questions about that grove, about why we kept it in the family for so long without logging it, why we had a big fence around it, or why we never talked to outsiders about it. There were secrets on the Mountain that even the family wasn't to talk about.

Whatever else the grove on our land was, it was the most important thing in our lives. Pa was always checking the fence and fixing it when needed, no matter what. When I got old enough I helped, though I still wasn't allowed inside the grove. Even schoolwork wasn't important, compared to guarding the upper grove. Besides checking fence for breaks caused by animals or fallen trees, we'd look for signs of outsiders poking around. Once in a while a hunter or two would show up, and we'd run-um off. This is big country, with lots of other places for folks to hunt.

When I say Pa was strict, I don't mean that he ever beat me or anything like that; he didn't have too, he was always a forceful man in lots of ways, and could control me or just about anyone for that matter, with just a look. He was a determined man; it showed in his eyes, and the set of his jaw, and the way he stood and walked. Strong, that's how I mostly remember him.

That's partly why his death a few years ago, and Ma's death shortly after that, were such big shocks. Before that, none of us were ever even sick. Strange it happened that way, while they were away from the Mountain for the first time in years, just as it happened with our grandparents years earlier. Then again they were all much older than they looked when they died, most well over a hundred, and I guess the years finally caught up with them.

By that time I had married my Julia, and learned from Pa what he knew of the grove and its secrets. He never explained the grove to me when I was a child, until finally I just up and asked one fine spring morning when I was twelve and feeling all grown up and full of questions.

"OK, Son," said Pa. "I guess you're old enough. Let's take us a walk." We did: up the path around back, past the garden on the hill, and straight to the gate of the fence that blocked the upper valley. Using one of the keys he always kept strung to his belt he unlocked the big old padlock, opened the gate wide, and motioned to me to go in. I knew I had come of age at last!

After walking among some fine trees we came to a second fence with a second locked gate. I hadn't even known about it, since it couldn't quite be seen from outside the first one. It looked older, and Pa explained that it was put up by my granddaddy, before Pa was even born. While the outside fence was six foot of chain link with three barbed-wire lines on top, this second fence was all barbed wire. It reminded me of ones I saw in a movie at school on the great wars. The posts were all hand-done, but the wire and lock were store-bought. Though it was mostly old, it was still kept up good; some of the wire and posts looked new.

Beyond the second gate the path wound its way through woods that showed no signs of ever seeing ax or saw. The trees were Douglas Fur and Red Cedar as great in size as those Redwoods I had seen pictures of in books from town. I knew these trees were worth big money. After all, logging is what most folks do around here; that, or making things from the wood, or selling supplies and such to those that do. I figured then that the trees were the answer to why we guarded the grove, and said as much to Pa.

He laughed. "The trees are just part of God's plan to hide what's in the grove, son," he said. "What's hidden in there is evil, an abomination to God and nature, boy. Years ago your granddaddy pledged to the Lord that he and his kin would keep it hidden from the World. That's just what your grandpa did, and then I did, and now you. Today I'll show you what's hidden here, and tell you what I can about it."

We walked deeper into the grove; and all the while the trees got bigger and bigger, the further up that valley we went. They were much bigger than those trees pictured in the library books that they called Redwood or Sequoia, though they were still fir and cedar. There were bushes and vines and ferns and moss and all sorts of flowers too, bigger and healthier looking then I ever saw before! There were flowers big as dinner plates and berries big as apples, and slugs and bugs you don't even want to hear about!

We were all the while walking to the right of the stream that rushed down through our little valley in a hurry. As we went, the trail got faint, like it wasn't used much, and it narrowed with the valley, until it was just a narrow ledge along the stream that swirled and spat a dozen yards below. The water was swift and clear as spring rain, and I could see fish shapes, big ones, darting about in it. We didn't see many animals, but there was plenty of animal sign of all kinds, more than I ever saw before, from possum to black-tailed mule deer, elk, and black and brown bear.

We went through the remains of two more fences, or just gates really, since they only stretched between the cliff-side and stream, but these were really old, and so rotten they wouldn't keep out a thing. Animals probably knocked these down, along with the rot and falling tree limbs.

"These inner fences we don't keep up now-a-days boy," explained Pa. "They're too deep in. Got to keep folks clean out of the woods. If folks ever see them big trees, there won't be no stopping um."

"But they're _our_ trees, ain't they Pa?" I asked him.

"Sure Son," he said back. "But rich, greedy folks got ways to get what they want; sometimes it don't matter what's right or what's law. So we got to keep everyone out of these woods boy; that's the pure and simple fact of it."

As we wound our way round a bend in the trail Pa took my hand, held it tight, and walked slow, like we were sneaking up on a black-tail buck. It felt strange, my Pa holding my hand like that, when I was a grown-up of twelve. With every step, I expected some monster to step out from around the bend, like in the movies on TV or in the theatre in town. Or, just as bad, a bear. This is still griz country, and sneaking around quiet like that isn't too smart. You've got to let a griz know you're coming, so it can get out of your way, if you're lucky and it has a mind to.

Suddenly, Pa stopped. I looked at what was ahead, but didn't see anything out of sorts, except that the path ended at an extra-wide stretch of ledge, wide enough for a few small trees and bushes. Pa knelt down next to me, and pointed to the cliff face ahead, where it turned back towards the cascading stream.

It looked odd. There was a five-yard wide stretch where the cliff fell back like a cave, though that wasn't right either, because there aren't trees inside caves, or light and streams. The more I stared, the stranger it seemed. I couldn't rightly make out what I was looking at.

"Move yourself a little to the left and right," said Pa. "You'll see it directly."

"Is it a cave?" I asked.

"No Son, it's kind of a big box that looks like it's made of mirrors, though it isn't mirrors either," he said.

With that hint, I could make it out at last. What showed of it was what years later my boy Ned learned in school was called a cube shape, with all the sides we could see being an equal square. The reason it was so hard to make out was that it seemed to be made of mirrors facing out, so that it looked like the trees and rocks around it. The Cube was big; it was near three men long to a side. Half of it seemed to be sticking out of the solid black rock of the volcano. Altogether, it was peculiar.

But it wasn't scary. In fact, if not for Pa's firm grip on my shoulder, I'd have been working my way close to get a better look. I started to ask Pa a question, but he shushed me up and pulled me back down the path, away from the Cube in the cliff. When we were well out of earshot from the thing, he started telling me about it.

Pa swore that if a body gets too close, the Cube changes things. That's what he said, and anything he said, I counted on as pure fact.

"What does it change Pa?" I asked.

"Grandpa said near everything changes, Son," he told me. "Worst is, next thing you know, your family is different people, and things you thought happened didn't happen, and folks say things happened that you don't remember. Sometimes good things, but sometimes things that are terrible. That's why we Krensons say it's evil. The way this family figures, that thing and us have been put together for a reason. And that reason is this: it's our job to keep it hid. Your granddad figured he couldn't trust that job to other folks, and the way lots of folks are these days, that's still true for sure."

I must have been standing there with a stupid look on my face, like I didn't understand, because I sure didn't.

"That's OK Son," he said. "I know it's a lot to swallow in one gulp. We can chew on it some more sometime."

We talked about it again a couple times after that, but Pa didn't seem to know any more about the Cube than he told me that first time.

We Krensons never once left the grove unguarded, even after that worst of days when my wife Julia and our little Kate had the accident coming home from the market in town, except for during the funeral itself. Sheriff Marks forced us to Julia and Kate laid to rest in the graveyard near town, instead of at our place like I wanted, where Pa, and Ma, and the other Krensons are buried. Only me and my son Ned were left alive and alone on the Mountain.

I confess I was in poor shape after that. Until then I guess I thought I was the strong one, the one that could go on forever, no matter what. But it was Julia that helped me see things that way, and little Kate too.

Julia had always been there for all of us, full of gentle strength and love. She fed us, and nursed us when we needed it, and when there was a dispute, she set things right. On special days like birthdays, or when we were troubled, she played her piano with nimble fingers dancing soft across the old worn keys, floating magic through the valley, causing our souls to soar.

Then there was Kate. What could me or anyone write about Kate that would explain what she meant to us ordinary folks? She was like wild spring daffodils poking up through late winter snow, and warm summer sunshine and wind on bare skin; she was the spark that got us all burning with life, even though I guess we didn't fully know it, until after she was gone. If Julia was our strength, little Kate was our heart and soul.

Both of them were gone, and they took the best of me with them. Days and months and years got too long, faded, and dark, without my ladies. I even let my watch of the grove lapse. That's when Ned quit school, to watch the grove better; not because I told him to but because he knew it was the right thing to do, once I told him about the Cube. It helped bring me around some, him fully accepting the Krenson burden, but by then we'd already sold most of the chickens and horses, which we raised for cash money.

Two years after Julia and Kate left us, Sheriff Marks came by with a taxman from the county, and they explained everything to me. I had to pay the back-taxes in three weeks or we would lose our land. We owed $5,547, which wouldn't sound like much to city folks, but I had only about $500 from already selling Julia's piano and everything else I could. What was I going to do? I tried getting loans but all the banks were lined up to get our land at auction and didn't want to help us. Getting work in town was the best answer, if I had more time, but I didn't.

Two days later there were two loggers poking around. Sure, they were both made up like hunters, but from the way they looked at the trees at the edge of the grove, I knew what they were really after.

"Some fine wood you got here mister Krenson," said the small, shifty-eyed one. He reminded me of a weasel I caught up with once, that was after the chickens. "Must be good hunting too," he remarked. "That why you got it all fenced up that-a-way?" All the time, the big one was eyeing up the trees at the edge of the grove. They were over two hundred feet tall. I wondered what they'd have thought if they could have seen the really big trees, further in, some ten times as tall!

"This is private property," I told them; and my shotgun pointed at them showed them the truth of that.

"Sure, but we'd like to hunt it. I'll pay you plenty."

"We don't allow for hunting, except our own; this is sign posted, private property," I told him again. "No hunting, no trespassing, no exceptions."

"I hear you need some tax money. Maybe we could talk it over. I might be interested in buying your place, or maybe just the lumber rights, if the rest looks as good as what I can see here. I'll give you more than you'll get from a county auction."

That was probably true, and for just a bit I even thought about giving up right then and there and selling them the land or the lumber rights, but old habits and the family commitment were too strong. I let loose one barrel, above their heads; that got their attention and respect right away. The big one started to bring his gun up towards me, but when he saw I had the drop on him with my twelve-gage, he thought better of it, and the both of them moved out fast.

"That was a mistake!" said the weasel, as he slinked away. "We'll be back when this land is ours!"

That's when I remembered what my Pa had said about the Cube being able to change things. I decided to try to use the Cube, as I figured that things couldn't get much worse than they already were.

In under an hour I was standing in front of the Cube, just like my Pa always told me not to do no matter what! I chucked a couple of stones at the thing, and they just bounced off the smooth surface. Nothing happened. I walked closer. Close up I could make out the sides and top better, and I could even see a corner on the top of the Cube, just clear of the cliff. I could also see a bottom corner. All in all, it looked like it was a perfect cube after all.

But the reflections in its mirror face were most peculiar, I could see. Pa was right, it wasn't just a mirror. I wasn't showing up in it at all! When I studied it, I noticed other differences too. Leaves and branches out of place. Clouds where it should be clear. Yet most things, trees and rock and so forth, were exactly the same, just like they would be in a mirror. I figured that somehow the Cube must be showing what COULD be, and not what really was. If that was the case, maybe me not showing up in there was a bad sign.

I reached out with a shaking hand to touch the cube, expecting to receive an electric shock or worse. Its surface was smooth and hard, and solid as a mountain side. It didn't feel hot or cold or give me a shock, it just felt hard.

That first day I sat for hours just looking into the Cube and waiting, but nothing much happened. At one point the Cube shimmered for a moment and what appeared in it changed just a bit. But that was all. I went back to the house and found out that nothing had changed there at all. If the Cube could really change things, just sitting and watching it wasn't how it worked.

The next day, when I got there after a little snow, I saw myself looking back at me out of the Cube, only I was wearing different clothes! I figured that meant I'd survive a change and get new clothes if the Cube changed things, so I walked towards the Cube. I left my old boots behind, figuring to get the newer ones that I saw me wearing in the Cube. I saw my image inside coming towards me.

Suddenly, I was being pulled towards the Cube, hard! But instead of hitting against it, I just got pulled right into it and through the surface of it, into my other self!

Then there I was, sort of waking up as I stood a few feet from the Cube. Something had sure happened, but did anything change? For one thing, I was wearing the same clothes, and still didn't have any boots on! I looked into the Cube, and caught a glimpse of my other self walking away! Also, there sitting in the snow inside the Cube were my old boots that I had just taken off! They looked pretty good to me right then, as I was standing in half a foot of snow in only my worn out socks. I reached for them old boots, but the Cube was once again as solid as a granite mountain. I tried sticks and rocks, but nothing would get into that Cube for them old boots! I finally sacrificed a couple of layers of flannel shirts off my back for on my feet, and headed back towards the house.

The first clue I had that things were different was that my keys didn't fit the first gate lock I came to. I called out to my boy Ned, as he was a grown young man now and had the spare set, but I supposed I couldn't be heard from that gate, because he didn't come. After waiting and calling for near an hour, I half climbed and half broke my way through both fences, and finally got back to the cabin.

Strange enough, the cabin was empty, and it was locked too, and I had to break into my own house! Where was Ned?

Inside, the place was a mess. There was dirty laundry and dishes all over, and worse, there were empty liquor bottles everywhere. I checked to the bedrooms and there was no evidence of anybody but me living in the place. I found papers from the county about the taxes, so the Cube hadn't changed that part, though what money I had saved and hid to help pay the taxes was gone!

Then, in a bedroom drawer, I found the news clipping from the car accident two years ago. In it, it said Julia and Kate were killed, but it said that Ned was killed too!

I was thrown into a fit of despair. I was wrong before; things could be worse, much worse! Now by using the Cube I had killed my own boy Ned! I understood then about the mess and the bottles in the cabin. I did it all myself, living alone like that without even Ned!

There was only one thing I could do; after putting on some spare boots that were even worse than my first pair, I went back to the Cube and watched and waited, like before. After two days trying I saw me again in the Cube. We walked towards each other, like before, and the Cube again changed things.

Again, I was left locked inside the fence gates. But this time, when I called out, Ned came and got me. He thought me hugging him was odd, and he also remarked that I was wearing some strange clothes. Of course, I knew I was the same, and told him so.

Then he replied with what I thought was a strange thing to say, at the time. "You're the one that changed, Pa!" he said. "I've seen it before. You've been to the Cube!"

"You're mistaken Son," I said. "You're the one changed; you just don't remember. That's the way it works. The Cube changes everything."

When we got back to the house, the biggest surprise was waiting with supper. In my house, cooking with my Julie's apron and pots and pans, was the widow Harper, just as brazen as can be!

"You two take them dirty boots off," she squawked at us. "And wash them hands good or you ain't getting no grub."

I caught Ned looking at me all amused, while I tried to make sense of things. What was that witch doing here? Ned was acting like it was the most natural thing in the World. Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of manure. I was married to the ugly cow!

"Come on, you lazy men!" the old crow squawked. "I got to pay the taxes and do everything around here!"

Ned had started to take off his coat and boots, but I stood there frozen. The thought of sharing a bed with the widow had crossed my mind. There was only one thing I could do. "I, ah, forgot something. I'll be right back," I told them, and I was outside before they could say a thing. I started back for the Cube. Whatever changes it made next, I prayed they included getting rid of that woman!

"WAIT PA!" called Ned, following me and catching up to my older legs fast. Behind him, from inside the cabin, I could hear awful yelling. "Before you go back to that Cube, we got to talk," he said.

"I don't think you understand, Son. I got to try to get the Cube to make things better."

"I figured as much Pa. But there's some things YOU don't understand. Let's tell each other what we know while we got the chance."

I didn't think he could tell me much, because it was me going to the Cube and changing everything, not him. I figured I was in some sort of 'could be' world, and maybe he wasn't even real. What could he tell me that wouldn't be all different after my next visit to the Cube anyway? But Ned always was a smart boy, and I should have expected more of him.

As we walked, I told him my story, like I wrote it here, and then he told me his. He said from his point of view, I was the tenth Hank Krenson he'd met in two years! It all started after Julia and Kate got killed, and then increased after Hank married Harper. There had been six Hank's in just the last week! He told me that each time I was mostly the same, but that we all remembered different lives, and each had big problems that drove them to use the Cube. And to a man, they all thought that they were getting the Cube to change the World each time they went to it.

"But what else could it be, Ned?" I asked, as we went through the final gate and locked it behind us. Good thing Ned was along, as I still didn't have the right keys.

"I been figuring on that Pa," he told me. "What if there are a whole lot of worlds almost the same, and the Cube lets a fellow trade places with someone from the other world they see in the Cube?"

I damn near fell over at that point, I don't mind confessing. I thought about it and thought about it some more then, and if what Ned was saying was right, it explained a lot of things. It explained why I had my own memories that I kept, and so did the folks here in this world. It explained why I didn't change going through the Cube, not even my boots. And a lot of worlds almost the same might be an easier thing to swallow than thinking that the Cube changed the whole world except me!

The idea shed new light on everything. I wasn't responsible for getting the Cube to change things, because it wasn't changing anything except where I was! All the time I was trying to fix things using the Cube, I wasn't really helping anything, I was just trading my troubles for someone else's! And in the process, I'd run away from my own world, and my own Ned!

With that understanding, my plans changed. The most important thing now was to get back where I started, to my own world and my own Ned.

We reached the Cube. Inside, through that strange mirror that wasn't a mirror, was a Hank and a young Ned arriving, looking back at us with the same look of astonishment on their faces that we must have had. Was this my Ned and my world that I was looking at this time? I had no idea, but I figured I should go through the Cube and find out.

"Watch it Pa!" warned Ned. "You and your double get too close and the Cube will pull you in." He pulled me back a few feet, and I saw the other Ned do the same with the other Hank.

"But I got to go through, Son. I want to get back to where I started!"

Ned looked at me sadly. "I know that, Pa. But there's a couple other things I want to tell you first, and I want you to tell to the other Neds you meet. That's how we Neds have been working on this thing, especially for the last few days." He pointed and waved at the Ned in the Cube, and the Ned waved back.

I had a sudden crazy vision of hundreds, thousands, or Lord knows how many Neds trying to figure out the Cube and solve the problems of a host of lost Hanks moving from world to world.

"Pa, one thing we figured out is that only the same person can trade places with himself, if you know what I mean. For instance, you couldn't change places with that Ned you see in the Cube, you can only switch places with your other self. The other thing we figured out is that worlds seen in the Cube change about every six hours. If you switch again, tell that to any Neds you meet. That's how we Neds are passing information."

"I think maybe I seen the Cube change a few times myself, son. Does the change happen when what you see in the Cube gets blurry for a second or two?"

"That's right, Pa. Now I don't know if that's useful, but the way we figure it, you Hanks better keep using the Cube and we Neds better stay put and try to figure things out."

"Have you Neds figured out how we Hanks can tell which world is ours?" I asked him.

"No. But that's a good question for Neds and Hanks to work on."

"Well, I got one idea we can pass on. So far, my gate keys don't work since I left my world. When I really get home, I figure they'll work."

"Keys might work in more than one world, but let's pass that idea on. One problem with your test is that you have to go through the Cube to try it."

"Maybe we should all write signs to show each other. That way nobody needs to go through the Cube to pass a message. Anyway, I suppose I better be moving on. Good luck, Son."

We hugged each other, and then when I walked to the Cube, my other self was waiting for me. The Cube pulled me to it for the last few feet and then we were switched.

This world wasn't my world either, I quickly learned, though as in all the worlds, it was only days until taxes were due. After exchanging information with the Ned and resting the night, I was on to another world the very next day.

In this fourth world the surprise of my life greeted me a little ways down the path. It was Julia, alive and well! She said hello when she saw me, and at the soft sight of her and the pure sound of her voice I fell to my knees and started babbling like a baby. After a bit, she helped me up and walked me down the trail.

I guess it should have been pure wonderful for me, but it wasn't quite right. This was Julia, but not my Julia, and from the way she acted, she thought much the same about me.

When we got into the biggest trees, I got another huge shock. Many of the trees were cut down and gone, and there was an ugly logging road where the footpath had been! I stumbled over to the nearest giant stump and kneeled on it and ran my hands over the wood, more tears streaming from my eyes. Thousands of years of life, cut down by puny, greedy men that would be dust inside a century!

I looked up to see Julia studying me. "You're not my Hank, are you?" she asked.

"No. No I'm not," I confessed.

Strangely, she said "Good!", and then she came to me and held me close, and kissed away my tears. Were it not for the terrible destruction that sickened that place, things might have gone beyond kissing then and there.

"How did this happen?" I asked her. "Did we sell the land? Did they take it for taxes?"

"Nope. This was your idea, or rather, it was my Hank's idea," she explained, and the pain in her voice and look was plain. "It started out with just a few trees to pay taxes, but it went way past that. Once he saw all that money rolling in, there was no stopping him. He planned on selling the Cube next."

"Selling the Cube?" I repeated, dumbfounded. "That's crazy!"

"That's what Ned thought," she said.

"Good! I'll want to talk to Ned about all this."

I started back for the house, but now it was her turn to cry. She told me then the worst thing of all. Her Hank killed Ned a few days ago, during a fight over trees and the Cube!

"That's what my Hank was trying to change when he used the Cube. But it didn't change things here, and bring back Ned like he said it would, it just changed him! To the better, I thought, as the first thing the new Hank did was throw out the loggers, but then the new Hank explained to me how the Cube really works, and how he was trying to get back to his own world."

If there were bad Hanks, at least there were good Hanks and Neds and Julias to help set things straight! "So that wasn't your Hank that just switched with me?" I asked.

"No. That Hank was just trying to get home to pay taxes."

"I've about given up on that," I confessed.

"Don't" she said. "I've got plenty of money; I'll give you what you need, like I did for him." She pointed down the logging road and there alongside it was a huge new house, bigger even than any in town!

At the house was another miracle: Kate! She looked a little older, but it was he! I smiled and went to hug her, but she pulled away.

"It's OK Kate," comforted Julia. "It's another nice Pa, like the last one."

She gradually warmed up to me after that, and I was happier by the minute, just being there with both Julia and Kate. But there was a sadness deep inside me. I knew I had to leave. I had to keep looking for my own world. I felt bad about it though. Strange and terrible it must have been for this Julia, and this poor dear little Kate, to both suffer from their own Hank, and then have strangers like me thrown into their lives. With all their money, they were as sad in their world as I was in mine, maybe even worse! Odd though that between this world and mine, one's strengths were the other's weaknesses. This one had Julia, Kate, and tax money; mine had Ned, trees, and if I ever got back, me!

That's when a really crazy idea started to form in my mind. I talked to Julia about it, after Kate went to bed, and she liked it. But there was one piece missing. For it to work, I would have to travel from here back to my own world, and we couldn't figure how to do that. Which world was mine? How could I tell?

Then, as fate would have it, I took off my old boots.

"Those used to be your spare boots! What happened to your other pair?" she asked.

Laughing, I told her how I left them in the snow of my world at the Cube, and ended up bare-foot!

"But I've seen them!" she exclaimed. "They were still there when my Hank went into the Cube three days ago."

Of course, why didn't I think of it before this? As long as those worthless old boots sat there, I had a way of telling which world was mine! But that meant that a Ned-murdering, tree cutting, Cube selling Hank was in my world, unless he had already used the Cube again! I had to get back to my world, fast!

Julia and I were up late making plans, and then we set out at dawn, after explaining things to Kate. Soon we sat up camp with our tents near the Cube, and we began our vigil. We took turns watching for the Cube to change worlds. After we had the six-hour cycle worked out, we each returned to the house for a few hours at a time to take care of Kate and to get supplies.

For one of the cycles the cube was totally black. We reasoned that in the other world involved, the Cube had been completely covered up. Not a bad idea, I figured. Hide the damn thing!

For another of the cycles solders with guns were in the Cube. One held up a sign that said this was government property and we should surrender and come out of the Cube. For six hours we watched the clueless solders try to force their way through the Cube with torches, explosives, chemicals, and electric power. They pointed their guns at us and tried to shoot us. None of it did anything to the Cube. Towards the end of the cycle we smiled and waved goodbye to them.

Once we saw a Hank that wanted to 'switch', and once we saw a Ned. But we didn't see the boots, and we both began to lose hope. This whole thing was a long shot from the start; maybe we would never see the boots. Maybe someone moved them, or maybe the Cube would never show the same world again. Maybe there were thousands or millions of other worlds, and mine would never show up again until we were long dead.

Then after almost two weeks, it happened. I was standing watch when the Cube shimmered. There they were: my old beat-up good for nothing holes in the soles black boots, right there in the snow where I left them! I ran to the Cube face and started jumping up and down and screaming, I was so excited.

Suddenly, there in the Cube was Ned, my own Ned, looking me over. I smiled and waved, but he didn't respond. How many Hank Krensons had he seen in this Cube over the several days, I wondered? I had to convince him it was me.

"I'm your real Pa," my first sign said.

He came prepared too. "Prove it!" is what he wrote on his own little chalkboard.

"Those are my boots I left almost three weeks ago," I answered. I pointed to the boots on his side, then to the even more beat up spare pair I had on.

He looked interested, but held up his "Prove it," message again.

"Hank you got more than two weeks ago is a rotten skunk," I wrote. "Must be stopped."

"Are you better?" he wrote. "Need proof."

"Cardboard in each boot," I wrote, and pointed at the boots on his side. "Cheerios box."

He looked in the boots, and smiling, pulled out the cereal box cardboard. That did the trick. "Miss you. How will you come home, and stop bad Pa?" he wrote.

"Have plan. Must hurry. You bring bad Hank here to go into the Cube. We Hanks must switch places. Have only hours to do everything! HURRY!"

"I'll try," he wrote last, then he was running home, and I was running to tell Julia that our plan was on at last!

An hour later, I watched from behind bushes as Ned brought Hank back to the Cube with him. They were arguing. Finally, Ned pointed at the Cube and got Hank to stand closer, and then pushed him from behind! At the same time, I ran to the Cube. I knew when I felt the Cube pulling me that it was working. In moments, we were switched!

I gave Ned a hug.

"You sure you're my real Pa?" he asked. We never hugged much before, maybe that got him to wandering some more.

"Let's find out for sure, Son." We walked through the grove together. The trees were alive and wonderful.

"There's logging men coming tomorrow to see the grove," said Ned.

"Not anymore," I told him. "We're keeping the grove." And then I pulled a big wad of tax cash out of my pocket and told him some of what happened to me in the last weeks.

In return, he told me that though the Hank that just left was hit pretty hard when he learned that Julie and Kate were dead, he was more interested in logging and in selling the Cube than anything else. The Hank before that one, the first one I got changed with, was a nice fella that was just looking to get back to his own world, but the evil Hank soon took his place. Right away, Ned was planning to trade that one in, and he spent most of last several days at the Cube, exchanging messages with Neds. But he wanted me back, not just any Hank.

"You need to see this, Son," I said. I pulled out my keys, and unlocked the gate locks. He knew for sure then I was his true Pa, and I knew he was my real son too!

Then we got moving. There was a lot to get done, and we only had about four and a half hours to finish it all. I got two shovels and some tarps and ropes and rushed them and Ned to the truck, and then I drove us towards town in a big hurry.

"Are we going to pay the taxes now?" Ned asked.

"Nope," I said. "Not yet. If anything goes wrong you'll pay the taxes with that first batch of cash, but I've got bigger plans." There was something even more important and he just had to trust me, I told him, even if what I wanted to do seemed crazy!

He didn't know how crazy it was until we got to the cemetery! There I told him that in another world I found a live Ma and Kate.

"But Ma and Kate are dead Pa!" he said.

"Here that's true, but every world is a little different," I explained. "In the place I'm talking about, Ma and Kate are just fine, but they got big problems, so they'd like to come here and live with us."

"But they still wouldn't be Ma and Kate!" he protested.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "But they're depending on us to help them and we can't let them down. But there's a catch to it Son, and it ain't an easy one," I said. "Those that go through the Cube have to be the same people. There has to be the same person on each side to make the trade. I had to always switch with another Hank; that's just the way it works. So that's how it has got to work for Ma and Kate, Lord willing."

It was suddenly clear to him then, what I was working my way up to, and why we were arriving at the cemetery with shovels. "Pa, no! We can't do that," he said. "It's our Ma and Kate here, our real Ma and Kate!"

But I already had the shovels, and was pulling him out of the truck and towards the graves. "It's got to be done and now, there ain't no way around it. And you got to help. The Cube shifts from place to place. We have less than three and a half hours left!" I handed him a shovel and started digging furiously at Julia's grave. "Besides, I told them we'd be there in three hours, and there's a lot of digging to do!"

He stood there looking at me, maybe not believing what was happening. "But Pa, it just ain't right," he said.

I pointed at Julia's and Kate's headstones. "You can't be telling me THIS is right! I know nothing can bring your real Ma and Kate back, Son. But there is another Ma and Kate, and they need us now, both of us. We can't fail them this time! And Son, I can't get it done without your help."

But something was still bothering him. "Why'd you come back anyway, Pa?" he asked me. "Why didn't you all just stay where you were? Then you wouldn't need to do any of this."

"Couple reasons. First off, THIS is my home. You'll know what that means, having or not having a home, if we don't get those taxes paid. Second, and most important, there's you."

"Me?"

"Yep. In that other world, Ma and Kate are fine, but not you, Son. You see, that monster we just sent back to be with Julia and Kate not only cut down all the trees, he murdered you in his world. And now he's there with his Julia and Kate."

He picked up his shovel and started digging.

It took more than two hours to dig up both graves. Then I did the worst part; I wrapped the remains in the tarps we brought. How I found the strength to do it, I don't rightly know.

After putting the bodies in the truck, we closed the caskets and pushed some of the dirt back in, though there wasn't time to put it all back the way it was.

Then we drove fast, and finally up through the back field as far as the truck would go, almost to the first gate.

The walk was the worst thing I ever did. I carried Julia and Ned carried Kate. Julia was too light and stiff, not like a person at all, and the smell that came through the tarp made me gag. There was some snow, and if we were thinking straight, we'd have stopped at the house for the toboggan, but once we were started, we just had to make do. We were both panting and grunting, as the loads we carried got heavy, then weighty, then impossible.

Finally, we were there. As yet there was no one to be seen on the other side, and there were only a few minutes left before the Cube would change worlds. We could only talk again after we caught our breaths. "Son, you must make the trade. Stand near the Cube with the tarps," I said. "You got to be ready for when they come!"

He was too tired to argue, and soon he was standing in front of the Cube, holding up a tarp end in each hand.

Then all at once they were there, running hand in hand towards him. It was Julia and Kate, alive; there was no mistake about it. They both stopped and stood there a few steps back for a scant moment, looking at us and smiling, though they seemed tired too, like they'd just ran all the way.

Suddenly they turned and looked back like they heard something, and there was the Hank with the fancy coat, coming at them full tilt! Not only that, but the two loggers I saw a few days ago, the little weasel and the big man, were right behind him, carrying rifles!

Julia moved towards us, pulling Kate along. But I could see that the Hank in the Cube was gaining fast, and would reach them about when they reached the Cube! Ned stood frozen on our side, but I pushed him and the two tarps closer to the Cube, and then jumped away, just as I started to feel the Cube try to pull me towards it!

Ned, the tarp-wrapped remains, and from the other side Julia, Kate, and Hank all hit the Cube. Poor Ned ended up flattened on the ground, but seeing it was a live Ma and Kate doing it, and they were hugging and kissing him, he didn't mind so much!

"Ned, we just took two broken families, and made one good one from it," Julia said, as the three of them moved away from the Cube. "We know we're not exactly your lost family, but we thought this out with your Pa, Ned, and this was the best we could do."

In the Cube the well-dressed Hank was banging on it and probably screaming, his face a mask of hate and rage. I saw the body-filled tarps at his feet, and almost felt sorry for the man. But he had betrayed and murdered kin, and I was glad to be rid of him and get this Julia and Kate away from him. Beside him the two loggers stood glaring at us too, though I didn't at first understand what they were so mad about. Then Julia showed me all the money she had with her; enough for the taxes for many a year, some of it probably from the loggers!

"I'd say you did well, Julia," I told her, and I gave her and Kate a big hug and kiss. Then we all started down the mountain. We had our family again!

We decided to cover-up the Cube on our side, as it could only bring more trouble. Evil people could get control of the Cube, and innocent people and their trees could get hurt. It still gave us health and made things grow though, so we still had to protect the grove on our side. We measured our biggest trees to be three hundred feet around and two thousand feet tall, so we had had a big job hiding those big trees! But with the whole family there to work at it, we knew we could do it!

****

Note: The above excerpt is the only one found that indicates the possible functioning of the Cube. The remaining records merely describe subsequent labors of the family to totally encase the Cube in rock, delaying its discovery for centuries, and the successful efforts of Congresswoman Katherine Krenson to donate the family land and make it the first International Park in human history. The Congresswoman also recorded a recommendation that future discoverers of the Cube refrain from 'using' it, a point of view that deserves careful consideration. The incredible grove of trees in the Park continues to thrive, and over twenty-seven million people visit the park yearly to view them. Further research on the amazing growth stimulation caused by the Cube is recommended, as is study of numerous disease cures reported by visitors. Krenson decedents remain as permanent residents and caretakers in the Park in accordance with the requirements established at the Park's inception, and continue to thrive disease free and live to more than double the average life span exhibited elsewhere.

This concludes our report.

****

Return to Contents

6.

The Cursing of the Bikes

It was a long-winded, hand-crafted sign, and preferring not to use my cyborg vision augmentation, I parked along Highway 301 to read all of it:

"The 66th annual Blessing of the Bikes will be held in the St. John's Church-Yard in Hardrishell, on 10 AM Saturday April 13. Craft Show/Sales, Bake Sale, and Bike Raffle will be held immediately afterwards. Non-Bikers as well as Bikers welcome. Proceeds benefit the St. John's Biker Hospice."

Though I didn't own or ride a motorcycle, as a Demon Hunter I was interested in social gatherings and in all manner of arcane religious rites. On the spur of the moment I decided to take this one in. Anything going back 66 years predated the Dissolution of Wards (DW), and was hence arcane, so this gig qualified as part of my official duties. Bikers being bikers, I might even turn up a Skud or two. More important, I was very interested in bake sales, and particularly in berry pies.

When I got there it was nearly 9:30 AM and several hundred folks had already arrived. A matronly looking woman directed my Jeep to a field near the Churchyard were maybe a hundred quad-wheels had already parked. Most were ordinary SUVs and pickups, probably driven by biker groupies and miscellaneous gawkers. Civilians. There were quite a few custom jobs though, such that my outsized custom eight-wheeled Jeep Thunder-Cat received little attention from folks making their way towards the gathered bikers. Even when I pulled my unique outsized self out of Cat, nobody paid much attention.

It was the fancy bikes of the bikers that drew the crowd attention. So far there were only a couple of dozen motorcycles parked at the place of honor in front of the crude wooden podium, but all of them were outrageously shiny, ornate, and monstrous, sporting plenty of color, chrome, and raw power. It didn't seem possible that a thousand horsepower, half ton bike could be controlled by a human being; until one noted that each biker was similarly monstrous. The bikers that milled around talking with each other and to a few hot looking groupies were mostly unusually big men decorated in traditional beards, leather, tattoos, shiny metal bracelets, helmets, and leg protectors, plus numerous do-dads of a purely decorative nature. The biker culture had survived through all the post-DW upheavals and become ever more valued and popular.

Looking closer, I noted that one bike and its biker were rather plain and puny compared to those that surrounded it. The rider was an ordinary looking man that eyed his fellow bikers with suspicion. An undercover cop, I figured, the poor sap. The real bikers paid him little heed, other than an occasional sneer. The man looked my way and our eyes met, and at that point I recognized him from a previous gig. He must have recognized me too, because he left his pitiful bike unguarded to make his way through the crowd towards me.

"Good to see you here, Hunter," he said quietly. "I don't know how you got wind of this, but drugs and worse are rumored. I'm sure we can count on your help if needed."

"You've got that wrong," I told him. "If there ain't Demon or Skud related bounty involved, it ain't my business. I'm here just for some pie." I glanced towards a collection of tables off to the side, where baked goods were being assembled, including many pies, I happily noted.

"There might be Demons."

"There always might be Demons, but so far I just see shit-head-bikers and an out of place cop. You know I'm only empowered to bring Demons and Skuds to justice." Not entirely true. If a human got in the way, that was their tough luck, including cops.

"Of course, but as a citizen you have certain obligations..." he started yapping.

"Bull shit," I cut him off. I remembered more about him now, his name was Jeffers and he was a state cop, a lieutenant no less, which meant there were probably a bunch more state cops here someplace. Jeffers was OK, as state cops go, though a little naïve. "Hey, some of the bikers seem to really like your wheels," I noted cheerfully.

He rushed back to his bike, where a couple bikers had indeed been eying it and moving closer. He got them to back off, barely. If there was real trouble, the cops would be close to useless, as usual, but I wasn't expecting trouble, I was expecting pie.

I made my way back to the baked goods tables. In the middle of the first table was a huge raspberry pie that oozed red juices through holes lovingly crafted in hand-formed crust. There were others, but this pie was obviously the pick of the litter. The smell was amazing; I had picked out the smell of this particular pie the moment I exited Cat, despite the stinking bikers and hundreds of other distractions. Enhanced senses was one of the advantages of being what I was.

I drew a twenty credit note out of a side pocket and waved it at the elderly Sister that was filling the table with more goods. "That one," I said, pointing to The Pie.

"Sorry, big fella," she responded, eyeing my oversized self. "Sales start after the service." She probably didn't know what to make of my getup; most civilians had never seen a Demon Hunter. True, a loose-fitting black jacket and trousers covered my armored and augmented body, but the bulky augmented Suit plus clothing, all over top of more than three hundred pounds of muscled body, make me look outlandishly huge, even compared to bikers.

"OK, but I'd like to reserve that particular pie, if you don't mind." I tried unsuccessfully to hand her the twenty.

"Sorry, young man," she said cheerfully, "but it's going to be first come, first serve."

"I understand, Sister," I said, smiling, "but it's all for charity, right?" I pulled out another twenty and handed both to her. Money isn't a problem for me, I can get all I need, which isn't all that much. I had Suit, my weapons, Cat, and almost anything else I needed, all Government furnished. "Besides, it looks to me like I'm here first." She was a tough old broad, but I figured she had a weakness I could exploit. That was pretty much my job description, exploiting weaknesses, though usually I was dealing with Demons and Skuds instead of Holy Sisters.

When she raised her graying old eyebrows a bit I knew I was in. "Alright," she said, taking the bills in her bony little hand, "if you get here soon after the service. Like you say, it's all for charity."

"I don't think we've met," said the priest who had been working his way through the crowd towards me. "I'm Father Giles."

"Call me Rud," I responded, as I shook his hand. Gently, so as not to crush it.

He was a big man himself, well over six feet and two-hundred fifty pounds, and though pushing sixty, he clearly still had a lot of strength and vigor. His eyes went wide when my name registered. I don't like publicity but I wreak havoc a lot, so it's hard to avoid headlines once in a while. "Are you here because of the rumors then, Hunter? I had hoped that's all they were."

"What rumors?"

"About rogue Skud bikers, Demon led."

"I hadn't heard. I'm here for fruit pie, Father."

"I recommend the raspberry then. In any case, I can't say I'm not glad to see you here, Mr. Rud."

With that, he worked away from me, greeting and shaking hands with everyone he met.

I followed him towards the bikes, where I studied several of them more closely. All that chrome and power was very appealing, though they were still mere toys compared to my Cat. Even Suit had far more power than a civilian bike.

"Hey, you're a damn Hunter!" exclaimed a biker, and several of them approached me for a closer look.

"Nice bikes," I remarked, as I shook their hands. Delicately, so as to not crush bones, but hard enough to let them know I was for real.

"Son-of-a-bitch," said one, looking at me with awe. "A real son-of-a-bitch Hunter! Damn!"

The apparent hero worship was cut short by the thunderous sound of approaching bikes, lots of them. I sensed fifty seven; carrying a total of at least seventy beings. They roared their way into the area in front of the podium, forcing all to scatter out of their path. Many of the riders carried amulets of evil that obscured my senses. Illegal of course, but as they could only be sensed by Hunters and there were only a handful of Hunters in existence, there wasn't much chance of arrest, especially when the amulet was carried hidden under a shirt or in a pocket. Some of these bikers, or maybe all of them, were very likely to be Demon-induced Skuds; I couldn't sense for sure, due to the amulets. For now I could only monitor what transpired, until I for sure confirmed that they were actually Skuds, and not merely shit-head bikers.

"Shit," said one of the original bikers near me. "It's Skuds!"

"Let's get the hell out of here!" said another one.

"No, stay," said Father Giles, who worked his way past us towards the new arrivals. "All are welcome here, and all are safe here in God's church."

Right.

None of the original bikers left, which was probably due more to them being blocked in by the new arrivals than to the Father's reassurances. The civilians, a couple thousand of them by now, were too dumb to leave. Several of them ignorantly made their way closer to the newly arrived bikes.

The Father quickly made his way to the throng of new arrivals, who were shutting down their bikes, climbing off of them, and boisterously cursing and shouting to one another. It was a dumb move by the Father. In a moment he was lost to view among them.

The newcomers were outwardly merely more extreme examples of bikers that had already arrived, but I noticed that they wore armor designed more for protection in fights than for protection against biking injuries. Illegal body augmentation was also a possibility, though with probably nothing close to the capability of my own Suit. They openly carried big knives and clubs. I suspected that most carried concealed handguns also, even though guns had also been completely outlawed since DW.

Despite the amulets and other distractions, I detected a faint odor of Demon. One, maybe more; I couldn't tell. With Demon evidence in addition to amulets, there was more than enough cause for me to get to work. I moved to follow the priest but a dozen big bikers moved to block me.

"Where you think you're going?" the biggest of them said, drawing a huge hunting knife. He moved to stand only a foot in front of me. He stunk of beer and evil, and I had to fight the impulse to break him in half right-off.

"Through you, if I need to," I replied calmly.

"Hey, he's a Hunter!" another one said, with a snicker. He stepped towards me menacingly.

"Let the ceremony begin," said Father Giles through a speaker system, before things escalated. Everyone turned towards the podium, atop which the Father stood smiling with arms raised high. He began to chant rapidly than, with a voice strangely powerful, in a language unknown to me, though I depicted a word of Latin here and there. I hadn't been in a church for a while, but this didn't seem right!

I looked around to gage the reaction of others. The Skud goons that had confronted me were staring at the Father wide-eyed and grinning. The Sister watching the pies was wide-eyed and slack jawed. But most civilians remained clueless and unconcerned, as usual. The non-Skud bikers grabbed their own heads and started moaning in pain, and some of them dropped to the ground and began thrashing around convulsively... a sure sign of strong Demon activity.

"Curse alert, curse alert!" Suit's warning system screamed the obvious into my ears, as off-duty segments of Suit automatically slipped up from my back to cover my head, and down my arms to cover my hands. Suit's small combination laser pistol and dagger slipped down my left shirt sleeve and locked into place along the top of my hand, and could feel Suit's power generators slip into overdrive. "On full alert," added Cat, from the parking lot.

The Father's eyes blazed evil red, as did an amulet that until now had been hidden under his shirt. He hadn't worn it earlier, so the Skuds must have installed it as he walked through them. The good father was obviously Demon-possessed, and to possess a strong man so quickly required a Demon of immense power!

"OMNIDEMONOS!" screamed what had once been Father Giles. It was the last word of the curse. In seconds, only the maniacally grinning Demon Father, the Skuds, and I remained standing as waves of curse swept over everyone. Hundreds collapsed to the ground, dazed, convulsing, terror filled, and ready to be Demon-reaped!

There was a moment when I could have laser blasted the Father into oblivion, but I hesitated. There hadn't been enough time for a full transformation so he obviously was only possessed, I reasoned. If I could destroy the amulet he was wearing, the Demon possession would be reversed and the Father might still survive.

A moment later he leapt from the podium and was lost among the panicking crowd, which had now recovered mobility and was at last sensibly fleeing the scene, while a half-dozen Skud bikers drew knives and guns and attacked me ferociously. The Demon surely knew of my presence, it must have been counting on sheer numbers of Skud recruits to overcome me. I knocked them unconscious in seconds, but they had succeeded in delaying me. Some of them shot me with handguns, but Suit easily protected me. It was actually a good thing for the fleeing civilians that I was drawing most of the gunfire.

Other bikers leapt to their motorcycles and started them up, which drowned out most sounds of screaming. The curse had evidently successfully recruited all the non-Skud bikers, and they joined their brethren in running down helpless civilians by the dozens. I picked off several bikes with my laser, cutting off wheels and frying engines. A few bike gas tanks exploded with mixed results, blasting innocent civilians as well as Skuds.

More than a hundred Skuds were in full rampage mode; I had no chance of stopping all the mayhem quickly by taking them out individually. In addition, though I was actually duty bound to fry them all, they could be released from their curse if I could destroy its source. I leapt through the chaotic crowd, and soon regained sight of the Holy Father. He was standing over the decapitated body of a child of about ten, holding a bloody short-sword in his hand... evidently the weapon used to kill the child!

His face was awash with changing, conflicting emotions; hate, despair, terror, rage, shock, everything imaginable, as his id struggled to maintain and regain a last thread of control and sanity. Amazingly, he made progress. He was abruptly no longer Demon possessed, I sensed, but was fighting merely the lingering influences. He grasped the hilt of the short sword with both hands and sought to drive it into his own heart.

I snatched the sword away from him. It actually came in handy; I tossed it through the heart of a Skud that had spotted my approach and was in the process of pointing a shotgun my way. Next I reached through the Father's shirt to grab the amulet, and crush it in my hand. It exploded of course, but my suited hand contained most of the explosion.

"It's not your fault, Father," I shouted at him. "You were possessed." In truth, he had performed a truly Herculean feat; he had evidently excursed the Demon using his own will power! I had never believed in goodness as a palpable essence like evil, but maybe I'd been wrong about that. He dropped to his knees, out of commission but at least he seemed fully in control of himself and no longer suicidal.

The same couldn't be said of the bikers, who were still happily slashing, shooting, and driving their bikes over helpless fleeing civilians. I caught sight of Lieutenant Jeffers. Not only was he still alive, he was giving a good account of himself with his revolver; several Skud bodies surrounded him.

But where was the Demon? I had Cat move herself forward and increase surveillance, and with both Cat and Suit scanning I finally located it, despite all the interference from amulets. It was in a biker body that was leading a group of bikers through the scattering civilians, cutting them down with knives and clubs.

I aimed my wrist-gun at him but the laser spotter beam must have alerted him, because he turned his Demon-red eyes towards me just as I fired. The results were satisfyingly spectacular. The laser-burst-struck amulet exploded, though unfortunately that also ripped the biker into flaming, charred, body parts.

A moment later I was taking in-coming from several directions, obviously still under direction of the Demon, who must have fled to yet another amulet and host before my shot. How many damned transference amulets were there? Worst case, maybe each original Skud had one! The bullets bounced off Suit harmlessly, but the gang, including its newly indoctrinated members, made for their bikes en mass, grabbing table legs and other objects that could be used as clubs or spears. Several carried swords. They obviously meant to attack me or flee or both.

The first several bikes roared towards me. There was a chance I would be overwhelmed by them, unless I simply fried them all, which I was somewhat reluctant to do unless I had to. Some individuals could probably still be reclaimed. I could also have Cat run them down or fry them, but that would be messy too. Where was the damn Demon? I could have fried all the attacking Skuds, but I held back. I wanted more; I wanted to save them! The Demon had figured that out, and instead of fleeing the scene was intent on exploiting my weakness and destroying me.

I scanned the area. The civilians, those that were able, were fleeing while most bikers were now focused on me. Bullets and make-shift spears bounced off Suit as they all attacked me. Soon though, they would coordinate their attacks and would stand a chance of overwhelming Suit.

They were all attacking me except for one. A particularly obnoxious looking biker was poking around what remained of the bakery tables. By some miracle, the table with my pie on it was still intact. The slimy bastard picked up MY pie in his grubby hands and took a huge bite out of it!

Demon or not, in an instant I was frying him with my wrist laser as Cat at my command dropped a mortar shell on him laced with garlic juice and silver shrapnel.

Even as the resulting spatter of singed blood, guts, and pie settled to the ground, the attack on me ceased. Bikers dropped their weapons to the ground and looked around in total shock and puzzlement. No longer Demon controlled Skuds, soon they were administering first aid to themselves and to fallen civilians, as though they had been transformed into a troop of Eagle scouts with first-aid badges.

I gathered the now inactive evil amulets from them; there were twenty nine in all. After those were destroyed and no longer obscuring sensor readings, Suit and Cat surveyed the scene in detail. Twenty three people had died and eighty nine were injured. Not too bad, all considered, though the press would probably make a big deal of the carnage. Let them bitch, I figured; I would still get a hundred thousand credit bounty for the Demon and a thousand credits for each destroyed amulet. Too bad about the pie though.

State police came out of the woodwork to gather up the ex-Skud bikers for psych evaluation and treatment. I'd get a hundred credits for each confirmed Skud possession that was reversed, and a hundred for each confirmed Skud kill. In other words, the Government powers that be didn't care if Skuds were saved or dead; they just wanted them gone.

As I was leaving, Father Giles, Lieutenant Jeffers, and the old Sister that sold pies approached me.

"Good job, Hunter," said Jeffers. "If it wasn't for you, hundreds more would have died here, and the Demon would have gone on doing the same thing in other places."

"My pleasure," I replied. "Just be sure to validate my claims."

"Of course."

"This is for you, young man," said the old Sister. I smelled what it was before she handed me the box and I opened it in amazement! In it was a huge raspberry pie, warm and undamaged!

"How?" I asked.

"I had more pies in the back. Take it for what you did for the Father, you deserve it."

The news dudes would credit me as the hero but it was pie that saved the day. If not for the promise of berry pie I wouldn't have come to the festival. If the Demon hadn't gone after my pie, I might not have found him. It was pie-power! Sometimes its little things like that that can make a big difference. I clutched my pie box securely, determined that this one would not be Demon possessed.

The cop and the Sister returned to patching up the survivors, but the Father walked with me to Cat.

"You should have shot me," he said.

"What?"

"That first chance you had, when you realized I was Demon possessed. You had a shot, but didn't take it."

"If I took it you'd be dead."

"And dozens of others might have been saved. The Sister is grateful for you helping me later on, and Jeffers is also pleased, but you and I both know that you made a serious mistake."

"Maybe," I acknowledged with a shrug. Giles had figured out my greatest weakness: I sometimes tried to save people instead of simply frying them when they were possessed, as I was empowered and required to do. I had squeaked through today, but someday my weakness would probably cost me my life, and the lives of others.

Actually, unless I had incinerated the amulet perfectly with my first shot, the Demon would have merely moved to another host. The mortar shot from Cat had probably done the trick when the Demon was finally destroyed. "But I have a pie and my bounty money, so I'm satisfied."

"I fought him off after that," he said. "But it was too late for that little girl and the others. If only I had been stronger, or if I had canceled this whole thing after Jeffers warned me that there might be trouble!"

"Who knows? We did our best, and that's all anyone can ever do," I noted. "We ain't perfect, none of us, Father. But I'll sleep a little better knowing there are people like you that can defy a Demon, even without benefit of a couple hundred pounds of nuclear powered weaponry." I tapped Suit, resulting in a reassuringly solid metallic clanking sound.

"I had God to help me," claimed the Father.

I had Suit, Cat, and my trusty cyborg implants. I was more confident of my way. I climbed up into Cat with my precious pie but didn't shut the door, as I could sense there was something else the Father wanted to say.

"Can you promise me that next time you'll take the shot, Rud?"

I nodded my head in agreement as I shrugged. "No problem."

"Thanks," Giles said, with a warm smile, as he shook my hand firmly. "I'll sleep better knowing that."

People are way-stranger than Demons, I always say. I thundered away in Suit and Cat, looking for my next Demon, Skud, or berry pie.

****

Return to Contents

7.

A Quiet Retirement

"Super bubbles!" exclaimed Bert Freehop, with sudden inspiration. That was the ticket! He'd pick up a plastic hoop-kit for blowing giant bubbles at that new toy store in town this afternoon, plus plenty of extra bubble-strengthening glycerin at the pharmacy. He'd get the kid some squirt guns to shoot them down too, of course, as they attempted to escape on the wind. No little twerp of twelve could possibly resist that! When his niece Holly arrived tomorrow, he'd dump the stuff on her, and the overjoyed kid would be occupied with bubbles all week out in the front yard, weather permitting, and leave him to the sacred peace of his back yard or the quiet sanctity of his study. A quiet retirement, that's what he wanted!

The front yard was just a buffer zone anyway; he never had much use for it himself. His Mary would have enjoyed the front yard he supposed, but Mary was gone, bless her soul. Hell, he would legally give Holly the damn front yard! In fact, he'd modify his will to leave the house and everything else to her lock stock and barrel, after he was done dithering away through his retirement and had pushed on to join Mary.

Bert lowered his binoculars and rested his eyes for a few moments before returning his attentions to the far back-yard bird feeder, where several songbirds were joyfully eating away his pension money. Meanwhile he continued to plan for his niece's visit. He would set the girl on to kites if she tired of bubbles, and point her towards the nearest field where she could fly them, which was fortunately at least a quarter of a mile away. He'd stuff her with ice cream in the evenings, so much ice cream that she'd never utter a word during his favorite TV programs.

If she ate too much and got sick and had to spend the evening in a bathroom? Well, so much the better. He had two bathrooms in this big old house anyway; that was hopefully one more than he'd ever need for himself. All the toys and food required to pull this off would cost him a few bucks, there was no way around that, but it would preserve his sanity for the week that the kid was here with him.

How the hell had he let his sister Jane talk him into this anyway?

Out of the corner of his eye Bert spied a flash of blue and white, accompanied by a harsh cry, and he re-aimed his binoculars. His unaided eyesight wasn't what it used to be. Just as he suspected, it was a blue jay. No, a pair of them, probably headed for one of his feeders. He couldn't help liking the beautiful birds, but he almost wished that they wouldn't come around quite so frequently. Like relatives, jays were at best a mixed blessing. The rowdy, harsh voiced jays would doubtless roust away some of the sweet singing goldfinches and chickadees to hog the seed. Bert shook his head in disapproval. He had come to outer suburbia for peace and quiet!

The phone rang in the kitchen, and the obnoxious noise poured out the screened windows onto the back porch and into the yard, scaring away even the jays. "Hell's bells!" Bert cranked, as he scrambled towards the phone. This made two phone calls in two days, far more than was either normal or tolerable! He'd have the blasted contrivance taken out if this continued!

He hoped it was Jane, calling to tell him that she and Ken had changed their minds and canceled their impromptu cruse to the Bahamas, and wouldn't be dropping little Holly off after all. But no, it was his old boss Harold Knox again, wondering if he'd changed his mind yet about 'early' retirement.

In truth retirement hadn't stacked up to his lofty expectations, but he wouldn't admit it, especially to Knox. "No damn way, Knox. Am I mistaken or don't you have a whole new office building stuffed to the gills with young hotshot engineers? Why the hell do you want me?"

"I don't really want YOU Bert, you're a royal pain in the ass, but I could sure use your design work, at least for a couple days a week. What do you say?"

Bert had poured himself into his work during the years after Mary's death, but now he had finally left the old apartment and job and was trying to make a fresh start. Or rather, no start professionally. His life was free of important commitments now, and he was getting to like that. He couldn't go back now! "Sorry Knox, I don't think so. I've got birds and bubbles and nieces and that book I'm writing and what-not going on here right now, and I don't think I could get away if I tried. Not that I'm trying. Besides, you know what I think of that new office building of yours."

"Sure, I know you liked the old building's architecture better. But listen Bert, we have a nice, quiet, out-of-the-way office for you that was recently vacated. I've already stuck tree and bird pictures up on the walls and put your name on the door. You just give me a call when you change your mind."

"I'll call maybe to see how you're doing, you old shit head, but that's about all. Now get back to work, YOU'RE not retired yet!"

The doorbell rang as he hung up. It was obviously going to be one of those kind of days; the pushy jays had just been the start of it. He irritably stomped his way to the front door and jerked it open, already preparing to slam it back into the wide-eyed faces of girl scouts or Hare-Krishna nut-jobs, before they could even fake a smile. But it was Jane and little Holly, a full day early!

Jane looked the same, a bubbly butterball all gushy with smiles for no earthly reason. "Surprise Bertie! We were able to get away sooner than we thought! Isn't that wonderful! Holly has just been so anxious to see you and your new house, we simply had to come as soon as we could!"

The kid looked just like her latest Christmas picture minus the fake smile and goofy red Christmas dress, and she was a couple of inches taller than he remembered but still tiny. "Hi Uncle Bert, what shakes?"

"Not too much anymore, kid. Hey, look at you! You're twice as big as I remember you!" Actually she was still a tiny little shrimp; Bert long suspected that she was a product of some illicit fling of Jane's with a dwarf. A carnival had passed through town at about the right time.

"And you're twice as big as I remember you, Unc. Put on a few pounds?"

"Now, Dear," stepped in Jane, "be nice to your Uncle Bertie."

"Come, come Jane, the kid's just being obnoxious," consoled Bert. "It's her heritage from her parents, let her enjoy it! Besides, I am gaining weight. I plan on being spherical by the time I age to two hundred, so I can just roll around to get places. Just think of what I'll save on shoes."

"Oh Bertie, always standing up for Holly; that's why you're her favorite uncle!" gushed Jane, never mind that Bert was the kid's only uncle. A bouncy ball of energy, Jane shot back towards the car for suitcases.

Bert shook his head in wonder. His dense-headed sister always missed his insults completely. Her husband Ken, the big lout, was just as dense. You could bounce insults off either of them all day and they never even noticed. Bert couldn't figure out if it was a disadvantage or a blessing, but it was yet more evidence for his dwarf-fling theory. The kid had far more brains than both alleged parents put together.

"I was heading over-town to a toy store, Holly, you want to tag along?" asked Bert, flashing his new dentures affably. He'd hook her on bubbles and kites right in the store, he figured.

"No thanks, Unc, I'm way beyond the toy stage." She walked past Bert into the house, leaving him speechless.

Beyond soap bubbles and kites? Precisely at what age was that supposed to occur? At sixty-four Bert was more determined than ever to see that new toy store! He hadn't blown bubbles in years! First he scrambled to retrieve two huge suitcases from Jane as she came puffing up the walk with them. They each weighed a ton; did Holly have a traveling rock collection?

"It's mostly old books, Bertie," explained Jane, as Bert struggled to get the suitcases up the porch stairs, through the front door and into the house, exercising muscles that by rights should be only theoretical at his age. "Holly has taken up some rather unusual hobbies of late. You'll get a real kick out of it."

Holly was in the living room at the foot of the stairs, talking to herself and shaking hands with the empty air. "Nice to meet you Mrs. Trigglebaum." Pause. "No, just for one week." Pause. Laugh. "Yes, I agree, he can be a pain in the ass."

"Humor her, Bertie," whispered Jane solemnly. "Our doctor says she's just going through a phase. Imaginary friends and such. Perfectly normal."

Bert wasn't convinced. Trigglebaum had been the name of the old lady that owned the house before he did. He didn't remember ever mentioning the name to Jane, but of course he must have.

"Mrs. T says I should sleep in her room, Unc. Would that be all right with you?"

"Oh sure Holly," replied Bert, winking at Jane. Appealing to invisible friends was obviously how the kid planned on taking over his household. "Of course; whatever Mrs. T says is fine by me. By the way, which is her room?"

Pause. "The room you're using, she says."

"My, what a surprise! Does she have any suggestions about where I should sleep?"

Pause. "I can't repeat her suggestion, Unc; I'm not supposed to know those kinds of words yet." Pause. "Her son Johnny says he wouldn't mind company in his room, if you lie on your stomach so you don't snore."

"Lucky me. So which room is Johnny's?"

Pause. "End of the hall, next to the bathroom."

"That sounds convenient. The room with the purple wallpaper?" Bert quizzed cleverly.

Pause. "No, the one with the blue wallpaper that you painted over in white. There haven't ever been any rooms with purple wallpaper." Pause. "You shouldn't have brought up the subject of wallpaper Unc, Johnny is still a little upset about that paint job."

Bert was frazzled. How the hell had Holly known about him painting that room white? Had it been blue before? He couldn't remember. That room was his study, where he was writing his book on grass. Not one of those lame gardening books, though he'd throw in a chapter on that stuff too, to pacify those dullards who mistakenly bought the book expecting to find lawn keeping how-to garble. No, his book would be an expose that would lay bare the whole exciting inside story on grass: natural and related human history, biology, benefits to mankind, poetry, erotic anecdotes, etc.

Grass produced grains that fed most of the world, after all. He also had it on good authority that grass had helped to wipe out the dinosaurs and made room for mankind. To top it off, most men nowadays spent more time and effort cutting grass than they expended for any other weekend activity, including sex. The book would be a sure-fired best seller, if he could only find the time to write it! Maybe sleeping in the study to pacify the kid would be his big chance to finally get some work done on it. If the grass book sold well, he had some equally exciting ideas for a book on dust.

"Well, I better be going now," announced Jane. "Ken is finishing with his packing, then we'll be off for our cruse." She exchanged hugs with Holly and Bert and was gone in a dash, leaving Bert very much alone with his niece, not counting any Trigglebaums.

"So, you can see and talk to ghosts, I take it?"

"You catch on quick, Unc."

"I'm a collage grad-u-ate. But I'm still making that run to the toy store. Sure you won't come? We could stop for ice cream."

"No, that's OK, I never touch that cold gooey stuff. I'd rather stay here and talk with Mrs. Trigglebaum for now. She can show me around, and help me unpack my fra-gi-les." She glared at Bert coldly.

"You're still pissed off at me for that are you?"

"You took advantage of me when I was just a little child, Unc, you with your fanciful stories of little creatures that live in the boxes that bear their name. You had me looking for the blasted things for years! My peers practically laughed me out of kindergarten! Kids have it tough enough, without bearing that kind of burden."

"Well I apologize, for what it's worth. But what did you want from me? The dull unvarnished truth about where Styrofoam peanuts really come from? That they aren't dried white poop left by magical creatures called fragiles that live in suitably labeled boxes?"

"Well, what you told me was more fun than the actual truth I suppose. And you were almost right; gnomes and sprites and their kin do hang out in boxes sometimes. They just don't poop spongy white stuff."

Nodding to feign agreement with that useless bit of nonsense, Bert headed for the door. "Say, Mrs. T. doesn't mind keeping an eye on things while I'm gone, does she?"

Pause. "She says good riddance."

More anxious than ever to win Holly over to super bubbles and have her forget this goofy ghost business, Bert made the run to town and back in record time. When he returned he talked Holly into making bubbles with him. It went very well for a few minutes. Both of them were soon running all over the front yard, blasting away with the water guns at shinny bubbles that tried to escape on the wind.

"Your bubbles hit Mrs. T!" Holly suddenly shouted, after an abrupt wind shift. "You hurt her! She's screaming!" Holly started crying and ran into the house and upstairs.

Bert gathered up the bubble apparatus and followed her in, not sure what he should do. He never had any kids of his own, though he and Mary had a good time trying to. What the hell did it mean, when a kid went bonkers over imaginary bubble-accidents? Didn't he have an old copy of Dr. Spock's baby book someplace? In Mary's old things? Was the answer in there?

The girl had locked herself in his/hers/Mrs. T's bedroom, where through the door he could hear her still crying softly. "Holly honey, I'm sure Mrs. T will be all right!" After all, she was imaginary, or already dead, or both.

Presently the girl stopped sobbing and opened the door. "You're right, Uncle Bert; she's all right now," she announced cheerily. "You just destabilized her photo-plasma for a while is all. Some materials do that, like iron or silver. I didn't know about glycerin doing it."

"Well, now that we know, we can avoid using it around her, right?" He gave Holly a little hug. "She's not mad at me, is she?"

"No; not any more than usual. She knows it was an accident."

"What a relief."

"Thanks Uncle Bert," she said. "And thanks for pretending that you believe me about ghosts and stuff. Mom and Dad just kind of ignore the whole thing. At least you give it a chance."

"You gave the fra-gi-les a chance, right? Besides, I'd like to think that the world is actually full of ghosts and fairies, and space aliens and unicorns and their ilk. Maybe I'm just too old a geezer to see that stuff myself."

Holly looked at Bert thoughtfully. "All that stuff really exists, Unc; do you really want to be able to see it like I do?"

It wasn't a question that he got every day. "Sure, why not?" What did he have to lose? Why not pretend to see ghosts while the kid was here?

"It's kind of a burden you know, seeing what other folks can't."

"Well, you don't get something for nothing kid, that's life. Do the other twerps tease you about this ghost business?"

"Like you wouldn't believe! It's even worse than the fra-gi-les thing. Mostly they leave me alone though. I guess I spook them sometimes, like when I can see the future."

"You can do that too?"

"A little. Comes with the territory."

"Sounds like pretty lonely territory though. As I dimly recall, growing up is a tough enough business already."

Holly nodded sadly. "I thought it would be cool, being able to do what the other kids couldn't. They just think I'm even more of a freak though. It might help if someone else I know could do it too. You sure that you won't mind?"

"I suppose not," he said, laughing. "Might even perk up my retirement. But now let's get some dinner, I'm starved. You like spaghetti?"

"Sure, who doesn't? Can I make us some tea?"

"What kind?"

"A special elfin blend. You'll be a changed man."

Bert later remembered eating a bowl of spaghetti and then sipping the bitter tea that Holly gave him. Suddenly he felt totally wasted. The room began spinning and a hundred voices howled around him, seeping up from the depths of the Earth. A thousand cadaverous glowing hands reached out to grab at him, while as many bloated walleyed faces and shriveled, skeletal figures grinned and mouthed obscenities at him.

He tried to pull away from them but there was nowhere to go; they were everywhere! He somehow walked or was carried or floated to the sofa, but it offered no refuge. They were there also, laughing and poking at him, with insubstantial, translucent hands that passed through his flesh and bone to chill his spirit!

Through it all, little Holly was beside him saying words of comfort, holding his big hands in her small ones, and scolding his tormentors and pushing them away when they were too rough. A large ancient book floated open in the air beside her, from which she chanted in some sort of language that he had never heard before, but somehow sounded familiar, as though it bore some long forgotten elemental kinship to his very being. Gradually he relaxed, as her incantations droned on and on. Abruptly everything went black!

When he woke up it was morning, judging by the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. He was still on the old sofa, and Holly was slouched in sleep on the floor against it, still holding his hand.

He wondered at how delicate she looked in sleep. Her ears were slightly pointy, he noticed. Her slim features were perhaps more elfin than dwarven; maybe he had mistaken her heritage slightly. Her eyes opened, catching him staring. They were huge, blue, twinkling elfin eyes, exactly the same as an elf illustration that he recalled seeing once in a bookstore.

"Are you all right, Uncle Bert?" she asked. "I was worried."

"What was in that tea?" croaked Bert weakly.

"The usual. Toad-wart moss, and a few nether-worldly ingredients conjured through the Serene Vortex. The trick is to use just enough toad-wart to not quite kill. Same principle as used in ancient Zoroastrian rituals. Then just as the subject is drawn into the Vortex, a rite of Arcanum is chanted from the Book of Mega-Toth."

"Right. So you didn't quite kill me? Good; that could have messed-up retirement. What was that language that you were blabbering?"

"I don't know. It was xenoglossia of course, the chant and the language were themselves induced by a spell embedded in the book. It probably sounds impressive but anyone that opens the book in the presence of someone that drinks the tea can do it. So I'm not sure exactly what it was that I chanted, but it worked for me OK, so I figured it would work for you too."

"Dandy. So it was a proven technique then; that makes me feel lots better about it." He sat up slowly, moaning from the splitting headache. What had really happened? The kid slipped him a mickey and spooked him out while he was woozy?

"Who the hell are you?" he asked the old lady sitting in his rocking chair. She was slightly translucent and almost colorless; like the half-baked, faded image on an old double-exposed photograph.

"Mrs. Dorthea Trigglebaum, young man, who the duce did you think I was?" The thin, wrinkled old lady's image shimmered a little, and she abruptly looked thirty years younger and more solid. She floated up and towards him. "Is that more to your liking? You men put so much stock in age and looks." She lost a few years more, adding more youthful curves, sumptuous legs, red lips, and flashing green eyes.

"Aw, Ma," said a different, male voice. "You know how tired that makes you!" A translucent, smiling, affable young man of maybe twenty-five floated across the room to shake Bert's hand. Bert felt no hand, but a cold chill traveled up his arm to his spine. "I'm Johnny, Mr. Freehop. Glad to meet you. Heard we're going to be roommates. If'n you don't snore."

"Ah, I guess so," was all that Bert could mutter.

"This live dude can see us now?" asked a raspy voice. A hairy old man in cowboy duds came riding through a wall on a faded horse.

"This is Hank," explained Mrs. T. to Bert and Holly. She was once again an old lady. "He used to ranch all the land around here. His ranch house was remodeled to make this one."

Bert held his aching head, trying to make sense of things. "What the hell are all of you doing in MY house?"

"Well what the blazes are you doing on MY ranch sonny?" returned Hank. "You a court'n this-here woman?" He pointed a glove covered finger at the blushing Mrs. T.

"He's been sharing my bed for two months Hank. On the other hand, he hasn't even noticed me until now, and he wants to sleep with my son tonight. Don't you like women, Mr. Freehop?" She lost a few years and batted her eye-lashes at him.

"My preference is still for live ones; no offense intended." He glanced at Johnny, who looked about five years old at the moment, and was chasing a translucent yellow cat through the kitchen. The other bedrooms were too stuffed with odds and ends to act as bedrooms, so it looked like he and Johnny were indeed paired up for certain. "I don't suppose that your son could settle for the living room couch for a few nights?"

Mrs. T. grimaced as though a spider had been shoved under her nose. "Oh no, I'm afraid that wouldn't do a-tall. We can only go about as we did in life, you know. Johnny never slept in the living room."

"Too bad! Oh well, I guess I could make do with the couch then," conceded Bert, becoming more annoyed by the moment.

"As long as you don't mind my snoring," said a strange voice. A chill froze Bert, as something cold passed right through him. From Bert's own spot on the couch a large, black bearded man rose and turned to face him. "I'm Jake Trigglebaum, and you ain't sleeping with my wife no more, that's certain, cupcake!"

"I wouldn't think of it. Not that she isn't, ugh, wasn't an attractive woman. So you snore, do you Jake?"

"That's why sometimes he sleeps down-stairs, of course," explained Mrs. T.

A translucent cow trotted through the living-room, and Hank went thundering after it on his ghost horse, whooping happily. Mr. T. whispered something to Mrs. T. and the pair went floating up the stairs, laughing as they shed clothing that disappeared when it hit the stairs. Johnny was nowhere to be seen. Bert and Holly were finally alone for the moment.

"Isn't this fun, Unc?" bubbled Holly. "Lots better than an empty old house, isn't it?"

A woman's impassioned moan came from upstairs, and he thought that he heard bedsprings squeaking rhythmically. "How long will this last?" Bert asked.

"Mr. and Mrs. T? This is the third time they've done that since I've been here. Fifteen minutes is average. I'm beginning to think that I won't get much sleep in that bedroom."

"Dandy. But no, I mean that toad-wart stuff you gave me. When will it wear off?"

"It's permanent, Unc. Say, I was thinking we could go outside and look for elves or something, and watch the extinct animals run around." Holly headed for the back yard, avoiding eye contact with Bert.

"It's permanent?" Bert muttered repeatedly, as he followed her out after a moment of stunned inaction. "Holy shits!" he shouted, and he pulled Holly back inside, to keep both of them from being trampled by several duck-billed dinosaurs that trumpeted loudly as they fled from some sort of snarling, long-toothed beast from hell!

"It's only dinosaurs, Unc," laughed Holly. "You'll get used to them. They don't like it inside buildings, but they're all over outside. They can't hurt you, they're all dead."

Bert peeked outside through a window. The whole damn yard was a swarming sea of translucent extinct dinosaurs, mammals, and other creatures that faded in and out of view. There were huge sauropods with long necks and tails, reaching into the trees and trying unsuccessfully to eat real leaves. There were stegosaurs, tyrannosaurs, and triceratops, lions, tigers and bears, woolly mammoths, giant ground sloths and long-necked camels, and hundreds of others. Most were ignoring each other and even walking through each other without seeming to notice, but a few were fighting or mating. One big tyrannosaurus was poised at a bird feeder, where it kept trying to eat the pesky blue jays that totally ignored it. The noise was awful, but the only ones that he saw clearly or heard loudly were the ones that he was paying attention to at the moment.

"They can see us?" he asked Holly.

"Sure. We're real. They usually have no trouble seeing real stuff. They'll keep trying to eat you, Unc, but you can pretty much ignore that."

"Fat hairy chance. What do you mean by 'pretty much,' Holly? Are they dangerous?"

"No. They don't have the brain power or spirit power or whatever to consolidate enough to influence reality. That's very hard to do even for human ghosts."

"That's good to know. Most of them don't even see each other?"

"No, not when they're from different ages. They can only see ghosts of what they were used to seeing when they were alive."

"I need a drink." Bert opened a cupboard and pulled out a small bottle of brandy that he kept for emergencies unlike this one.

"You don't drink."

"I do now." He sat down at the table and stared at Holly, who stared back apprehensively as he swigged down several ounces. "So you went through this yourself three months ago young lady, and figured it out all by yourself?"

"Pretty much. Mom and Ken weren't any help. I've gotten the most insight from dead folks of course, and from my spell books."

He shook his head and laughed. "You're the most remarkable damn kid I've ever met!"

Holly smiled. "Thanks Uncle Bert."

"Where'd you get the spell books? That's how this started, isn't it?"

"Right. The books I started with were gifts from my father. My real elf father, not Ken. He visited me last fall."

"When the carnival came back to town?"

"You know about my real dad?"

"No Holly, just a suspicion. You don't resemble Ken at all. Besides being small, you're very smart and good looking. Too much so to have gotten it all from my side of the family."

"Are you mad at me about all of this, Unc?"

"Sure I am, but what the hell." He took one last swig of brandy, then picked up a bucket full of bubble-soap. "You want to do some more bubbles?"

They went to the front yard. This time however, they ran after the dinosaurs and others that were mobbing the area, blowing bubbles onto them. Glycerin tainted bubbles indeed caused them minor distress and soon put the creatures on the run. Bert hadn't had so much fun since before Mary died!

Suddenly the Earth shuddered, as if shook by some gigantic footstep, and with a boom of cloudless thunder a glowing dragon-like beast appeared in the middle of the front lawn! It opened its tooth-lined mouth impossibly wide and inhaled, howling like some gigantic, whining, shop-vac gone mad, causing tornado-force winds that sucked a hapless nearby duck-billed dinosaur to its waiting mouth! The dino's ghost shriveled and disappeared down the throat of the dragon as if the beast were inhaling smoke. Other animal-ghosts in the area stampeded away!

"What is that thing, Holly?" shouted Bert. The thing seemed to hear him shout, and turned towards them. A forsythia bush near to it was uprooted and suffered a fate similar to that of the dino, but the bush had to be briefly chewed. "Hey, the damn thing ate my bush!" Bert yelled angrily, while coming to the terrifying realization that the thing was attacking real things as well as spirits! This thing wasn't harmless like most of the ghosts! "That was a real forsythia!"

"It's a demon, Unc," explained Holly. "A really bad one! Run for your life and soul!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him, and together they stumbled towards the house against the howling wind that tried to pull them to the creature!

As they entered the house and Bert let the front door blow closed, he saw that the beast was walking towards them ponderously on claw-studded legs each thicker than his own over-stuffed body. A long tail with a pointed club on the end swished behind its elephant-sized torso. "That thing will tear right through this house to get to us! What do we do?"

Holly was already running up the stairs. Bert started up after her but she was coming back down already when he had gone only a few steps. She carried a thick, ancient, leather-bound book covered in strange runes, perhaps the same book that she used on Bert the previous night. She started chanting in some ancient language as the book floated in the air and opened before her!

She faced the front door, which was suddenly ripped from its hinges and swallowed whole by the demon! A foul stench of death and decay filled the air, as though a tomb full of rotting corpses had been opened. The demon's reptilian head entered through the shattered doorway and moved towards Holly slowly on its long serpentine neck, eyes glowing amblers that locked with hers, mouth open and flashing dagger-sharp teeth dripping with blood, over which ran a forked, reptilian tongue. Holly never flinched or skipped a beat in her chanting, which was ignored by the demon. Its head moved towards the small girl steadily, unhurried, as though the monster was savoring the moment, and had all eternity to capture its prey! At Holly's side Bert prepared to grab her and run.

Suddenly to Holly's lone little high-pitched voice others were added; as clear and pure as bell chimes on the wind. Smells of apple blossoms and herbs overpowered the demon stench. Translucent and then solid images of a dozen short little pointy-eared folk garbed in ancient gray cloaks, each man or lady no larger than Holly, appeared all around the girl, chanting in chorus with her.

The demon paused, confused and uncertain for several long moments. Then it shook itself and gave a hateful roar, and seemed to gather itself to at last strike at Holly. The chanting came to a crescendo, but the demon merely seemed to smile, certain again that it would prevail.

At that moment Bert threw the whole bucket of glycerin-laced bubble-soap into its face and mouth. It shrieked as flesh melted from bone, and flailed at the door frame for a few moments in pain and hate, before it withdrew rapidly outside, to disappear with a clap of thunder and a wink of darkness.

The room erupted in shouting and laughing, as the little people danced and gave each other high-fives. Holly and Bert were lifted off their feet and trooped around the room. The little folk than faded away but for one tiny man, who turned to admonish Holly. "Your fun and games drew its attention to you. You need to be more careful, young lady." But he smiled and kissed her forehead and nodded at Bert before he too simply disappeared.

Bert was still in a daze. "That was your father, wasn't it? And those were elves; real elves!"

"Yes. A combination of my kinfolk both living and dead. The live ones like my dad used astral projection."

"Makes my side of the family look pretty dull!"

"Not my Uncle Bert the demon slayer," smiled Holly, as she hugged him.

Bert and Holly abandoned ghost-disturbing bubbles altogether and stuck to kites for most of the remaining week. Before Holly left, Bert gave her all of the unmixed glycerin he had left to carry with her always in a tiny squirt gun that she wore on a silver necklace. "Better than pepper-spray against demons!" declared Bert.

Bert's retirement never recovered from Holly's visit. He abandoned the house most nights to the ever horny and noisy Trigglebaums, though he returned almost daily to feed the birds and watch them for a time. Of course it wasn't the same, what with the dinosaur ghosts and such. He changed his will to leave the house and everything else to Holly, whom he planned to haunt mercilessly someday.

Bert traveled widely, fixing his spirit to resorts in Hawaii and other places where he planned to visit free of charge after dying. He spent many nights in a cheap hotel where he and Mary had honeymooned many years earlier. Mary was always there, waiting for him. He spent most nights quietly in Knox's new office building, and worked again for Knox two days a week. As a new building it was blissfully free of ghosts, almost.

"I want a second desk and computer workstation, Knox, and a partition to divide my office in two. Plus a fold-away cot for each side." Bert turned to face the wall. "That OK with you?" Pause. "Oh! Bill wants to finish the Hartblumb design he started before he died. Just put the files in his computer and he'll work on them. No extra charge of course; me and him are a package deal."

'You're nuts Bert, completely crazy!" said Knox. "But as long as you get work done, I really don't give a shit."

"Nobody else wanted this office because Bill Jakobs died here, Knox. That's really why it was available for me, right?"

"True enough. But if the ghost of Bill is going to finish the Hartblumb project, Bert, I'm afraid that you'll need to work full time instead of our agreed-to two days a week."

"Why? What does Bill's work have to do with me?"

"If there is no ghost, you'll need to be here to do the job yourself. On the other hand, if there really is a ghost, I don't see how he can finish the design right if the rest of our team can't communicate with him through you. Either way, it looks like your retirement is over-with." Knox smiled his shark smile.

Knox was right. It was either that or quit altogether, and Bert had found that aside from needing the extra money, he actually enjoyed working two days a week on his own terms. Bill was already bugging him to communicate with Knox on issues with his work. Someone alive that could see and hear ghosts was needed to work with Bill! Bert could see retirement slipping away from him completely now, after already suffering radical revision due largely to Holy.

Suddenly Bert had an idea that would it make it unnecessary for him to increase his work schedule at all! Smiling, he opened his briefcase and pulled out a large, ancient, rune covered book and a small paper bag. "You like tea, don't you, Knox? Let me brew you some of this very special blend that my niece gave me. It's got a bit of a kick to it! Drink some and you'll be a changed man! Then we'll talk this thing over some more."

****

Return to Contents

8.

Turtle Talk

"I'm quitting today, Jane," George said simply, without preamble, in between bites of his peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Then he peered across the table at me through those thick nerd glasses of his, to see my reaction.

I felt that I must have misheard him. Nobody quit a job these days. Either that, or this was just another ploy to get my attention, the childish sort of thing he'd been doing off and on ever since I came to work at The Company five years ago. So now I was supposed to fall all over him while I solved some blown out of proportion crisis of his? Well, if that was it, I wasn't having any! He just wasn't my type romantically, and I'd already let him know that often enough.

Still, I considered us to be workplace friends, and fairly close ones at that. Compared to some of the creeps that inhabited this place, George was OK; like an odd but friendly puppy dog that it was all right to pet, even if you didn't necessarily want to take him home.

"I'm serious, Jane," he elaborated. "This is my last day. I'm heading south tomorrow. I'm all packed to go."

What hit me first was curiosity. Nowadays numerous folks, tired of sunscreen, sun-hats, high collars, long sleeves, sun umbrellas and so forth, and disgusted with sickened plants and wildlife, were moving south, where the ozone layer was still adequate, even though it was hotter and flooded due to other aspects of the global warming/ozone disaster thing.

However, the conventional view, pushed by the Government and the news media, was for people to 'tough it out', and most people were doing just that. Lots of the folks in the area were fourth or fifth generation upper New York state citizens, and not about to give up their homes for any reason, including the weather. Generally only paranoid, fringe type people were headed south, so George leaving came as a big surprise to me. He was as dull and conventional as anyone I ever knew, or at least I thought he was. "Just last week you gave me your big lecture on how moving south made no sense, given global warming," I reminded him. "What changed your mind?"

"True. In the long run, the warming will do us in, if trends continue. But northern ozone layer losses are the more immediate threat. At least that's what I suspect the reason is for moving south."

"Suspect? You mean you're giving up your job to move south and you don't even know why?"

"I'm taking expert advice. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about it, and advise you to do the same. This state is too far north. It's unhealthy." He finished his sandwich and started to clean up his end of my little table.

He was actually serious! It suddenly hit me that I'd really miss this guy, very much. I suffered from no shortage of qualified and unqualified suitors, that's for sure, but I did have a severe shortage of what I'd call friends. It was my shyness, on top of my accursed good looks, that made most other woman wary of me, I suppose, and the good looks that made men react in ways that were beyond just friendly. George coming by my cubicle at lunch time had become a comfortable habit that helped keep some of the wolves away. Besides, he was a nice guy, and pleasant enough to be with, even if he didn't meet all the qualifications that I had defined for 'The Ideal Spouse'. Still, realizing just how much I'd miss him came as quite a shock, and I began to re-examine my feelings, as I continued to pry more information from him.

"Wait a minute! Whose advice?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already think you're crazy. Whose advice?"

"A turtle."

"A turtle? You mean those green things that live in the ponds around here? A real turtle?"

"Well no, not exactly. This is a land turtle. They live in the woods and fields, though they like a swim now and then, I suppose. The Yellow Box turtle is what we humans call the particular species, I looked it up on the web. But they call themselves the Ahhhh."

"They don't call themselves anything. Turtles are pea brained animals, stupid as stumps."

"That's what I used to think. Then last week, she showed up behind my apartment, walking south."

"She?"

"She. Brown eyes, that's how I could tell. Males have red ones. Times being what they are, I gave her water to drink and some apple. They don't normally eat apples, of course, but these are desperate times. Last damn apple I had too; it cost me ten bucks. Grown from green-house trees."

I remembered when greenhouses used to be designed to let all the light in, instead of to keep some of it out. "OK, so you fed a stray turtle a ten dollar apple. You're a kind and eccentric guy. What's that got to do with you moving south?"

"She advised me to. After she thanked me for the grub."

"The turtle actually talked to you then," I stated, incredulously.

"Sort of. She calls herself Issy."

He really had me going now. I knew either this was some kind of scam he was pulling on me, or he had gone loony tunes, or both, but I was hooked. "Turtles don't have the apparatus to talk with, even if they had enough brains, which they don't."

"I've got some theories on that. True, they don't speak the way we do. They use some kind of mental telepathy. And it's really, really slow. I have to sit quietly with the turtle and sort of let my thoughts go blank, and then over ten or twenty minutes a word just sort of takes shape in my mind. Just one word! I reply by repeating a word slow to her, over and over. It takes all damn night for a short conversation! They're slow talkers and thinkers, but they get the job done."

"You do this at night?"

"Yeah, the last few nights, while she's been chowing down with me, and waiting for her friends to come. They've adapted to the stronger sunlight by hiding and sleeping under cover most of the day. I have to wait until she's done eating though; they can't talk and chew at the same time. Brains are too small."

"But not too small to talk with you?"

"Right. I'll give you an analogy. Remember computers when you were a kid? Remember the 286 and the 486 and so forth?"

George was a computer engineer, so naturally that's what he'd come up with. "The earliest one I remember was a Pentium."

"Those are the ones I mean. Of course today's computers are thousands of times more powerful, but when you think of it, those earlier ones still did quite a bit, only slower. And even those computers were much more powerful than what our astronauts had to make do with when they first landed on the Moon." George gestured with his hands the way he always did when he got excited about something, and his glasses slid down his nose, making him look ridiculous. "Don't you see? The turtles are like those old Moon rocket computers."

I was missing the point. "This isn't leading to some theory about astronaut turtles, is it?" I asked.

George laughed. "No, don't be silly! What I am suggesting is that turtles are cognitively challenged, that's true for sure, but just because they think slow, we shouldn't sell them short. Of course, I suspect that Issy is unusually smart for a turtle. Issy spent twenty of her thirty years in a human kindergarten classroom as a pet; that's how she learned to think in English, instead of just in turtle. The concepts behind the mere words used, the memes, are less dissimilar to human ones for her than they are for other turtles."

"This girlfriend turtle of yours, Issy, is thirty years old and went to kindergarten for twenty years?"

"Right. It took her an entire night to tell me that."

"You're crazy."

George gave a deep sigh of resignation. "True. Just like you always suspected. Anyway, I'm headed south in the morning, after I get some more cantaloupes, bananas, and other fruit and vegies, and put them out tonight for Issy and her friends."

"Turtle friends?"

"Turtles, and lots of other animals too. Apparently, when the turtles talk, other animals listen, and the turtles have come to a consensus to all head south. Issy says the first wave will hit town tonight, led by turtles. I figure that in return for her sound advice, the least I can do is give them a meal. I've been stocking up on stuff for days. I'll have hundreds of pounds of animal food by tonight. I also plan on giving Issy a ride, maybe along with a few of her friends."

"Of course," I humored him. "What else could you do?"

He got up to leave, but leaned over the table and looked into my eyes, his face serious. "Only one more thing. I'd like you to come with me."

I even considered it, which shows how low my expectations of life had become. Ditch my good job to run off with a guy that talks with turtles? Sure, why not, give me a minute, let me think about it!

"No strings attached, Jane. We don't have to be lovers, unless my natural charm, wit, and rugged good looks finally win you over. I just wish you'd come with me to where it's safer. Or, I could come with you. Your car's a lot better than mine, and has more room for hitching turtles." George was famous for his old clunkers.

"The truth comes out at last; you want me for my car."

"You've seen right through me. I'm transparent as a sandwich bag; it's one of my best features. Anyway, I'll be feeding the troops tonight, and leaving town by eight AM. Right now I'm headed to the front office to quit." He headed out of the cubicle and out of my life.

I had to stop him. He was throwing away a good job because he was having hallucinations and delusions or whatever. "George, you can't do it." I grabbed him by a shirt sleeve before he could escape. "Not based on turtle talk that could just be your over-active imagination. Or, maybe your turtle friend is simply wrong, or lying to you." I could tell by his reaction that he hadn't even considered these possibilities.

Then I told him something that I couldn't believe I was saying, even as the words were being formed by my mouth. "Tell you what; I'll make you a deal. If animals hike through town tonight led by turtles, I'll go south with you tomorrow. But only if you hold off quitting your job until the morning. We could both quit together." Of course, I knew that there wouldn't actually be a turtle migration, and by this time tomorrow we'd both be laughing over this goofy little fantasy of his, and he'd still be gainfully employed and here with me. We might even end up being more than just friends, I was beginning to suspect. Somehow this craziness of his made him more interesting.

He smiled that nerdy smile of his. "Jane, that's great!" He gave me a hug and looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes. "I'll see you in the morning then? Pick me up at my place?"

"Only if the animals show up."

"All right! See you then. I'll still be taking off this afternoon to prepare a feast for my little migrating friends."

There was an awkward moment when I thought he was going to hug me again or worse, but after a moment's re-consideration he simply gave me a little wave bye-bye and headed out of the building, smiling.

I thought about him all afternoon, along with the crazy idea of heading south. My apartment, my job, and my life here were real, though imperfect, while George's turtle business was fanciful fantasy. It reminded me of all the children's stories my folks read to me when I was young, stories that I loved.

Then I grew up. There was no Santa or Easter Bunny anymore, and real animals were too dumb to play more than bit parts on life's stage. Mom and Dad divorced, and there was no such thing as real love. The real world had death, taxes, pollution, global warming and thinning ozone, and no talking turtles. But it did have money. So I ran off to business school to learn how to make fast bucks, and how to snare a high-rolling, high-powered spouse, though I couldn't stand any such guys that I'd met so far.

But this crazy thought kept coming back. What if there really were talking turtles? What would that mean? Wouldn't it mean that lots of other wonderful, crazy things might also be true?

By the time that I started home, I found myself actually hoping that the whole thing was true! I even stopped at a supermarket and bought lots of fruit and vegetables, plus some dog and cat food just in case there would be carnivores too. I packed my suitcases, and then as it got dark, I sat out on the North-facing porch in front of my apartment, waiting for turtles. Mrs. Lundberg, one of my neighbors, was out there too, taking in the cool, clear night, and listening to country music on her radio.

"Don't see you out here much, Jane," she said, when I plopped down beside her. "What's in the bag?"

"Fruit, mostly." I felt a bit silly, sitting there with that bag of food.

"You going to feed the animals when they come?" she asked with a chuckle, sending a shiver down my spine.

"What animals?"

"Didn't you hear? Hit the radio just an hour ago. Lots of wild animals are on the move tonight, and nobody knows what it's about. Crazy, right?"

I was stunned. "You don't say!"

"I don't say, the radio does. Me, I think it's all just a hoax. Nothing unusual happening around here anyway. I'll show you." She turned off her radio and we listened and peered out at the front lawn, which was well illuminated by moon-light and the dim porch-light. "The night seems normal enough to me."

All that I could hear was the faint sounds of a radio or TV, probably coming from one of the apartments, and the usual chorus of crickets.

Then the crickets stopped.

"What's that?" whispered Mrs. Lundberg anxiously, pointing straight out towards the edge of the light.

I didn't hear or see anything.

"Is that a rock?" she asked. "Does it seem to be moving to you?"

Then I saw it, a dark patch at the edge of the illuminated area, smaller than half of a football. It hadn't been there a minute ago, that I could recall. Was it moving? Yes, just barely. It seemed to lurch ahead towards us an inch or two perhaps, and then do it again and again, so slowly that it was hardly noticeable.

"Look! There's more!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in alarm.

Yes, there were several other similar dark forms slowly moving into the light, and it seemed that there were others, dozens more, just coming into view. Turtles, a herd of them, heading south! I smiled at the absurdity of it.

"Look! They're edging away!"

Sure enough, now they were moving left and right around the light's edge, as though trying to avoid entering it. They were avoiding the domain of man! Besides avoidance of the UV light, that could be another reason for their traveling at night, when humans hid in their homes and slept.

I rushed to the doorway and turned off the porch lights.

"What in the world did you do that for?" asked Mrs. Lundberg crossly, when I returned. "Whatever those things are, the lights were keeping them away!"

"It's just turtles, and I want them to come closer," I explained.

Even in just the moonlight, I could see that she was looking at me like I was crazy. "Well I'm going in," she said, and she did.

I grabbed my kitchen knife and a cantaloupe out of my bag, sat down on the porch steps, and peered into the darkness. At first I could see nothing, but I thought that I heard the faintest of rustling sounds. Is that what turtles walking sounded like? I had no idea.

After my eyes had further adjusted to the darkness I carefully carved the cantaloupe into small pieces. The sweet smell of the sticky juice flooded my senses. I scattered cantaloupe pieces on the lawn and sidewalk directly in front of me and waited. Even in the dim moonlight I would be able to see them if they came that close.

Nothing happened. I thought that I could hear faint sounds all around the dark yard now, but nothing came close enough to be seen. Then I suddenly realized that they were avoiding me. Of course they would try to avoid humans! Why would animals trust humans?

"Ahhhh!" I hissed into the darkness the only turtle-language word that I knew, in my best turtle voice. "Ahhhh!" I repeated slowly, again and again, for perhaps five minutes.

"Ahhhhhh" came a quiet reply, to my right. There, just outside my ring of cantaloupe pieces, was a big turtle. Not a smooth shelled, sleek looking, flat, water turtle, but a thick, rough shelled, highly mounded one, about the size and shape of half a foot-ball. I tossed a piece of cantaloupe right in front of it, and watched an inch-wide head dart out from the shell and stab at the soft melon flesh. George was right, they liked fruit! Within five minutes a dozen more of the turtles descended on the cantaloupe. I reached into my bag and tossed the remaining fruit and vegetables onto the lawn. They particularly liked strawberries.

The turtles were suddenly joined by others. Squirrels, raccoons, and other small animals, dozens of them, were soon making short work of the food. I walked slowly to my car, being careful not to step on any creatures. Soon the contents of three more shopping bags, including fruit, nuts, and dog biscuits, were also scattered on the lawn. In a few minutes, the additional food was also gone, and the animals began to disappear towards the south.

As I was piling dog and cat food onto paper plates and placing them on the sidewalk I had my first real scare. I turned around and there it was, towering over me on its hind legs, the biggest polar bear that I ever saw! But after staring at me for a moment he dropped down on four feet and started eating a plate of cat food, ignoring me, as I slowly backed away towards the porch. In the moonlight I saw that the bear was far too thin.

Other bears appeared out of the darkness, white ones and smaller black ones, all thin. They were quickly joined by other predators, wild cats, foxes, badgers, and wolverines, which quickly ate anything and everything that was left. Inside a half of a minute all the food was gone, and the predators faded into the night, without eating me, each other, or the other animals. There must have been some sort of truce between them. Fascinating as this surreal experience was, I can't say that I was sorry to see them go. I sat back down on the porch steps, smiling.

"Ahhhh" hissed a small voice. It was a box turtle, perhaps the same one that I first saw, looking at me from a few feet away. Behind it were a dozen others, also staring at me. As I stared back at them, a thought clearly formed in my mind in a matter of only seconds. I suspect that multiple turtles can together think faster and louder than one. It wasn't a word; I guess these turtles hadn't attended kindergarten. But I understood it anyway, perhaps as the bears and rabbits and squirrels had also understood it. Roughly translated, their simple message was to come with them south! Then as one, the turtles all resumed their slow but steady march south.

After the turtles left, Mrs. Lundberg came back out with a video-camera in her trembling hands. "I got it all recorded with this thing set on low-light mode Jane, but if I watch it a dozen times, I still won't believe it, especially when they said to head south."

"You heard it too?" I asked in surprise. I had thought that the message was just for me!

"Clear as anything. Didn't know that turtles could talk."

"Only when they have something important to say, something they want everyone to know. All the animals, including us."

After I finished packing and went to bed, visions of sugar plum fairies danced in my head! In the morning, I'd pick up George and we'd head south together. Hopefully, Issy and a few other friendly migrating critters would ride with us. In the face of ecological disaster, I was quitting a good job and running off with a nerd and a reptile, but I was happier and more optimistic about life than I'd been in years! For if turtles can talk, anything is possible! Anything at all!

****

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9.

The Walking Man

John Hunt slightly slowed his impeccable black Mercedes to better watch the scruffy old man walking along the roadside with his crooked wooden walking stick. It was the same as every other morning: the same man, same crooked walking stick, and same stretch of highway full of other commuters. The old-timer appeared to be pulled along by the stick as he held it at arm's length, as if the stick was taking the man for a walk rather than the other way around.

As on several previous mornings the walking man suddenly paused, and the knobby walking stick swept up and pointed straight at Hunt as he drove past, picking him out from among dozens of other commuters in their speeding vehicles. The old man directed an icy stare at Hunt as the Mercedes swept by him, eyes wide showing dark-pupils within white, flashing from behind curly grey tangled hair and beard which parted to reveal a mocking, knowing, gap-toothed smile. That's what had first gotten Hunt's attention three weeks earlier, that cold glaring stare and mocking smile, performed as if this stranger knew him and hated him!

"Shit!" swore Hunt. The man had done the same thing every morning for the last two weeks, and it was beginning to rattle him. Instead of mentally going over his upcoming work-day as was his usual habit, he again reviewed the walking man situation.

Was the man hiking for his health? Unlikely, Hunt reasoned. Instead of tell-tale sweat-clothes and Nikes, the man wore simple khaki cotton work clothes and work-boots plus an old beat-up brown coat and red baseball-cap. Everything he wore looked filthy, stained and torn. Whatever else he was, the man was obviously poor; a blue-collar nobody, possibly even homeless. Underachievers like that used all their energies just to survive; they didn't have the time or money or brains to keep healthy by doing things like going on walks simply for exercise. They got only what they deserved: to be used and used up by more important people like John Hunt. People with smarts and game.

Was the man walking to work? Possibly. The man looked to be in his sixties but was easily still vigorous and spry enough to be working. He was animated actually, as though he was driven by some sort of deadline. And probably strong. He was six-foot-one or two though he walked bent over, and a muscular looking couple of hundred pounds: probably at least forty pounds heavier than himself, Hunt estimated.

Where was he walking to work? There were a couple of auto-repair shops a few miles further down the road and nothing much else. This man probably walked to one of those each morning, Hunt guessed.

He smiled. The man was too damn poor to even buy a car, yet he actually repaired cars to earn his meager living. Hunt appreciated the irony of it. He had known many people such as this. The big dummy would push himself each day to fix the cars of his betters until he dropped dead, leaving destitute an equally stupid wife and even stupider kids. Such people died early but not quickly enough to make up for their mindless breeding habits. One morning Hunt would drive by and the walking man just wouldn't be there, he'd be a forgotten rotting corpse in a cheap casket somewhere, or a specimen used for cutting practice at some yuppie-populated medical school.

Meanwhile the man probably pointed at every luxury car that he saw, that had to be it. He had just enough brains and gumption to feel and display jealousy and bitterness towards his betters.

As an experiment, the next morning Hunt managed to position his car in a pack containing another Mercedes and a Lincoln. The man would surely point his stick at the first classy vehicle he saw, Hunt wagered. Third in the tight-knit caravan of glittering opulence, Hunt reasoned that on this morning he would be totally ignored.

But he wasn't. The walking man disregarded the Lincoln and then the black Mercedes that was identical to his, and then pointed at Hunt! The incident sent a chill down Hunt's spine, distracting him the entire remainder of the day from his used car sales efforts and costing him and his company money.

The man knew him; that had to be it! He was probably one of the hundreds of suckers that he had screwed over, either through car sales or through one of his many previous shady careers or side-line businesses, one of so many victims that Hunt didn't recognize or remember him. Well, the hell with him! He was John W. Hunt, untouchable and safe living in his limited-access neighborhood, working at his place of business and commuting in his Mercedes, while this walking man character was a nobody! So what did it matter what he was up to? Let him point his sticks and make faces 24/7 for all the good it would ever do him! That's all he could do, this ineffectual nobody. He wasn't worth worrying about.

Hunt did increasingly worry though, as day after day the walking man persisted with his antics. Hunt tried to avoid the man by driving to work an hour or two earlier or later and it made no difference. Driving further from the roadside in the passing lane made no difference. Cold wet downpours were ignored by the walking man. One day Hunt bought home a very different looking car from the dealership, a white Lincoln, and feeling like a fool, he drove past the walking man while wearing a wig and fake beard and mustache. Even that made no difference whatsoever; the man was still there along the same infernal stretch of road, pointing his damn stick at Hunt and mocking him as he sped by! One week he tried driving a different car every day from his used car inventory, some of them junk-cars that he feared would fall apart during the commute, and it made no difference! The walking man picked him out every single time!

Spooked, Hunt hired a detective agency. Inside a week he was reading a thick report on Mark Jenkins. Surprisingly the walking man had been a big-time Wall-Street stock-broker until ten years ago. Then after a fire in his home he inexplicably dropped out of sight. Weeks later, his name began appearing in area newspapers. He allegedly saved a ten-year old boy from drowning and found a five-year old girl that had been lost in the woods. He foiled a bank robbery and helped a woman give birth on a city bus. This do-gooder was a hero dozens of times over since he left Wall Street!

He also became a dead-beat and a recluse with no remaining immediate family or friends. His wife and kids left him shortly after his career failed. Jenkins currently lived off welfare checks in a run-down trailer park, ten miles from the commuter highway that he hiked to each weekday, apparently solely to point his stick at Hunt as he drove by. Hunt was amazed that Jenkins had an old trailer to live in, and that he owned a phone.

The detectives could find no previous connection between Hunt and Jenkins, despite two additional weeks of annoyingly intrusive and expensive investigation. In the end they recommended that Hunt simply ignore the man. He was a harmless fruitcake, they told him.

Ignoring him wasn't good enough for Hunt. Jenkins had annoyed him for far too long. He phoned the man. "This is Hunt, Jenkins. I don't know what you're up to but I want you to stop it now. Do I make myself clear?"

In response Jenkins laughed maniacally and hung up. The next morning the walking man was at his post along the highway again. Hunt pulled over and parked. Jenkins looked even scruffier and crazier close up. His clothes were torn and dirty, his long hair and beard filthy, his eyes wild and tortured. But he was no longer an unknown terror to Hunt, now he was just a man, a real man with a name and past that Hunt knew and could use. Less than a man, actually; Jenkins was a has-been. The stick that Jenkins pointed at him was crooked, old and ordinary looking, like Jenkins. Hunt wondered why he had ever worried about this fool! "What do you want from me, Jenkins? And why?"

Jenkins smiled grimly, his few teeth discolored and rotting. "I want redemption from God, though this is clearly not yet the day. You sir, will aid in my redemption when the time comes. Ask not what you have done to me, a stranger; ask what you have done to yourself to earn a blazing touch of Hell!"

"Exactly what do you want from me?" Hunt repeated, still looking for a more sensible answer.

The big man shook his head. "It would do you no good now to know more. Knowing makes no difference. You could move to the Brazil jungles or the Himalayan Mountains and it wouldn't matter. Nothing makes a difference. You'll see." Nodding, he smiled his crazy mocking smile and laughed. "I can feel it, Hunt. You are the one, you are an evil sinner, you are my final redeemer, praise be to God! I will save you, but you will save me!"

Having satisfied his curiosity enough, Hunt returned to his car and drove away, convinced now that the man was completely loony tunes. The detectives were right. As long as that crazy man merely pointed a stick at him, what harm was he doing? Hunt had been thinking of having Jenkins roughed up or something through his mob connections but that wouldn't be worth it. Physical violence wasn't his style anyway; there were always easier and safer ways to break people. In this case nothing was needed; Jenkins was already broken. Broken and inconsequential.

Out of curiosity Hunt waved at Jenkins on some mornings, looking for some reaction, but the gesture seemed to make no difference to the hiker, who always simply pointed the stick at him and smiled as though he knew some secret.

Traffic was heavy one morning, and Hunt didn't even look for the crazy walking man who had after three long months had become just another meaningless roadside feature. The truck changed lanes too abruptly for him to react. In slow motion to his racing mind, the Lincoln clipped the massive rear-end of the truck and then spun off the highway to plow into a steel guard-rail. In seconds Hunt was painfully pinned behind his steering wheel, as fire spread around him. His legs felt crushed. Someone tried to open his car doors, but they were hopelessly mutilated and jammed! He would surely die now, Hunt knew!

Suddenly the already cracked windshield was being smashed away by powerful blows. It was a fiery eyed, revelation spouting, grinning Jenkins that smashed clear the windshield and pried back the steering wheel with his walking stick! Hunt helplessly looked into the man's maniacal, gleeful eyes and felt his strong hands pulling him from the wreck! The last thing that he remembered before he passed out was the old man's joyous laughter.

The next days and nights were painful, fuzzy, and delirious. A nurse showed Hunt a newspaper story about his accident when he had regained his senses. Jenkins was a hero yet again. News reporters interviewed Hunt. What did he think of his wonderful rescuer Mr. Jenkins? Amazing coincidence him being there, wasn't it? Hunt mumbled the expected responses.

The nightmare started the night before he left the hospital. It was a double feature. In it Hunt witnessed a young woman being brutally attacked in a parking garage, and then an infant was trapped in a burning building. In the dream he witnessed the events not as a detached on-looker, somehow he first became the woman and then the child, and their terror and pain were his own. He woke screaming the tortured cries of the child and the woman.

He was relieved to find himself sweating but still alive and whole. But he was astonished to find that the crooked old walking stick of Jenkins was lying across his chest and clutched tightly in his shaking hands. The stick and Jenkins had saved his life, but just as assuredly he knew that they were somehow now the source of his torment, for the nightmare had been impossibly odd and real. He rose from his hospital bed, unsteady on legs still in partial casts, and angrily stumbled out of the room, intending to unceremoniously fling the stick down the hallway. But he noticed then how good the knurled old hard wood felt: comfortingly solid, smooth, and warmer than human flesh. His still mending legs ached, but as he held the stick by its thick, twisted, thick end and let the tip reach the floor, he pressed down with it, relieving some of the pressure on his mending right leg.

He resolved to keep the thing just long enough to give it back to Jenkins personally. He got dressed and checked out of the hospital quickly, still clutching the stick. It still felt strangely good to hold it, but now as he walked with it, the stick seemed to pull him this way or that. When he left the hospital it decisively lurched off to the left when he turned right, as if it were alive and wanted him to follow its will. He forced it to go right, but it vibrated menacingly in his hand, as though providing a warning.

The damn thing was cursed somehow! It took all his willpower to enter the taxi and direct the driver to Jenkins' trailer. There he'd rid himself of the stick and Jenkins!

In the taxi the stick seemed to lose its power and will to influence where Hunt went, but it lost as well its strange ability to comfort him. Hunt immediately felt claustrophobic, and he opened the cab windows to no avail. Somehow although he was wide awake and in the daylight, the terror of his dark nightmare was returning to him. He could hear screams as ghostly shadows reached for him, dark shadowy fists and feet and as well as bright red fire! He could feel brutal blows and a tearing at his clothes, feel the searing heat of the fire as he choked on its smoke. He panted, coughed, moaned, and ranted as he clutched and waved the stick. By the time the cab reached Jenkins' trailer the screams of the victims of the nightmare were again his own!

After he crawled out of the cab it shot away without even waiting for payment, though Hunt hardly noticed. It was good to be out of the cab and walking with the stick again; the nightmares vanished almost instantly. The walking stick apparently wanted him to walk, not ride about in cabs!

The old trailer park was nearly deserted, the vacated parking spaces strewn with empty cans, discarded chairs and mattresses and other assorted trash, as though the former occupants had first lightened their loads before making a hasty retreat. There was one remaining trailer; the Jenkins trailer. Barely the size of even a decent living room, it was as decrepit an abode as Hunt had ever seen. Rust was its primary color; remaining original paint chips had faded beyond possibility of identification. Old boards of different sorts were nailed over broken windows. Yet the trailer was actually colorful, due to hate-filled graffiti, mostly spray-painted in blood red, that covered most of it; all apparently threats from neighbors to maim or kill Jenkins in one way or another. A yard-high, crude wooden cross was nailed to the door.

The stick wanted to walk in another direction, but Hunt forced it and himself towards the trailer, even though as he did so the stick vibrated and he began to faintly sense distant screaming and the smell of burning human flesh.

When no-one answered his knocking and shouting Hunt entered through the unlocked door, almost gagging on the stench inside the cramped quarters. A couple of bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling lit the inside. They revealed that the trailer had even more graffiti inside than outside. Neatly hand painted on the metal walls, ceiling, and floor were strange ancient runes of many kinds, including what could have been Egyptian or Mayan or who knows what! On little make-shift shelves and hung with course twine tied to nails driven carelessly into metal and wood-paneled walls were icons from dozens of faiths from Christianity through Zen-Buddhism. To the far end of the trailer hundreds of books and papers were strewn haphazardly on a small table and the surrounding floor. Many of the books looked ancient, with leather binding and crumbling yellow pages that were marked with bookmarks, Post-Its and scribbles, as though some titanic term paper was being assembled from arcane knowledge.

Jenkins himself, decked out in disgusting old jeans and what perhaps used to be a white T-shirt, slept soundly on a tiny fold-out cot in the midst of the mess, snoring away merrily. The hair on his head was much the same, foot long and tangled, though much cleaner looking, otherwise Hunt mightn't have even recognized him, for the grubby beard and mustache had been completely shaven off. Jenkins looked ten years younger. A big empty wine bottle was lying on the floor next to him. Waking the man proved almost impossible, but at last the dark eyes sparkled open wide and he smiled warmly. The tortured, wild look was gone. "Thank God, it's over at last!" he announced. "I haven't slept that good in over ten years." He sat up, yawning and stretching contentedly as he watched Hunt with amusement.

"I didn't sleep well at all last night," responded Hunt testily. "I don't know what kind of witchcraft you're working here, but you've made a big mistake in targeting me, Jenkins."

"I didn't target you, you're responsible for that. I don't know what you've done to deserve it and I don't want to know. I don't know anything about you at all other than the fact that I saved your life and that you're an arrogant bastard. As bad a man as I used to be myself, maybe."

Hunt swung the walking stick up and placed it none-too gently across Jenkins' lap. "This is yours. If you give it to me again you'll be sorry. I'm a powerful man, Jenkins, you don't want to mess with me!"

Jenkins laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't give it to you. My penance is complete, for which I thank God profusely. But yours is just starting, Hunt. You were saved but you weren't deserving of it, so now you have a price to pay. The stick means nothing to me anymore. Try to leave the stick with me if you want, it won't make any difference at all." He stood up straight, towering over Hunt, and placed the stick on the floor gently with its knobby head propped up against a wall. "I couldn't keep it now if I wanted to. But you won't want me to, you'll find. In fact, I doubt you'll even want to leave this trailer without it."

Facing the big man, Hunt was suddenly aware of how empty his hands were now without the stick. Jenkins seemed to fill the small room with his barrel-like chest and his thick, muscular arms. Why hadn't he thought to bring the pistol from his office? No matter, his business here was ended; he had returned the stick and said what had to be said. He wouldn't pay any attention to whatever nonsense Jenkins spouted. He backed away towards the still-open trailer door, but as he did so his fear inexplicably increased.

The air, already summer-heavy and Jenkins-putrid, seemed charged with some indefinable negative energy. To one side, from at the edge of his field if vision, a wall of smoke and flame materialized and moved towards him. He could feel a wave of searing heat hit him, as though next to him a huge blast-furnace door had opened. A massive bodiless fist came at him from the other side, as though to knock him in the jaw. The blow never seemed to physically land, but pain shot through him as though it had, and he staggered against the opposite wall. The wall was hot as a steam iron, and burned through his shirt to singe his arm and shoulder. He sank to the floor, screaming.

Dimly as from a great distance he heard a voice, Jenkins' voice, pleading. "Take the stick man, or you'll suffer the fate of the victim! The stick is your only hope!"

The stick stood propped against a wall where Jenkins had placed it, only a few feet away from him. Choking from the smoke, Hunt could only crawl to it agonizingly slowly, as fire burned away his clothes, and bone-cracking blows rained down on him from all directions.

When his hand grasped the stick at last, the pain drained out of him immediately. He stayed there on his hands and knees resting for long moments, astonished to find that he and his clothing seemed to be undamaged!

He felt the rage build in him. This was all some sort of cruel witchery; Jenkins had hoodwinked him again somehow. He spring to his feet with the stick and swung it at Jenkins' head with all his might. "Die, witch!" he shouted.

Jenkins fell senseless to the floor with a moan, while Hunt stood over him and lifted the walking stick to strike him yet again. He'd kill the bastard and end this! But the stick suddenly twisted in his hands and struck his own head! His mind went blank.

He woke up screaming in pain and terror from the nightmare blows and burns, but with the re-assuring feel of the stick in his hands.

Jenkins stood over him, seemingly none the worse after the blow he suffered from Hunt. "Hunt, you're lucky you didn't kill me, you stupid bastard! You'd have upped the price you'll have to pay for sure! Now get out of here."

Hunt got up and stumbled out of the trailer, using the stick. It seemed to move just before he took each step, pulling him along. As Hunt let it walk him past a blackened barrel obviously used to burn rubbish, he yanked it up and broke it in half over his knee, then dropped it in the barrel and tossed a burning cigarette lighter after it. Fed by old boxes and other trash, flames quickly ignited in the barrel.

Grinning, Hunt bounded two steps away, and then sank to his knees in pain and terror. He was again being attacked and burned by invisible demons!

But he still stubbornly resisted the impulse to retrieve the burning stick. As the fire flared up, burning everything within the barrel, seconds were like hours, each filled with crippling agony and horror. But when Hunt finally passed out from the pain he was smiling. He had destroyed the stick! He was free!

He woke up screaming as fists pounded him and fire burned his flesh. The nightmare had returned, worse than ever. The walking stick, whole and not even singed, was miraculously in his hands! Though his body convulsed with pain he stood up and let the stick lead him for a step or two. All pain vanished.

A few feet away Jenkins sat in an old lawn-chair, watching him and laughing.

"You unholy bastard!" swore Hunt. "I'll get you for this." He lifted the stick and took a step towards Jenkins as though to strike him again, but the stick vibrated wildly and an invisible fist and a sudden wave of heat knocked him off his feet! He scrambled up in hasty terror and turned away from Jenkins, letting himself be led away by the stick while he caught his breath.

Amused, Jenkins shook his head. "What hit you just now? A car? A bullet? The actual event is close at hand Hunt, if it's so real for you. But it will be even more real yet to you, if you don't stop it."

"Stop it?"

"How'd you get so rich without brains, Hunt? The stick is your guide. Let the stick lead you to where you can stop whatever it is you're supposed to stop. Save whomever you're supposed to save. You're going to be a hero."

"And if I don't?" asked Hunt, though even as he asked the question he was pulled again by the stick, and his feet took more steps away from Jenkins.

"You'll die with the victim, of course. Haven't you been listening? Have you got shit for brains, man? This is a decade of experience talking, and that's more help than I had from my own predecessor. You should pay closer attention."

"I don't believe you. I've felt a beating and fire but I'm not really injured. This is all some kind of chicanery."

The big man nodded. "So you have learned a little. If you don't save them you'll die with them all right, but only in a manner of speaking. Stick in your hands or not, you'll feel their death as yours. You'll struggle hopelessly for your last breath and the last beat of your own heart. After the pain, the life and warmth and light will fade from your body and brain in a sleep of death. But then you'll wake screaming from your next nightmare. You'll wake screaming in pain and terror every single time you try to sleep. Worse yet, if you don't save the life you are supposed to, you'll add to the debt of sin you owe, and the stick will require several more months or years of service from you."

Hunt let the stick slowly lead him towards the street and away from the old trailer park, but he still turned his head back towards Jenkins. The old man sat relaxed and smiling in his lawn-chair and made no move to follow. "But how do I stop it?" Hunt pleaded.

"You don't; you learn to live with it," Jenkins shouted in reply. "That's my best advice. It'll let you go on your merry way when you've changed your heart and paid enough. Hey, just look how wonderful things have turned out for me!" He stood up slowly and folded the wood-framed lawn-chair, then walked with it to the fire and held it in the flames. It caught fire quickly.

"Help me!" Hunt yelled repeatedly, as the walking stick led him steadily away. His steps had taken on an animated, urgent cadence, similar to that of Jenkins in weeks past. He still twisted his head around to watch as Jenkins reached the trailer and threw the burning chair through the still open door. In seconds, flames and smoke engulfed the old trailer.

Hunt was by then so far from him that Jenkins couldn't make out what words the new walking man was shouting anymore. Instead, he heard his own calmly beating heart and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. He walked away slowly in the direction opposite Hunt's, smiling and standing tall, and breathing deeply of air more fresh and clean than he remembered it ever being, and reveling in the warmth of the sunshine on his face. He took his time. For the first time in a decade he had no particular place to go.

****

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10.

Dragon Dreams

"A dragon, maybe," said the assistant medical examiner, as he picked up with gloved hand what he judged to be a human forearm, or rather the charred remains of one, and dropped it into a large labeled plastic bag.

"A what?" asked Lead Psychic-Detective Jeffrey Benson, startled out of his fond thoughts of making love to Marion last night, which he had been using to mask out the emotional impact to the squad members that this latest grisly murder scene was causing. This was the third murder this week, each more upsetting than the one before it. The victim had apparently been clawed, burned, and torn apart, leaving blood, guts and hundreds of shredded bits and pieces of the body thrown all over the apartment. The stench of burned human flesh was ungodly.

He hadn't been idly daydreaming of Marion. Because his psychic empathic ability led him to perceive the dismal feelings that this scene produced among the entire forensics team, of necessity he had to deliberately balance their reactions to mayhem with more comforting escapist thoughts of his own. It was a skill he had acquired early in life, so that he could accommodate some of the more disturbing consequences of his psychic abilities.

Doctor Frank Sullivan laughed. He was used to dealing with the various quirks of his psychic co-workers. "Just trying to get your attention, Jeff. This time I'm agreeing with the Chief; this one had to be done by a Psy Master. I can't think of any manual or mechanical means, from machete through mulching mower, that could do this to a man."

Jeff sighed. It was a conclusion that he had tried to avoid making, though he saw no way around it. On the other hand, he couldn't think of any psychic means to do all of this destruction either. "This was definitely a male victim then?"

"You really haven't been paying attention, have you? I shagged a testicle about ten bags ago." Sullivan glanced towards the door, where a lab-tech was busy retrieving evidence bags to carry them down to the van. The bags were opaque, thank God, and Jeff hoped that he would never see their bloody contents again. Photos he would see at most, if this case ever came to a trial, but not the real thing.

"What have we got so far, Jeff?" asked Chief June Marks, when she appeared abruptly at the doorway. She was immaculately dressed in a white pants suit, and obviously didn't intend to come into the blood-spattered apartment, which suited Jeff just fine.

The two of them walked together slowly down the hallway of the apartment building, past other Psy cops and Norm cops, who were still interviewing terrified neighbors as they huddled in their apartment doorways. Most reported hearing a loud crash, a few seconds of screams, some deep snarling and thrashing about, and then another loud crash mere seconds later. Jeff could sense their fear and confusion, but nothing suspicious. This probably wasn't an inside job.

"One victim again, Chief: male; presumably Peter Fordham, the resident. Fordham was single, forty-five, and unemployed."

"Fordham? That name sounds familiar."

"Right; you probably heard the name on TV news. Another celebrated Keenan Institute graduate, like the previous two victims."

"A child rape-murder creep that got rehabilitated at Keenan and then released, like the other two?"

"Right, Boss. Same everything, only this murder is even messier and thus more suggestive of a Psy Master."

"Why more suggestive?" Marks asked.

"The skills and raw power involved. In a matter of seconds something apparently broke in through the brick wall of a third-story apartment, burned and ripped a guy to shreds, then exited through another wall. I suppose it had to be a Psy Master, but I can't imagine even a Master having the required level of multiple skills and power. Maybe a gang of them could do it; I don't know. But that would be even more of a disaster politically, wouldn't it? What's our cover story this time?"
"A bomb, like the other two times," Marks revealed. "But I don't know how long the press will buy it; this time too many residents heard too much. A cover-up is already being hinted at by some of the news reporters, judging from what we see them posting on the Net. They're going to work themselves up into a feeding frenzy, I can feel it coming. But we have to stick with the cover story; we have no other choice. I've had calls from the mayor and several city council members. If the public finds out that a psycho Psy Master is on the loose, the repercussions could be worse than a thousand serial killers."

Jeff nodded, but wasn't so sure that their policy of lies was the right policy. By circumventing the truth, how would the general public ever learn and accept the simple fact that psy-power didn't always go hand in hand with good intentions? The public genetic programs of the past century had resulted in a quarter of humans having measurable psychic powers of some sort. A few people were even telepathic, able to cure disease, fly, or levitate small objects. A very few, so-called Masters, had multiple powers. Of course 'Master' was an incredibly unfortunate choice of terms; it magnified ten-fold the fears of Norms that weren't Psy.

Fed by the inevitable incidents of psychic committed felonies and other misdeeds, anti-Psy and in particular anti-Master sentiment had nearly reached critical mass among the Norms. Dozens of innocent Psy-capable citizens had already been murdered by cults of panicky Norm crazies that claimed that a Psy conspiracy was occurring.

There really was a conspiracy, but it was a Government conspiracy against truth, not a Psy conspiracy to take over the world. Unfortunately, the current policy of official denial of any wrong doing by Masters magnified suspicions by orders of magnitude. If word got out now about a rogue Psy Master, riots or worse could result, June Marks was right about that much. But how would society ever adapt if it didn't face this thing head-on? He shook his head. It was another unsolvable problem, just like the hundreds of others that had plagued humanity since creation.

"Is there something about our public policy that you disapprove of, Jeff?" asked Marks.

Jeff smiled. "I'm supposed to be the one with the empathic Psy-powers, Chief." She wasn't smiling in return, externally or internally. He could sense the intense pressure that she was under, and didn't want to be at the receiving end of her well-known temper. He had seen enough of that five years earlier, when the two of them had almost started a personal relationship that would have gone well beyond business.

A relationship that he rejected. She was a Normal; it would have never worked. Since then, he always called her 'Chief' or 'Boss' to ensure proper decorum, while she still always called him 'Jeff,' perhaps to show that she held no bad feelings about it. Of course everyone usually called him by his first name anyway, so maybe it meant nothing.

He politely turned away from her and honestly tried to not read her feelings, though doing so was about as uncomfortable and impossible as holding his breath. An empath was an empath. "I don't really disapprove, Chief, I just wish that things were different. Why propagate the myth that Psys of Master class are angels instead of just people with normal faults and weaknesses?"

"That's just what people are afraid of Jeff, Masters with the faults and weaknesses of a Hitler."

"This Psy is more the Jack the Ripper type."

Jeff could sense June sober even further. "If it's a Psy Master at all," she said. "Have you heard anything about Psys having nightmares? Maybe nightmares about ancient beasts?"

Jeff was taken aback. "Are we still talking about this case?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Confidentially, there have been unsubstantiated reports over the years of Psys going psycho while dreaming, and sometimes causing horrible violence."

"All people dream, Chief; it doesn't mean squat. Dozens of lab tests have shown that psy powers don't happen during sleep, period. What you're talking about sounds like Psy-phobic nonsense." June claimed she wasn't Psy-phobic, but with the exception of the anti-Psy cultists, that's what almost everyone said. Yes, it was politically incorrect to be Psy-phobic, but Jeff wasn't convinced that deep down Norms were so readily tolerant of those with powers. He suspected that practically every non-Psy person was Psy-phobic to some degree; suspicion of people that are different from one's self was too ingrained in the psyche to simply dismiss with logic and good intentions. He knew because he could sense the fear and suspicion and even hate in hundreds of Normals, every day of his life. Even in June. That's one reason he cut off their affair before it actually started.

"Just keep an open mind, Jeff," she said, as she walked away. It was exactly the same thing she said to him five years ago, Jeff recalled. He couldn't decide if she was now referring only to the case or also to the two of them.

He returned to the crime scene, where he was relieved to find that Doc Sullivan and his crew were finishing up with the last body parts. They'd still be blotting up blood and other nasty fluids for days, but that wouldn't bother the Doc much. However, Jeff sensed an unusual uneasiness in his normally stable friend Doc Sullivan. "What about that dragon crack you made earlier, Doc? Where you serious? Why a dragon?"

"Just a goofy notion that Marion mentioned, Jeff." Marion Gray was the group's only Psy Master Detective and Jeff's current lover. Besides being great in bed, she was full of half-baked notions about ghosts and demons, some of them probably correct. "Maybe she's on to something. A flying, fire-breathing monster dragon could explain a lot of this, right? Look here." Sullivan pointed out one bloody smudge among many, eight feet up on the wall. It looked for all the world like a gigantic bloody clawed hand or paw-print.

Jeff shrugged. "Something to throw us off the track maybe?"

"We aren't on any blasted track, unless you've been holding out on me. We have no living witnesses. We have horrific carnage caused by unknown sharp instruments, too irregular for knives or anything else I've ever seen. We have no prints except that goofy bloody paw print that I just showed you. And we have no blood or spit or hair or dandruff or anything else to genetically type, other than the victim's remains and contamination that we cops have introduced."

"I've assumed that we're not suspects."

Doc shook his head. "Hopefully not. I guess we have motive, what with all the victims being child murderers and all, but how would any of us physically do these crimes? And that leaves us with nothing forensics-wise, so far, except in this case the infrared imaging."

Jeff perked up. The Doc somehow had been holding out on him, despite his mind-reading abilities! "You've got an image?"

Sullivan couldn't hold back a smile. "This is the first case where we arrived in time for good IR readings. We just might have something, but don't get too excited. It will take a couple more days to enhance it fully, then we'll see. Come on, I'll show you the raw stuff." He walked with Jeff downstairs and outside to the forensics van.

After closing the door to shut out unwanted sunlight and reporters, he deftly made one-fingered keyboard entries at the van's VISI-COM console. On the main display, a high resolution flat-screen that occupied half of one inside wall of the van, a fuzzy image of the murder scene appeared in shades ranging from cool gray to hot red. Body parts and fluids were light pink, and a powered-up VISI-COM set showed up dark pink. The rest of the scene was gray, with one notable exception. An enormous bright-red blob filled the middle of the room, towering over the scene! Lighter red smudges extended from the blob through the enormous holes in the apartment walls.

Jeff whistled. "It's huge, whatever it was. Will image enhancement clear this up?

"Don't know yet. infrared is funny stuff. Whatever it is, it's at least ten-times man-size and hot as blazes, but I couldn't say now if it's a living body or a psy-energy orb or swamp gas or what! Does it look like anything to you? A dragon maybe?"

Studying the image again, Jeff noticed features that perhaps suggested a reptilian head, wings, and tail. It could be a hot bodied dragon at that, he realized! Or any number of things. A flock of chickens maybe, with hot-wings. He shook his head. "Nothing for sure yet but a big hot blob, Doc."

Returning to the scene of the crime one final time that day, Jeff encountered Marion Gray. She stood in the middle of the room mumbling, her open, unfocussed eyes bulging, hands clutched and outstretched, in what he could empath was a deep psychic trance. It was odd and against policy for her to be doing this without having Jeff or another empath on hand, but then Marion was Marion. A Norm lab-tech stood to one side recording her every sound and gesture for later interpretation. Two other Norm techs just watched silently. Being non-Psy, this probably seemed like black magic to them, and he could sense their relative indifference to her safety.

Suddenly Marion was shouting incoherently and spinning in circles wildly! Jeff could empath her growing terror. She was in big trouble! He and one of the techs closed in to grab her and try to snap her out of her trance, but invisible forces that felt like impossibly strong and hot winds threw them back violently. Jeff fell and landed in a puddle of putrid murder victim slime and blood. "Shit, Marion!" he shouted, "snap out of it!"

Another tech had fetched a wastebasket half-filled with water to throw over her. The water steamed away even before it hit her, but Jeff took it as a sign that this was the needed approach; Marion's clothes were starting to smoke! In seconds he was in the hallway outside the apartment, frantically wrestling out a fire hose! He could hear Marion screaming in pain as her clothes burst into flame!

The high-pressure blast of water extinguished the fire, but knocked the small woman across the room and silenced her. When Sullivan and Jeff reached her she was unconscious and terribly burned. They rushed her to the nearest hospital in the forensics van, but it was no use. She was dead!

Later June found Jeff in his apartment, drinking from a bottle of scotch and wringing in his hands the sweater that Marion had worn just the night before. Marion could have sensed the past, present, and future by inspecting a person's clothing, Jeff could only sense an empty void. "I'm sorry Jeff, I know that you were very close to her."

Jeff didn't even acknowledge her presence. He remembered seeing in an old VISI-COM movie that as recent as a century ago fraternization between fellow workers was frowned upon. Maybe that ancient practice had some advantages. He couldn't believe that Marion was gone!

"The press is going nuts, Jeff, absolutely ape-shit. The mayor is too. They all want more blood, ours! Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Not much, Chief. I'm pretty certain that she was getting psy-feedback from some unknown source, but it was malevolent and impossibly powerful."

"The press is saying suicide, due to guilt."

"Suicide! That's plain nuts! Guilt over what?"

"The murders."

"What?"

"She was a Psy-Master right? Was she with you when the murders occurred?"

"She was sleeping beside me, but the whole idea is crazy, Chief! Marion wouldn't and couldn't hurt anybody! Hell, she had powers, but nothing like what killed her or the other three! She was a low-order Master, and mostly a clairvoyant, you know that!"

"Did you know that all of the victims were non-Psy Normals, and that all of their child victims were Psy?"

"Sure I knew it. Are you suggesting some sort of Psy backlash against Psy-phobic Normals? I think it's more likely to be a coincidence."

"Maybe. You say Marion was with you the nights of the murders?"

"For the last two, yes she was, and I'll be glad to testify to that. Or maybe as a Psy my word isn't any good?"

"Did she sleep peacefully?"

"You think that she could kill those people from miles away while she slept? She couldn't have done it even when awake! Nobody could!"

"Did she talk to you about having nightmares?"

"No. I had some dreams of my own that we talked about a little bit, that's all."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Mostly of me flying around town, if you must know. And OK, also seeing some sort of death and destruction. Not too unusual, I figure. I imagine that half the staff's having odd nightmare dreams due to the murders. Besides, I've always had a lot of strange dreams."

"Why didn't you mention your nightmares to me when I asked you earlier?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm not sure that what I had could be considered to be nightmares. I seemed to mostly enjoy them, if anything. Haven't you ever had neat flying dreams?"

"Yes, but not ones that also involved mayhem." She paced the room for a few seconds, deep in thought, and putting out too mixed a bag of feelings for Jeff to decipher, then turned to face him again. "You're off the case Jeff, as of now. I'm putting Freeberg in charge. We'll borrow a clairvoyant and empath team from another district. You take some time off, but be available for questioning and consultation."

She probably expected him to argue, to proudly defend his turf, and to be pissed-off at her for grilling him or something, but he just didn't give a shit. Marion was dead, for Christ-sakes! He shrugged and took a deep breath. "Freeberg's good, but green, and not even a Psy. Should I just sort of phase him in over the next few days? You can tell the press and the mayor he's in charge right now."

She shook her head. "I want you to stay away from the case totally."

"Hey, I'll be all right!"

"You're missing the point. In the larger scheme of things nobody gives a shit if you're all right or not, Jeff, and my problems with the press and the brass will always be there no matter what the hell I do. You're a suspect in this case Jeff. You can't have anything to do with working it. Period." She walked out.

Jeff was stunned. Is this what his twenty years of police work had come to? Have problems with a case and you get accused of committing the crimes yourself? He personally didn't feel too upset about the murder of the three Psy-phobic scumbags, but how the hell could anyone think that he could murder Marion? And what about this psychic-dream-killer nonsense? Where was June getting it from? Had she made it up? Was she getting back at him for rejecting her by using him as a scapegoat in this case? And/or was she yet another damn Psy-phobe?

After raiding his liquor cabinet, Jeff powered up his VISI-COM. Quit this case? Not a fat bloody chance in hell! He small-windowed several local news stations and set them to provide audio if Marion's name was mentioned. Then he searched the Net for research on psychic powers while dreaming and for murder cases involving dreaming or dragons. He came up blank, until he queried the non-public police webs. He got several hits. None of the cases were solved though. They were obscure, discredited, and spread over thousands of miles and a hundred years. He didn't see how they could possibly be connected.

And how the hell had June come to look for them? On a hunch, he back-scanned COMs coming from his apartment for the last three days. He found several made by Marion. It was pure hell, seeing and listening to her again, as if she were still alive and not just a peculiar molecular magnetic alignment scattered through a memory cube, but he had to know!

Suddenly there it was, a call from Marion to June, two days ago, soon after the second murder and their first night together at his apartment. Marion asked June if she ever heard about mysterious murders committed while a Psy dreamed about dragons. June said no, but she would check into it.

Hell, Marion had talked to both Sullivan and Marks about this dragon crap, and never seriously discussed it with him! Why? Why would she talk about Psy matters behind his back to Norms? He tried to recall Marion's last couple of days; everything that she did and said. He distinctly remembered her anxiously asking him about his dreams the morning after her first night with him at his apartment!

He had laughed when he told her about them. They were odd, vivid, and mildly disturbing upon reflection, but he knew that he was right to make light of them. They were only dreams, mere shadows of the mind.

Marion hadn't laughed. She had been the one to suggest that he might be dreaming about being a dragon, based on what he described to her: flying, glimpses of wing and tail tips, and breathing fire.

Most of it he simply couldn't describe to her though; maybe he was ashamed to. While in the dream he felt incredibly wise and powerful. He also felt totally ruthless. He was above any law or compassion for life or anything but all consuming self-purpose. That self-purpose was for anything he wished. Hoards of gold or the crushed skulls of enemies, he could do and have whatever he wanted in the dream! So OK, he remembered tearing evil enemies apart, but it was only a lousy dream. It wasn't real! But then, Marion was clairvoyant, one of the best. What had she seen that she hadn't told him?

He fell asleep still pondering how his strange dreams could be related to the murders. Of course they couldn't possibly be related; his logic again and again comforted him. But that night he again dreamed that he was a dragon. It seemed more real than ever. He could feel the wind on his scales, the night air filling his great lungs, and the contractions of massive muscles that drove powerful wings. He roared in exultation and heard the sound echo through the city. And he wanted revenge!

"Revenge on who?" asked the voice of his dreams. "Who tonight? More psy child defilers? You saw a list; you know who and where they are! Kill them! Kill them all!"

"There are too many," Jeff answered.

"Kill them at the source then," said the voice.

"Where?"

"Where they nest, kill them there! You know where."

"They sleep in alleyways and shelters and hospitals. They live in homes like anyone else. There are thousands of places where they are!"

"Start with the place THAT PRODUCES the list. It is where many of them nest."

"Yes," roared the voice that was his but not his! He flew towards their nesting place. His wings beat so hard that thunder followed in his wake, while this great lungs gulped air and exhaled fire in a screaming roar. He felt whole, complete, and joyous; for this was life as it was meant to be, life filled with power and purpose!

Ancient memories flooded his mind, of great battles fought with fang and claw, of mating on the wing among ice covered mountain peaks, of magic that could control lightning or stop aging, of pain and finally death and a cold dark night that seemed to never end. In him surged magic learned over countless centuries, but first he needed release from death. Then, after long centuries of waiting, there were suddenly new opportunities: psy-capable, dreaming humans! Enablers!

The building was only material, he flew through it almost as easily as if it were air, scattering chunks of stone and steel as if they were mere hailstones with his mighty wings. The ugly man creatures were nested there all right, scores of them, screaming and dying! He tore them with claw and cooked them with fire, smashed their puny bodies with his tail and crushed their skulls between his teeth!

The ringing COM woke Jeff. It was Whitmore, his man at the Keenan Institute, using a hand-held voice-only communications device. The hospital was being attacked by a monster! Dozens of doctors, nurses, patients and security guards were being slaughtered! Whitmore had emptied his own gun shooting at the attacking nightmare beast to no effect. Send more men, he screamed! Whitmore must have been COMing the Station, and the automated system at the Station also called Jeff. Jeff overheard the Station Duty Commander assure Whitmore that help was on the way.

Jeff windowed in the local news channels as Whitmore babbled on almost incoherently about a dragon. One station showed Keenan live from an over-head hover-copter. The hospital looked like it had been bombed, and was totally engulfed in flames! Sirens and hideous screams filled the air, and Jeff could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles converging on the scene on land and in the air from all directions. Whitmore screamed and his voice channel abruptly went dead. In a daze, Jeff switched off the news channels.

June's face suddenly filled the COM screen with a priority call. "Jeff, you're awake? Good. Stay awake and where you are, we'll be right over." Before the screen snapped blank Jeff glimpsed Freeberg's face in back of June's. They had been too far away to empath, but their intent was clear. They were coming for him!

His head was spinning as he staggered from his bed and to the kitchenette sink for water to splash over his face. This couldn't be happening, his involvement via dreams must be some sort of self-delusion! Maybe it was a guilt-trip for not being able to solve the crimes? But why the dragon?

"Because that is what I am, human; or rather what I was and am AT LAST BECOMING again," said the impossibly deep voice, from in his apartment. Jeff scrambled for the gun next to his bed, then made his way towards the voice. His picture window was busted in, he noticed! Standing astride the shattered glass a dragon filled most of his living room! Its hideous head with its terrible, red-glowing eyes, white, dagger sized teeth, and red, split tongue scraped the twelve-foot ceiling, as did its folded wings. Jeff shot it three times between the eyes with his 7.7 mm Cole Special.

"I am already dead, fool!" said the dragon. "Humans are such idiots when it comes to these things! When it comes to anything fundamental, really."

"What the hell are you, and what do you want?"

"I want what you have already given me, human. As to what I am, that is even more obvious."

"Dragons are mythical beasts."

"How quickly you humans forget your betters, or try to. You are infants terrible, that is your only charm."

"Why me?"

"Your weaknesses, your hate, and your dreams link you to realms used by the dead. But mostly it was pure chance, AS THERE WERE HUNDREDS OF VESSELS TO CHOOSE FROM! THIS IS A WONDERFUL AGE FOR SPIRITS OF THE DEAD!"

"Why are you here while I'm awake, and why are your thoughts now separate from mine?"

"Joint thought while you sleep is no longer necessary, human. I GAIN STRENGTH, AND The path to this realm is well beaten."

"Be gone!" Jeff shouted, waving his arms.

The dragon may have smiled. "Next would you mind spouting poetic words of exorcism and make pleas to your puny gods, human? That may further serve to amuse us while we wait."

"Wait? Wait for what?"

"For your non-psy friends to arrive. They plot against us. I will destroy them, as I destroyed that other."

"You killed Marion! Why?"

"She would have tried to stop us, and I am not yet QUITE FINISHED with you, human. Besides, her INFANTILE psychic bumbling was offensive. But most of all, you cared for her; that was reason enough."

Jeff raised the gun again, but did not fire.

"I cannot yet DIRECTLY taste of flesh or blood, but terror and death feeds me, human. And revenge is sweet!"

"Revenge for what?"

The dragon snorted fire. "Stupid, ignorant fools, all of you! Of late you play with The Forces, yet you are blind and deaf; that much hasn't changed. Hordes of stupid vermin: you killed us OFF one by one, as you now kill yourselves, sealing your fate!"

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I am not here for your understanding, thief of worlds, I am here for your misery And to see humans die! I FEAST ON TERROR AND DEATH AS I TAKE FORM AND FEED THROUGH YOU!" The beast smiled and turned its head towards the apartment door.

Loud knocking erupted, then June's voice. "Let us in Jeff, we have to talk."

"Go away, it's a trap, it wants to kill you," shouted Jeff! The dragon blocked his path to the door with monstrous body and tail. "For God's sake June, trust me! Leave now!"

The door swung open, unlocked electronically by police over-ride commends, and June and Freeberg bounded in, guns drawn. In an instant the dragon had Freeberg in its mouth, crushing him and shaking him as a dog might shake a rat. As his blood sprayed the room, Jeff and June both fired dozens of rounds into the dragon with no effect. Killing the man wasn't enough; the dragon threw his mangled body to the floor and tore him to bits with its hand-like clawed front paws, while it breathed fire to sear him and fill the room with the hot sick smell of burned human flesh!

"Get out, June!" Jeff shouted, but she could only stand shaking and staring wide-eyed at the spectacle, pulling again and again the trigger of her now empty weapon!

The dragon flicked a wing tip at her, knocking her to its other waiting wing tip, then into a huge clawed hand that enfolded her entire torso! "I'll kill this one slow, Jeff, as your kind killed mine and took my world!" It reached out with its other clawed hand and almost gently tweaked June's left leg, breaking bones as she screamed in pain!

With rage beyond fear and reason, Jeff launched himself at the dragon, hopelessly pounding against steel-hard scales with puny human fists and feet!

"Stupid human! So, you've overcome your fears at last! But you can't stop me!" taunted the dragon.

Jeff took a step back, and drew out his gun again. The dragon smiled in triumph as Jeff put the barrel into his own mouth and pulled the trigger. June dropped painfully to the floor at the same instant as Jeff's lifeless body.

The grinning dragon vanished in seconds but was not vanquished. Not while there were still more dreamers to dream with and kill with as he grew ever stronger! As June sat up painfully to take in the horror of the scene, the fading sound of a dragon's roar echoed through the city, a city full of dreamers open to nightmares and terror.

****

Return to Contents

11.

Solution to an Employment Problem

If you are reading this, I, Jeff Cranson, have recently died. World political and science leaders are probably again recalling the Nexus Incident and singing praises of my greatness as a hero scientist. School children are writing essays on my life. Movies recounting the incident are being shown on TV.

Spare your tears. Here I will here tell you the truth regarding the Nexus Incident. Perhaps then you will want to reconsider my hero status. Maybe you need your heroes more than you need the truth, but that's your problem. Nothing I say will detract from my towering scientific reputation however, which is indeed well deserved.

On that faithful, historic day of discovery many years ago I arrived in time to watch Jason T. Thortan III via several monitors as he impatiently swaggered about the small Nexus Portal forward observation room, muttering obscenities. I'm sure that the appearance of this arrogant shit-head of a man is well known to you all, as his likeness still adorns paintings, statues and postage stamps. He was a large man, well over six feet tall and two-hundred eighty pounds in weight. He used his size to intimidate, but more than that, he used his wealth. Worse, he used his ruthless, egotistical, hateful personality to terrorize anyone he came into contact with. He terrorized me, and that was his downfall, as well as mine, and nearly yours.

Thortan paused to peer through the two feet thick tempered glass window at the empty steel platform that formed the base of the Nexus Portal. "WITH-ER-SPOON," he suddenly glared into a camera and thundered. "WHAT'S THE HOLD UP NOW? TIME IS MONEY! YOUR TIME, MY MONEY!" He was practically frothing at the mouth; Thorton's personal well paid for historians would doubtless edit this out of the official historical record before giving it to the press, but I'm writing this, not them.

Poor old Mark Witherspoon smiled when I arrived in response to his personal invitation, but now moments later due to Thortan's tirade he nearly fell out of his chair. A real trooper, he still managed to pick up a microphone in a thin, shaking, wrinkled hand to reply nervously over the COM link. "Sorry sir. We had some regressive computations to do, due to an unexpected solar flare-up. We feel that we can compensate for the increased radiation densities. But, er ..."

Thortan's eyes rolled impatiently. "But, er WHAT Witherspoon? I have a meeting with two Senators and a dozen other VIPs in half an hour, to announce our success in front of the world press. I have schedules to meet, financial obligations to fulfill!"

Witherspoon, still mentally gathering himself, had to nervously clear his voice before he could continue, which of course must have pleased that tyrant Thortan, because a faint smile formed on his lips. More than anything he loved to see his underlings quake and grovel before him. "Sir, do we have to do this experiment now? Several of the science staff have advised strongly against it. Jeff Cranson even had doubts before he left, and we value highly his views on this!" The old man glanced at me and winked.

On the monitors Thortan tensed and his face reddened at the mention of my name, a reaction that did not displease me. It was a nice for a change to be spying on Thortan, instead of the other way around. "Cranson, Cranson; I'm tired of hearing about Cranson! He's the bastard that started all this! All this expensive damned research done and what does the Thortan Corporation have to show for it? Over twenty billion dollars in expenses, that's what, and still not a glimmer of anything marketable! You're leading this effort now, remember Witherspoon? Are you telling me that without Cranson you can't transfer the probe?"

Witherspoon didn't even blink; the old scientist finally had his shields in place. I had to admire his ability to put up with all the crap that Thortan threw at him. "No, Mr. Thortan, certainly not! We can do the experiment, but it's the possible implications that concern us. We don't know for sure exactly what properties matter from another universe will have."

"Of course you don't!" Thortan replied, sarcastically. "Get a grip, man. How the hell can we ever hope to make any money pussy footing around like this? I bought all this ridiculously expensive lab equipment so that you and your team can test the blasted samples that the probe will bring back! THEN you'll know the properties of the stuff! And then, you'll figure out something about the stuff that will SELL! Super conductivity, fire resistance, super strength, or SOMETHING! But you see, Witherspoon, you first have to send the probe through the Nexus Portal before you can do any of that. Correct?"

"Yes sir," the old man replied, "but...."

"No more excuses, Witherspoon. Time is money! Just get it done. NOW!"

"Yes, Mr. Thortan," replied Witherspoon. "The Class 1 probe is being positioned." He signaled his right–hand man Rick Smith to continue.

After turning off the microphone Mark turned towards me and shrugged. "I tried, Jeff. You know how he is."

Did I ever! "Yeah, I know." I made the biggest breakthroughs in the history of science and that bastard wouldn't let me publish a damn thing! I quit my job with the Thortan Corporation, but it did me no good. My ideas are company property, or so his lawyers said, and his paid-off judge agreed. "He'll never change, and never let-up on me."

Mark Witherspoon nodded. "He hates you more than ever, Jeff, with every penny he spends on this project. If Thortan were to found out that you're here, I don't know what he'd do! But I wasn't about to attempt another Portal experiment without you on hand." He smiled and clasped my shoulders warmly. We had always gotten along, Mark and I. But then again Mark got along with everyone, while Thortan got along with nobody, least of all me.

Meanwhile Thortan was looking through the viewing window again and smiling at the sight of the probe slowly being lowered by a pneumatic robot arm onto the solid steel Nexus platform. The probe was a deceptively small device. From a roughly spherical body only twice the diameter of a basketball, spouted an array of small mechanical appendages, including spider-like legs that were designed to allow the probe to traverse most types of terrain, arms equipped with various grasping, penetrating, and scraping tools, and antennas and collectors for transmitting and sensing energy and matter in its manifold forms. On the sphere's surface were tiny optical sensors. Inside the probe, a complex assemblage of miniaturized sensors, computers, batteries, and engines were undergoing final automated self-test. Rick Smith's design was amazing. The initial concept for the probe was mine, but it had taken Rick's engineering genius to design and build it.

I knew that none of these particulars interested Thortan in the least. What did greatly interest him was that each Class 1 probe cost a hundred million of his dollars, and that previously two other Class 1 probes had been lost through the Nexus Portal.

"Energizing the Portal," Witherspoon announced. The super conducting grid around the platform and probe started to glow blue/white as terra-watts of power surged through it, and the probe faded from view in a brilliant white bubble of light. It was a bubble that formed a gateway to another universe, according to my theories.

I mostly ignored the light show, for I had no doubts about my theories. Instead I watched Thortan as with wide eyes he witnessed the tremendous expenditure of energy occurring only a few feet away from him. I had to smile, for he looked frightened. Perhaps for just a moment he regretted banishing the entire science team from the forward observation room. His ego had demanded that he be the only person to directly witness the experiment. He doubtlessly reasoned that as the first human being to see samples of matter from another universe with his own eyes, he would become even more famous, which would lead to billions more in investment dollars, and to increased personal power.

"We have sensor lock with probable solid objects," Smith reported. "Thermal readings are favorable. The probe should be trying to acquire samples now."

Thortan didn't understand my theories very well of course, but then neither did anyone else. Only a handful of Company scientists claimed to understand my theories on multiple universes, and most of them were probably lying. The only part that Thortan understood was that the samples that the probe brought back through the Nexus Portal could be virtually priceless.

Thortan planned to sell samples to governments and museums of course, reaping billions, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. According to the Company staff, the retrieved matter would be different enough from anything on Earth to totally revolutionize the science of matter and commercial technology of materials. Whatever was to be discovered, Thortan's company had sole legal rights to it, and would bring it to market. It could be worth hundreds of billions in profits!

"Report status, Witherspoon!" ordered Thortan.

"Maintaining lock; status green," he reported.

I smiled when I saw Thortan cringe. Mark told me that he had said exactly those same words the last time, just before losing the probe while all reported status was green! Thortan paced nervously around the observation room and looked at his watch. I knew what he was thinking. If it works this time, how long will the return of the probe take? I estimated less than a minute, but that view was highly controversial. Several of the Company scientists estimated that it could take an infinity of time, a view that was apparently supported by the earlier probe losses. They were wrong, of course.

"Probe incoming!" Mark announced, and the rest of the control room team broke out in cheers. As we stared wide-eyed at the monitors, the glowing bubble suddenly disappeared, and the probe popped into view. It looked completely unchanged.

Had it really gone anywhere? On the phone earlier Mark had told me that Thortan suspected that the whole thing was all just some sort of clever hoax orchestrated by his over-paid science team, and that the whole damn science staff were secretly millionaires from subcontractor and construction union kickbacks. That was Thortan, always attributing his own lack of morality to others!

"Data transmission from the probe is underway," announced Smith. We were silent now, as we watched on the monitors the first recorded video from another universe.

The screens were completely blank. "What we are not seeing checks out as good data;" Smith announced. "There just isn't supposed to be any visible light in the other universe, so a blank video is expected and confirms that the probe left this universe. We also have readings from several other instruments, but they all seem rather unusual."

Thortan cursed profusely, which of course would subsequently be edited from the historical video.

"Nothing to worry about yet Mr. Thortan," consoled Witherspoon. "We expected unusual readings. It may take weeks to sort through the data, even with our advanced processing capabilities."

But Thortan was ignoring the recording and staring at the probe. "Never mind the damned data! Where the hell are my samples?" Through the port, we could clearly see several of the probe's mechanical 'hands'. They were empty. As far as we could tell, the probe had brought back nothing material at all!

The platform and probe started to slowly rotate. "The sample is being held by the robot arm that should be coming into your view shortly Mr. Thortan," said Smith. Sure enough, a tiny object was being held in the pincer of one of the small arms. It looked like a crumpled piece of aluminum foil, about an inch long.

"Christ!" swore Thortan. "I paid twenty billion for a damned candy bar wrapper?" As we watched, the probe's arm extended very slowly, and gently placed the object into a shallow, bowl-like, ceramic container that was presented to the probe by one of the huge mechanical arms that populated the lab surrounding the Nexus platform. "It sure as hell doesn't look like much from here!" he remarked caustically. "Why is it so small?"

"The probe and lab sensors indicate the maximum load limit," said Smith. "About ten kilos. Whatever it is, it's far denser than any ordinary Earthly material that we know of, though it isn't what we expected, to be sure. Let's get a closer view." A camera was already approaching the disk. Everyone watched the viewing screens as it zoomed in.

To the astonishment of as all, it did indeed resemble a candy bar wrapper!

The lab erupted into more shouts of joy and clapping as I confronted a grinning Mark Witherspoon. "But the sample density is far too high," I told him. He seemed not to hear me.

"Not now, Jeff, or Thortan will catch you here. You will officially arrive in about half an hour, escorted by the press. Got out of here with Rick now!"

"Did you hear me, Mark?" I insisted. "What about the high sample density?"

"We'll handle that, Jeff. This is your big moment. Go with Rick!"

My big moment? Mark must have something planned, I figured, but Rick, if he knew what it was, wouldn't reveal anything as he rushed me to the rear entrance of the facility. I cooled my heels for a few minutes in a small lobby.

Suddenly, the lobby was swamped with reporters, all clamoring to talk to me. Dr. Jeffrey C. Cranson, soon to be world famous physicist, had to be rushed back into the facility through the rear entrance, where, with videos rolling and cameras flashing, I was met by my old friend and mentor, Dr. Mark Witherspoon.

The contrast between us in terms of appearance was probably striking. Witherspoon, tall, thin and gray haired, dressed in a white lab smock over white shirt and plain dark tie, was old enough to be my grandfather. I was a small, slight young man with a shaggy, jet black head of hair, including full beard. I wore blue jeans and flannel shirt, the same clothes that I wore the day I quit working for Thortan five years earlier.

While Thortan held his VIP news conference, in another meeting room Witherspoon started his own, in front of half a dozen news cameras. "For many decades, using Einstein's General Theory of Relativity as a starting point, theoretical physicists had tried to determine a satisfactory grand unified theory, or G-U-T, for our Universe, a theory to tie together all the basic physical relationships that had been painstakingly discovered over the last several centuries."

He looked at me and pointed. "Jeff Cranson's Multiverse Theories not only provide a GUT for our Universe, but for other theoretically possible universes as well. Cranson's theories are so revolutionary and comprehensive, that they easily put Cranson in the same league as Albert Einstein or beyond! He wanted to publish those theories and receive the recognition that he deserves.

"He quit his job to do so and it earned him a lawsuit. The Thortan Corporation insists that all theories discovered by its employees are owned totally by the Corporation. Court orders were issued to keep Cranson from disclosing his theories, and Thortan retained ownership of the theory and of any resulting technology, including the Nexus experiment concept, which was also conceived by Cranson. Today I wanted to point out to the world that Jeff Cranson is the man most responsible for our success today. In fact, he has continued to help us unofficially."

It was a good speech, but it addressed only the tip of the nasty iceberg. Except for infrequent correspondence with Witherspoon, I had been cut off from all Multiverse theoretical work and Nexus experiments. Thortan used his influence to black-ball me in the scientific community; it took me two years to even get a job teaching high school. Eventually I had other offers, but they didn't interest me. The vindictiveness of Thortan had cost me my marriage and perhaps much of my sanity for five long years!

After our news conference Mark received the expected terse phone-call from Thortan; then we waited in Thortan's office for him to show up. Our little off-the-books working relationship was public now. Mark handed me legal release forms to sign, which attested that any information exchanged was the sole property of Thortan Corporation. "Sorry Jeff," Mark apologized. "Thortan wants these signed, you know how he is."

"Only too well." I smiled as I signed the forms, appreciating the irony. I had already been contributing my services free to the Nexus project for the last five years through Witherspoon! "Now let's get back to today's experiment. I still don't see how you solved the scale problem!"

Witherspoon looked away, verifying my suspicions.

"My God Mark! You didn't solve the problem, did you!"

Just then the door to the office swung open, and in strode Thortan.

"Well, well! We are honored again at last by the presence of the great Dr. Cranson. How are you doing Jeff?" He shook my hand firmly. Much too firmly, as always. It was one of the things that Thortan did to dominate everyone and everything. It was just one of the many things that I hated about the man.

Thortan glared at Witherspoon. "You surprised me today. Don't do it again. Did he sign the standard forms?" Witherspoon handed the release forms to him. Thortan glanced at the signatures, and then, holding the papers in front of me, made a great show of tearing them to pieces!

"I don't need those, do I Cranson? You understand that now, don't you? You must have learned SOMETHING over the last five years, BOY!"

I stood my ground quietly, facing Thortan, staring up impassively into the big man's eyes, without flinching. I wouldn't be intimidated; I knew from experience that this was one of the things that Thortan hated about me.

"Sure, Cranson, you know what I'm talking about," sneered Thortan. He glanced at Witherspoon. The old man had a look of utter astonishment on his face. "But our innocent friend Witherspoon doesn't. So, I'll explain. You see, I control the multiverse theory and related technology, including Nexus. YOUR baby Cranson! Which is why you are here at last, just DYING to know what's going on!" Thortan swaggered around the room. "Over the last five years you've had only limited employment, but you've recently turned down six solid job offers that I know of. All because you're stuck on this one problem, aren't you! This multiverse business is your sole interest in life. But nobody else is playing in this game, are they, Cranson? HERE is where the action is! So you just couldn't stay away, could you?"

I didn't respond. I didn't have to. It was all true and we both knew it. But Thortan wasn't through yet. He stood now in front of Mark and I and looked us over. "And that's also why you two have been secretly collaborating for the last five years, isn't it?"

Witherspoon's jaw dropped.

"Yes, of course I knew," continued Thortan. "Not that I mind, gentlemen. Why shouldn't I get free support out of you, Cranson? The bottom line is this. I control you, Cranson, because I control Nexus. You may not be officially on my payroll Cranson, but I still totally own you, body and soul!"

I wondered if Thortan knew that I had a black belt in Karate. I was tempted to strike him, to perhaps crush his larynx and quickly kill him, but I had other plans. Plans that had taken me years to advance!

Just then Smith came running into the room, looking very upset. "You all better come!" he said. "Something is happening to the probe!" Tension broken, we all followed Smith to view the Nexus Laboratory.

Sure enough, the probe was leaning to one side, and the pincer that had initially held the sample had completely disappeared! The entire surface of the probe was peppered with tiny holes!

"Something very strange and wrong is happening," pronounced Witherspoon, his voice shaking. "We'll investigate right away!"

"I'll help you, Mark," I volunteered, and shot Thortan a glance. "Free of charge, of course."

Two days later, I called a meeting with Witherspoon and Thortan. "There's good news and bad news," I began.

"OK Cranson, let's have it," demanded Thortan. "What the hell is eating my probe? Is it acid or something?"

I smiled grimly. "The good news is that I think that I know what's wrong. I'm afraid that the bad news is that we can't do anything about it."

"We can't do anything about what?" demanded Thortan.

"The conversion event. Here, let me show you the Lab, and I'll try to explain." I turned on the conference room view screen. We were looking at what had been Thortan's multi-billion dollar Nexus Laboratory. The camera panned around the room, viewing the devastation. The probe was completely gone of course, but now all the other equipment looked as if it was slowly being eaten away. Bits and pieces of virtually unidentifiable equipment were lying about on the floor, or what was left of the floor, for the floor itself was now cracked to pieces like some huge jigsaw puzzle, and deeply pitted. Shallower cracks and pits had formed on the walls of the chamber also, towards the bottom. There was a metallic shine to much that they saw, like the sample that had been brought back. The original sample itself may have been lying on the floor somewhere, but now couldn't be distinguished from the wreckage.

The sight incensed Thortan. "The damage is incredible! Billions of dollars in equipment is disappearing before our eyes! Destroyed! And we can't do anything, you say? I don't believe it! You mean to say that we'll lose the whole damn facility?"

"Yes, of course," I responded. "That and much more."

"More! What the hell are you talking about? How much more?" asked Thortan.

"The Earth certainly, to begin with. Then our solar system. Over more billions of years, perhaps all of our Universe."

Witherspoon turned pale and seemed to stop breathing.

Thortan laughed, though it seemed forced. "That's totally nuts! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm afraid I do, Thortan. You see, your probe brought back material that is different from anything that we have ever seen. Your team raced to get data before the equipment was destroyed, and they did a wonderful job. They hit the sample with just about every type of interaction known to science. And of course none of the results made sense, in terms of our own laws of nature. It was primarily the sample's mass and electromagnetic wave absorption rates that I used to at last identify the sample as matter from universe Type 3."

Witherspoon, who had been pacing the floor, clutched at his thinning gray hair and sat down hard, obviously disturbed by the news.

"What the hell does that mean, Cranson?" spat Thortan. "And don't you snow me with your scientific jargon! Tell me now and keep it in English!"

"Well, in a nutshell, our Universe's structure is believed to have been formed billions of years ago during what is known as the 'big bang'. In a moment, in that crucible of infinities, all fundamental particles and their interactions were forged. Understanding the structure that the big bang set up has been the pursuit of physics for more than a century, and only recently has that pattern been fully defined and modeled in my comprehensive grand unified theory, or GUT."

I continued. "However, elegant as that model is of our Universe, there are multiple mathematical solutions to my Multiverse Theory that also constitute consistent, viable universe models. Solutions where the fine structure constant is different. Where the strength of gravity is different. Where quarks and other fundamental particles and interactions simply don't exist as we know them. However, all the structures and interactions that do exist must be mathematically consistent with each other to persist. And persist they do, each in their own reality. In short, these are many other universes. I have posited the existence of numerous persistent universes that don't normally interact. And of course only the long lived, stable, so-called 'flat' universes like ours are of practical interest.

"The Multiverse Theory is in fact the basis of the Nexus Portal approach. Computer technology helps us numerically do the math that would have been impossible just ten years ago, to determine the possible stable universes and predict the physical particles and laws that work in those universes. Then, if our universes match quite closely to begin with, we can synthesize just enough of the environment of another universe to actually cause our little platform in the Lab to also for a short time exist in that parallel universe, thereby actually forming a gateway into that universe, which we call a Nexus Portal."

To Thortan, this all probably sounded somewhat familiar, as it had probably been explained a dozen times to him, though he still didn't very well understand it of course, nor was he trying to now. He paid other people to understand difficult things. People who for some inexplicable reason actually enjoyed science, perhaps, he reasoned, because they didn't have what it takes to make it in business. In short, freaks like Mark Witherspoon and myself.

"But we were trying to interface with a universe of Type 11, the one you recommended!" exclaimed Witherspoon. "You gave me the parameters yourself six months ago! How did we interact with Type 3 instead?"

"It was the fundamental scale factors," I replied. "I tried to warn you in my letters. With my theory and modeling I could determine the value of physical constants for each universe relative to each other, but had no way to reliably determine the over-all scale of each universe relative to our own. Frankly, I just don't understand enough about that part yet. So I essentially guessed what the scale factors might be. And it appears that we tapped universe Type 3 by mistake, so I was off by a couple of orders of magnitude. Without knowing the scale factors for each universe, we can't reliably predict which universe, if any, that the Nexus Portal will open to. As it happens, you in essence dialed a wrong number, and got the Type 3 universe by mistake instead of the Type 11 universe.

"The bottom line, as you would put it, Thortan, is that the Type 3 universe, compared to ours, seems to have everything shifted smaller, though the physical laws are actually virtually identical to ours. That part is good news, actually. Also, the matter of our two universes doesn't instantly annihilate each other, and that also certainly has to be counted as very good news indeed. The bad news is that Type 3 matter seems to be just a tad more stable than ours. That was also a major risk."

I turned to stare at the view screen. "The lab equipment isn't simply disappearing. It's getting smaller. The matter of our universe is being consumed and converted to Type 3 matter. In short, what you are looking at is the gradual formation of a new Type 3 universe, converted from the matter of our own Type 1 Universe."

"Can't we stop it?" asked Thortan, after a moment of stunned silence. "Hose it down, or concrete it over or something?"

"That would just be fueling the transformation."

"What about an H-bomb?" asked Witherspoon.

"That would probably merely accelerate the conversion process," I replied. "But let's have your team model it though, to make sure."

"Can we send it all back through the Portal, or fly it into outer space?" Witherspoon wondered.

"Nope. There's no way to get it all. It's already spread out of the Lab."

Thortan sprang white faced from his chair and inspected his hands, apparently to verify that they hadn't disappeared. I laughed at the sight. "Don't panic, Thortan. Contamination will spread horizontally only very slowly. We have at least several days of safety here, I think."

"Then where has the contamination occurred?" asked Witherspoon.

I pointed down. "Tens of meters down into bedrock already, I estimate. When sections of Earth objects shrink, it causes tremendous stresses that break the objects into pieces. By this process the lab floor was easily breached. The type three molecules are very tiny and heavy. Trillions of stray Type 3 molecules, including converted air molecules, are sinking through the lab's foundation and into the underlying bedrock. The results will eventually be very bad, I'm afraid."

"The whole Earth is going to shrink?" asked Thortan, terrified.

I smiled at him and nodded, pleased that the billionaire at last had shown a glimmer of understanding.

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. Years possibly. I'd like to model it and find out. In fact, I should get started." I walked towards the door.

Thortan was quick to recover. "Witherspoon, I want YOU to get on top of this. I want you and your team to aid Cranson, but confirm his work, every bit of it. I don't believe all this crap about the end of the World! You have a couple of hundred scientists and engineers; see what the hell YOU can come up with! I want this thing taken care of before it leaks to the press and the Government! I'll get my lawyers to work too," Thortan concluded, as I walked out the door. "I smell lawsuits here. That's for damn sure!"

Events progressed rapidly after that. The press did get the story, of course. The Government got involved, and Thortan was right about lawsuits. But despite the mounting bedlam, myself, Witherspoon, and our team, aided by other prominent scientists in numerous organizations and countries, did accomplish much. What we did for the most part was confirm my initial findings. The Type 3 matter was indeed gradually converting Type 1 matter to its own structure. That it was doing so without release of tremendous Type 1 energy as a byproduct was one consequence of the completeness of the conversion process. It was mostly nearly undetectable Type 3 energy that was being produced by the reaction and radiated away, apparently harmlessly.

Fortunately, the radiation of Type 3 particles was not in sufficient concentration to rapidly convert the surrounding Type 1 material in a 'chain reaction', and was not energetic enough to escape the Lab, which was now being rapidly reinforced by the addition of several layers of concrete and steel. Only the Type 1 matter in direct physical contact with densely concentrated Type 3 matter was being converted. However, there was concern that the cumulative concentration of radiated Type 3 particles collected in the surrounding Type 1 material would eventually support more rapid conversion, perhaps escalating into a chain reaction that would totally convert the Earth in hours.

The concept that lower concentrations of Type 3 material might cause a stop to the transformation process caused a Hydrogen bomb approach to be reconsidered several times. It was reasoned that if the explosion dispersed Type 3 material completely enough, all transformation would stop.

Unfortunately, all modeling confirmed my original prediction that the explosion itself would act as a catalyst, resulting in virtually instantaneous transformation and a fantastic quantity of Type 3 material that would also be scattered throughout the world by the blast. Even without the help of an H-bomb, all predictions estimated that complete conversion of the Earth would take only twenty to sixty years. But fantastic destruction would begin to occur long before that, probably well within a year. The end of the world was at hand!

Meanwhile Biologists and science fiction buffs were busily speculating what 'death by conversion' would be like. The answer was fairly obvious; death by conversion would be a terribly gruesome end for the victims. Over a period of hours the body would essentially disintegrate piece by piece!

There seemed to be no hope. Even Thortan understood the gravity of the situation, especially after I persuaded Witherspoon to arrange a rather graphic presentation by the biologists that involved computer simulation of a human undergoing conversion. "To get Thortan's full support in our efforts he has to understand how serious this situation is," I had argued. As a result, Thortan became preoccupied with the concept of his own death, which I felt was amusing. Thortan was finally encountering a situation over which he had no control!

Meanwhile I was gaining control. After three intensive weeks, I called another urgent meeting with Thortan and Witherspoon. "There is bad news and good news!" I announced. This time however, I was smiling, and I could see that Thortan and Witherspoon were immediately encouraged. "The bad news is: I still don't see how to stop the conversion process. The good news is: I think I can speed it up in a controlled manner!"

Thortan was stunned. "Speed it up? What the hell kind of 'good news' is that?"

"I believe that we can build a device similar to the Nexus Portal that in combination with Type 3 radiation will almost instantaneously transform Type 1 matter to Type 3 matter!"

"I repeat, what the hell good is that?"

"Simply this, Thortan: it should be possible to convert objects without damaging them."

"What kind of objects?" he asked.

"Well, anything," I explained. "People, for example. And some sort of shelters to house them in during the conversion of the Earth, along with food, plants, animals, tools, libraries and so forth. A sort of Noah's Ark. Once converted to Type 3 material, the Ark and everything else converted would be virtually indestructible and safe from the surrounding conversion process. It would be expensive, of course, and only a few people could be saved; just enough to start over again. Oh, and by the way, I predict that one of the subtle differences in the new universe will be much longer life. Thousands of years, maybe even longer."

After days of worry, Thortan was elated. "We'll call it Thortan's Ark! We'll charge millions for each occupant."

"There is one condition for my help, however," I said, taking Thortan by surprise. "In return for showing you how to build the ark, I want full ownership and control of Nexus technology and all things related to my theories."

Thortan could barely keep from laughing as he agreed to those terms. I knew what he was thinking. He would be on the ark and I would be left behind! My ownership would mean nothing in a doomed world!

Backed by Thortan's vast corporate empire, construction on the Ark began immediately, while impotent governments commissioned studies and bickered, and talk shows flooded airways with conflicting points of view. In six months the Ark structure was complete and supplies were being converted. Though only a hundred meters in diameter in our universe, the Ark would initially seem as if it was over ten kilometers wide to its shrunken occupants. The Ark itself would of course then be shrunk itself, to about a meter in size, after it was loaded up. However, it would still be roomy enough for a few dozen shrunken people to live in it for many years.

The whole team worked day and night on the Ark project. Extreme care had to be exercised to avoid widespread contamination. Type 3 samples were needed from the Nexus Lab for the conversion apparatus at the Ark site, since the 'instant' conversion involved massive bombardment of the object to be converted by Type 3 particles, with containment by a Nexus-like field and the Ark itself.

The newly converted Type 3 objects then had to be confined in the Ark. Fortunately, this problem, as well as the problem of retrieving material safely from the Nexus Laboratory, was solved in a simple way by creating openings on the top of both the Nexus Lab and the Ark. Type 3 matter was so heavy that it tended to confine itself to the bottom of the two rooms, and transfers could safely be made through the ceiling openings. Packed in sealed containers, the Type 3 material could be safely transported to the Ark site, as long as the transfers were completed before the containers failed. Conversion was done in the Ark itself, using apparatus lowered in from the ceiling.

Meanwhile, I wasn't surprised to hear that Thortan was working with a few of his most trusted corporate people to come up with the Ark passenger list. It included some of his most trusted minions; people that were used to following his orders without question. And of course it included several beautiful women that would help Thortan re-populate the newly converted Earth. He would indeed remake the populace in his own image. As I expected, my name wasn't on the list.

Finally, after successfully transforming several animals and lowering them safely onto the floor of the Ark, it was time to start converting people. I wasn't surprised when I was informed that the first person to be converted was Thortan himself, since we had assured the billionaire of the safety of the procedure.

Thortan was elated. This would be another triumph for him. His P-R people assured him that his name would be remembered along with those of Armstrong, Columbus, Moses, etc.! Besides, frustration on Government and public opinion fronts was increasing, and risk of the arrest of Thortan and our science team was increasing, not to mention the growing protests and riots.

Thortan signed over control to me of his company's Multiverse technologies, as we had agreed. Then we transformed him without a hitch, and he was lowered to the Ark floor using essentially a long rope. Soon a centimeter tall, silvery Thortan roamed the Ark among miniature mounds of supplies, discarded conversion apparatus, mice, several rabbits, chickens, goats, and a chimpanzee. Telescopic cameras on the roof of the Ark confirmed that all the tiny inhabitants seemed to be well, and were successfully eating converted food and breathing converted air, though they were apparently doing everything at about ten times 'normal' speed. When our recorded video was slowed down, the miniature Thortan was seen waving and giving a 'thumbs up' signal!

That everything 'worked the same' after conversion was considered to be a major miracle by everyone except me. I had confidence that physical laws of Type 3 matter were identical to ours, except for the scale factor. The next day, assuming that Thortan continued to thrive, conversion of the other humans slated to join Thortan in the Ark was to occur. Then the Ark itself would be immediately converted, before it lost its structural integrity.

However, that night, while Witherspoon was helping me go over data on the original contamination site that had been virtually ignored due to the Ark effort, I suddenly cursed and threw a pile of computer printouts onto the floor.

"What is it Jeff?" asked the startled Witherspoon.

"This data from the Nexus Lab that we haven't had a chance to look at just doesn't add up! There's something going on here that I don't understand! Here, look at this aerial photo."

From the air, the Nexus Lab area looked unchanged, except for the new layers of concrete covering the structure.

"It looks OK," said Witherspoon. "It's holding up very well, as a matter of fact."

"But that's just it!" I exclaimed. "Shouldn't the whole area be subsiding by now? Why then is the Lab still intact?"

The team worked all night on the issue. We finally determined what happened after I pointed out that Type 3 matter to Type 3 matter gravity was very much stronger than Type 1 to Type 3 gravity. Given the increasing concentration of Type 3 material in the Lab, loose Type 3 material was no longer sinking into the ground. In fact, corrected computer simulations now predicted that all Type 3 matter would soon concentrate itself within meters of the original Nexus Lab floor level! Type 3 material that had earlier sunk deep into bedrock was actually being pulled back up! I predicted that gradually it would form a spherical shape and slowly sink as a contiguous unit through the Earth's crust. Only the Earth material directly in contact with the sphere would continue to be converted, and the sphere would grow in size only very gradually. Since conversion would only occur on the sphere's surface, the process would take many thousands of years. The Earth had been granted a reprieve!

Some hard decisions had to be made immediately with regard to the Ark project. Nobody else would be transformed, of course, but the Ark had to be transformed immediately anyway, before it disintegrated piecemeal. It would protect and feed Thortan, perhaps for his entire remaining lifetime, but poor Thortan was doomed to solitude, at least for the foreseeable future.

We wrote a letter to Thortan to explain the situation, and placed it with the final food shipment. I surprised the group by adding to that final package my own private message for the doomed man. The World watched Thortan briefly via telephoto lens as the tiny man read the notes. He jumped up and down and gestured wildly after reading the messages. Unfortunately, magnification was insufficient to read his lips, so nobody knew what the great man's last words where before the Ark was converted by an explosive flash within it that bombarded it with Type 3 matter. Then, via very massive machinery, the shrunken Ark was carefully transported to the Nexus Lab and lowered onto the huge mass of Type 3 material that was building up within it.

The science team began to consider if transformation of Type 3 back to normal Type 1 material was somehow possible. Perhaps Thortan could be saved.

A week later, an amazing event was recorded at the Nexus Lab. There was a sudden boom and rush of air into the Lab that nearly tore the remnants of the chamber apart! It was soon discovered that the entire mass of Type 3 matter, hundreds of tons of it that included Thortan and his Ark, had completely disappeared! By some inexplicable miracle, the Earth was saved! But Thortan was gone!

Within days, I again provided the answer. When enough Type 3 material had been created and concentrated in one area, a local Type 3 environment was established, without need of a Nexus Portal. The whole mass then essentially transported itself back into the Type 3 universe spontaneously. The people of Earth breathed a great sigh of relief. Fortunately, through it all, only one person had been lost: Thortan. I was hailed as Earth's savor, and of course, poor Jason T. Thortan III was also hailed as a hero: the first human to travel to another universe!

I could finally return fully to my first love: multiverse research. I began by publishing my paper deriving the fundamental scale factors for universes, and my paper on the spontaneous reversion mechanism that helps keep universes separate from one another and stable. On the hand-written draft copies of these papers I wrote the current date and put them into my 'out basket' for typing. They would earn me another well-deserved Nobel Prize.

One more critical thing, readers! You may be interested in reading this copy of the private note that I gave to Thortan before he was abandoned:

"My dear Thortan: Thought you'd like to know that contact with the Type 3 universe was no accident. I secretly had everything figured out years before the Nexus Incident. I manipulated Nexus through Witherspoon. I planned it all to get rid of you, you rotten bastard! You played your part perfectly! You should arrive in universe 3 in about one Earth week. (That's about ten weeks for you!) Have a good trip! Got to go now, BOY, time is money! (MY money now!) Your ex-employee (FINALLY!), Jeff."

The scientific community of course assumed that Thortan's sacrifice helped with my research. Nobody suspected that I had actually perfected my theories more than two years earlier. All along, I had known that the Earth was in no real danger from Type 3 matter.

I was hailed as a genius and become rich practically overnight, but that was secondary. The most important thing to me was that Thortan was gone, and I was fully in charge of my own work again. My employment problem was solved!

Thortan had thought that I had no interests other than science. Thortan was wrong, dead wrong. I had spent much time thinking about my Thortan Problem and how to achieve my revenge. I thought perhaps too much about it. Afterwards, I was never again so motivated, and never again rose to such heights of creativity. My solution to my employment problems with Thortan, which knowingly risked our universe itself, was by far the most creative and exciting thing that I ever did, and certainly the most reckless and ruthless.

In the years that followed I made obscene amounts of money, largely through the creation of new designer matter and interactions what were consistent with our universe. My new creations were everything Thortan ever dreamed of and more. A new periodic table that characterized my creations was established. I had changed our universe. In essence I became almost a god. I grew to like being rich and powerful, gained many enemies, became ruthless myself, lost my few friends, and went from being one of the most revered people in history to being one of the most feared and hated.

I still think of Thortan and my undying hate of him almost constantly. Sometimes when I decide to fire someone or utterly ruin them, I think about how Thortan would do it, and then I contrive to outdo the ruthlessness of that approach. Why? I have several theories about that having to do with guilt and transference and so forth, but I don't really know for sure. I have gradually come to realize that somehow when I murdered Thortan I also destroyed myself. I had banished Thortan to another universe, but I was never truly rid of him. In a lot of ways, I became him. Lately, when I look in a mirror, I think that I even look like Thortan!

Knowing now the truth you can call me a hero or the devil, at this point I don't care, since if you are reading this, I am at peace at last; perhaps gone to join Thortan in some world beyond reach of my science. Was I a great man? Yes, certainly, but I was only human after all.

****

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12.

The Myth Makers

Bertrand Gilbert glanced over his shoulder as casually as he could to see if they were still near his position on the park bench and plowing the field. They were, both of them, one leading the massive horse by its reins, the other guiding a trailing iron plow that tore deep into the rich black soil. Tall, strong young men they were, hardened by the demands of primitive Humish life. Probably neither had ever spent a single day sitting at a control console, or drunk at a bar, or co-mingled with a prostitute in an entertainment suite. These were hard working men of nature, true men of the Earth. Their very way of life bespoke a purity of purpose that Bert's own life lacked for as long as he could remember.

They were paying no attention to him whatsoever, though this was the third day that he sat in the public park adjoining their quiet farmlands, trying to subtly get their attention by openly reading an ancient book. Soon he would resort to something more direct.

Curiously enough this strange old book that had been his grandfather's told of humans living even more primitively than did the Humish. These book people traveled by horse and communicated by physically transported written letters, much as did the Humish, but the Humish at least had crude electricity. The book people didn't even have electric lights. How the hell could people live that way, he wondered? Would he himself be able to live with the primitive Humish, if they gave him the opportunity?

Bert didn't understand much of what he read in the old book. It was some sort of love story, he gathered, but the way the characters talked and acted was incomprehensible. Many of the words and phrases were meaningless or had odd meanings. There was much to do about social position and graces for example, whatever those were. The ancient author Jane Austin obviously lived long before Planet Fall and The Change.

Horses were mentioned in the book, including accounts of people actually riding on the backs of the creatures! Bert couldn't even imagine that! He had heard of people being eaten by the enraged beasts, speared by their horns, or torn apart by their huge sharp fore-claws.

He watched the Humish skillfully control their plow-horse. That two young men could control such a beast was simply amazing, but then the Humish were known for their affinity with nature. He had been told since he was a child that the Humish could actually grow food from the soil and build houses from stone and wood, just as their ancestors had done before The Change. But not even the Humish would ever ride atop a horse! The very notion was absurd! This Jane Austin person must have been mad to write such things!

Bert turned another page, very carefully to keep the ancient paper from tearing in the gentle breeze. Maybe this was a fool's errand, trying to join the Humish. He had retired with a respectable pension and could afford to relax in city sophistication. Right now he could be curled up in bed with a young paid companion with smooth soft skin, sipping wine. But no, those days were past. He had been furiously sleepwalking through life he had concluded, working and fussing his way through a confused nightmare of trivia. He wanted something more now, something with meaning!

"What's that you got, hu-man?" asked a rasping voice. Bert looked up to see three Varow, wearing orange tunics that identified them as being not quite yet adult. Heavily muscled under scaly gray skin and standing over two meters tall on their rear legs, they further intimidated by showing the rows of sharp teeth that lined their long snouts. The foremost creature's long red tongue flicked over the white serrated teeth, struggling with human speech. "You here be to join lying Humish scum?"

Was he so transparent to even the Varow, Bert wondered? "Whatever I do it's human business, and not yours, Varow. This is human land!"

"All Varow be Varow land!" hissed the Varow loudly. The other two hissed resonantly. "Be that forbidden Ship technology hu-man?" The Varow knocked the book out of Bert's hand and to the ground.

Bert had recently heard rumors of Varow instigated violence, but hadn't believed them until now. Human violence against Varow he would have more readily believed. There were even a few fringe human groups that urged complete genocide of the Varow.

All the Varow he ever heard about or on rare occasions personally met were strict pacifists. For the most part human and Varow had lived peacefully in the centuries following The Change that transformed the Earth, making it habitable for Varow as well as human. Though they were strange, the Varow were sentient, and that was a rare treasure and to be preserved, according to the ancient Earth sages. And so the peace was generally maintained, despite continued tensions.

Recent news reports told of Varow who went about in human lands, picking fights and destroying human technology. These three must be some of the rebel Varow, Bert realized. Well, whoever they were their behavior was shocking, and Bert wasn't going to stand for it. He was a man well past his prime, but he still had his pride. Human pride! "Earth for Earthers!" he shouted defiantly at the lead Varow, as he rose to his feet to strike with clenched fist at the hideous face of the impudent creature.

His blow bounced of its snout without effect, and the creature drew back a great claw-studded arm to strike back at his puny foe. Fear suddenly flashed through Bert like an electric shock, paralyzing him. He was a desk jockey, not a man of action!

"Stop!" hissed a deep voice, and a huge adult Varow, fully twice the size of the attacking juvenile, grasped and held the creature's forearm in mid-stroke, before the blow even reached Bert! A brief incomprehensible exchange of Varow clicks and wheezes followed, and then all the Varow withdrew, backing away from Bert slowly and warily, withdrawing deeper into the park, while staring at Bert and beyond him.

Bert stood for long moments, panting and unsure of what to do. He had let his temper get the best of him, but he couldn't help himself. Who did those ungrateful Varow think they were? After all, humans had welcomed them to Earth and even allowed The Change! "I have a mind to press charges!" he shouted after the retreating creatures.

The adult Varow hissed in return. "Have you not taught my kind enough with your technology and your violence hu-man? Would you have them see yet another color of human hate?"

It was the longest speech that he had ever heard one of the creatures make, and Bert didn't know how to respond to it. "Earth for Earthers, lizard man," he muttered under his breath finally, shaking his head. Who could understand them? As long as they stayed out of people's way, they could be tolerated. But he had been sitting quietly in a human public park and minding his own business, for God's sake!

"Father would speak with you stranger," said a quiet voice behind him. It was one of the Humish lads. He pointed to the field, where a very old looking man stood watching. A dozen strong young men stood with him, holding axes and other farm implements. Had the Varow seen their approach and fled? Bert retrieved his book and walked to the old man.

"I am Father Melbourne," said the man, as he offered Bert a surprisingly firm handshake.

"The Humish leader? I am honored sir! My name is Bert Gilbert, recently retired."

"Yes, Mr. Bertrand L. Gilbert, retired from hover-craft sales. No immediate family, no apparent Government affiliations, and no financial obligations." He laughed at Bert's astonished look. "You have been studying us these last three days Mr. Gilbert, is it not reasonable for us to return the gesture in kind? You did not expect such?"

"Frankly, no. I was actually expecting people that took other people at face value, without running background checks."

The old man nodded and sighed. "Yes, that is what we would prefer also, Mr. Gilbert. Such simpler times will yet arrive, we pray. What, may I ask, brings you here to our doorstep?"

"I was thinking of joining your order actually, if I could."

"We let outsiders join us occasionally. Why would you wish to?"

Bert had been thinking about that question for several months, without ever narrowing it down to an answer that he could easily explain. "Those simpler times you mentioned? I'd like to find those. But there's more."

"Such as?"

"Home. I want to feel at home here on Earth. You Humish live close to the Earth, like our ancestors did before The Change."

"Does your technology get in the way of that?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"Is this view of yours widespread among the public would you say?"

"It is actually the majority view, despite what the Government says."

"Perhaps there is something more? Other things that you hope to escape or oppose besides technology?"

"Confusion perhaps."

"Confusion about what?" asked the old man, smiling as though he thoroughly enjoyed this exchange with Bert.

"It's hard to explain. There are just so many different stories about this and that, I'd like to settle in on one true set of them that I feel comfortable with."

"Such as?"

"You believe in Earth for Earthers, don't you?"

"That's the natural order of things we believe, though in this life we don't always achieve heaven, and we don't oppose compassion for the Varow. What is your belief? And what about other people you know?"

"I believe it certainly, as do more and more all the time among humans. And don't you Humish also believe in looking out for the Earth? In nurturing living things and so forth?"

"True in general of course, though we must all make difficult choices," replied the old man. "It's usually not a simple choice between good and bad, or black and white. My son, it is usually a difficult choice between grays. We are not saints here, only humans."

"Good!" exclaimed Bert. "I'm not a saint either. But if I could join you I would do my best to fit in. I'll work hard, though I'm getting older now and I hope you have other work besides plowing fields using giant horses that can eat people."

The Father laughed and nodded his head. "Very well Mr. Gilbert, you may join us for a trial period if you like. The physical labors will indeed be more than you're used to, but I warn you that this will not be the hardest part. We are each of us not only of ourselves but of our surroundings. We Humish may well strip from you the artifacts and ideas that you have learned to cloak yourself in all your life. If we do so, will there be anything left of you?"

"I honestly don't know," replied Bert.

The next seven years were difficult ones for Bert Gilbert. He soon lived alone in a small log-cabin at the edge of Father Melbourne's village. He spent most of his time in the fields and barns, working as hard as he could, and sharing meals and prayers with those he helped. Particularly in the first year he longed for civilization. Surprisingly what he missed the most was not the VISICOM or the other high-tech trappings of the outside world, but the more simple things. He missed Cheese-Wads and Chunky-Nips. He missed central heating and indoor plumbing. More than once, he wondered if the sacrifices that the Humish made were inspired, or simply stupid, and he had long discussions about it with Father Melbourne and with some of the other Elders that lived in the village.

"But Father Melbourne, if electric lights and CD players and modern medicine are all-right to use, why not VISICOMs and tractors? Your technology choices seem arbitrary."

"A very difficult question, Bert. You are correct of course, there is no clear cut place to draw the line, and each generation and people must restudy this issue. It is not a simple choice between black and white, but between shades of gray. Our choices are not arbitrary however. Tractors would remove us from the soil. We plow the Earth by power of human and beast so that we may always honor and respect our ancient home. Modern medicines we use, but sparingly, for we use herbs and good foods and exercise much more than the outside world does. On compact discs we record our thoughts and our prayers to The Maker so that in ages to come our Humish traditions may endure. But CDs are very primitive compared to for example VISICOMs and memory cubes. VISICOMs would bury our minds in what you yourself sought to escape: the techno-garble, lusts, and trivia of the outside world.

"What about current events? What of important happenings in the world at-large?"

"There are a few of us that do venture onto that world regularly, and from strangers like yourself that join our Order, we learn a great deal more, and we thus maintain a general situation awareness. But what is most important by far is what is happening in our own community and within ourselves. If we do not first understand and deal with ourselves, how can we hope to cope with others?"

"What about sex?" Bert blurted out one day, after a day of prayer among dozens of the fair sex at church. Bert hadn't made love to a woman in several years.

"We're generally in favor of it," declared Father Melbourne, laughing. "You see many children about, do you not?"

"Yes, but it's not discussed much openly, and I just don't know what's proper and what isn't. I don't want to get thrown out on my ear for doing something wrong out of ignorance."

"You don't hear it talked about a lot because it is first and foremost a private matter that we leave up to the individuals involved. As long as it's discrete and consented to by both parties, it's generally approved."

"Marriage isn't a mandatory pre-condition then?"

"It's preferred by most of the Order members and sanctioned by the Order, especially if children result, but many folks stay single all their lives, with or without sexual partners."

"Are there courting taboos or customs that I should know about?"

"I'm not quite an expert in this field, Bert. Maybe you should discuss this with Sister Louise."

Sister Louise was one of the ladies that caused Bert to bring up this subject in the first place. "She's an expert?"

"Closer to being one than I am. Go ahead and ask her, Bert."

He did, and inside a week he ended up occasionally sleeping with the woman.

Notably absent from Humish lands were the Varow. According to Father Melbourne, the Humish physically ejected from their lands any Varow that entered them. However no Varow were harmed, and the Varow and human Governments never made an issue of the practice.

The attack came suddenly. Two dozen spear carrying Varow descended on the village, slaying all humans that they found. They found mostly women and children and old men, as most of the young men were at the far end of the Humish lands marketing crops. After the initial shock many humans attempted to defend themselves, and the Varow were gradually reduced in number.

Several of the Varow made straight for the Elders gathered at the Church, where Bert had been conversing with Father Melbourne. The Elders did not die without a struggle. What began as a slaughter ended with a single surviving Varow in a fight to the death against Bert and the Father. The Varow was much bigger and stronger, but even old humans had superior quickness, and got in many blows against the creature as it clumsily strove to spear them. The humans had only small knives but the Varow soon bled from a dozen wounds, and hissed in pain as gradually it slowed from loss of blood and exhaustion.

Through it all, the wide-eyed creature shouted some nonsense at the Father about seeking the truth. "Tell me where the truth is!" it shouted again and again.

Finally, as Bert scrambled to retrieve a spear from a fallen Varow, the Father suffered a spear through the stomach. Moments later the last Varow was itself speared through the chest by Bert. Only when it spoke its last words did Bert recognize it.

"I should have let the young ones kill you in the park, hu-man," it rasped, as its life's blood spurted from it.

"Why have you done this?" asked Bert, through tears. Lying mangled and still on the floor among dead Varow were all the fallen Humish holy men, murdered.

The creature smiled grimly, showing its teeth in hateful defiance as it turned to look a last time at Father Melbourne, who lay not far away. "Varow for the Varow, hu-man myth maker," it said, then gasped one final time and died.

In the terrible silence that followed, Bert heard a low moan. It was Father Melbourne. The terrible spear was still imbedded through his middle, yet he still lived.

"Leave the spear in me my son," said the Father, as Bert sought to give him aid. "Prop me up against the wall, I don't have much time."

"I'll get you a doctor, Father."

"I'll be dead in a few minutes. Do as I say; I have many things to tell and show you. Beneath the alter you'll find a big wood box. Bring it here and unlock it with this." In a blood stained hand, the father held a key.

Bert retrieved the box. It was made of ancient wood. Bert had to drag it; he was weak from the battle and it was too heavy to carry. He unlocked the equally ancient padlock and opened the lid. Inside was a second, metal box, shiny as though it had just been made. The words 'Earth Explorer' were written on its sides and lid. The lid opened easily.

"Only the Elders of our village of Jerusalem are entrusted with this secret Bert," said the Father. "I have to pass it on to you now."

Inside the metal box were old books with yellowed pages, and written journals illustrated with faded photographs. Bert looked through them in puzzled wonder.

"Those are from Earth, Bert. From the ship that brought us here centuries ago. That's the secret. This Planet is Varow, not Earth."

Bert's head spun, as if the world was fading and dropping away from his feet. "No!" he shouted, in denial.

"Look in the journal with the blue cover," said the Father, after spitting his throat free of blood.

The journal was full of color photographs of an alien world. There were great forests and seas, and creatures of all kinds, but most were completely unfamiliar. Trees were green instead of blue. A single sun was shown, instead of the familiar twin suns, brightening billowing white clouds set in a clear blue sky. Many creatures had four limbs like humans, and others had wings to soar in the skies, or fins to swim in clear waters. In one photo a human sat on the back of a slim, magnificent brown creature.

"That's a horse," explained the Father.

It all fits, thought Bert. His grandfather's book, and this. But did it make sense? "This shows a wonderful planet! Why would our ancestors leave it?"

"Look in the black covered journal, Bert."

This journal showed vast decrepit cities of twisted concrete rising through layers of filthy yellow and brown clouds. On most buildings windows were broken, and walls and roofs were caved in. Streets were littered with trash, abandoned vehicles, assorted junk, and thin, rag garbed people with wide, blank, staring eyes. Slouched across rivers were the skeletal remains of great collapsed bridges. Worse, there were pages and pages of photos showing dead creatures by the millions, rotting on bare, dust-caked plains and in yellowed forests of decaying tree stumps. Still more dead creatures crowded beaches and floated on the surface of disgusting, blackened waters. Many of the dead were humans.

"That's what humans did to Earth with run-away greed and technology. We can't let the same thing happen here, Bert." Father's voice was weakening, but the words remained strong.

"Ecology is of only secondary concern to the outside world, Father."

"Yes, to start with especially, but we're changing that slowly. This is our home now. Our Earth. We have to believe that. If we don't believe it's ours, there's no hope that we'll treat it right."

"But it's all lies!"

"Not lies. We had to remake the truth. Like the old Varow said, we created a myth. Our planet-fall became that of the Varow. Our taking of their planet became our generous sharing it with them when they arrived. The changes to the ecosphere made to support human life became changes to support the Varow. Their planet of Varow became our Earth."

"And their motto was twisted to became ours?"

"Yes. Earth for Earthers. It gives us the ownership we need to care about this planet. The Varow are not dumb. They understood at last that we Humish were at the heart of it all, that we Humish have been the spiritual center for human-kind since Planet Fall. Mankind's true strength; the source of human renewal! We cleanse our souls here. Sadly, at the expense of the Varow. It was a story that humans wanted to believe, so it was gradually adopted by all humans. What we started years ago is taught as undisputed truth now, even in outsider schools all over the planet."

"The Humish are a source of lies, and what is here proves it," said Bert. "And we have greatly wronged the Varow. We wrong them still!"

"Yet without our Humish pacifist ways the humans would have slaughtered the Varow long ago. So we wrong them, but we also save them as well as us. True, we Humish have kept them at arm's length, fearing that they would discover this evidence. The contents of our box is the last remaining proof of what really happened. But above all we needed to cleanse ourselves of our past, of our guilt. We needed a fresh start. We even instigated the planet-wide campaign against so-called ship technology, to destroy proof of the truth. Space traveling technology was destroyed as part of our total commitment to this world. We humans said it was Varow technology being destroyed, not ours."

"Lies built on top of lies."

"Choices are not between black and white Bert. They are between grays. It's a myth we needed, a new truth built on hope. It's not lies, but a deeper truth that we needed in order to survive." Father Melbourne's voice had faded to a whisper. "Isn't that why you came to us Bert? Did you really need simply blind truth, or did you need something to believe in?" At that, he died.

When the marketing Humish returned, they discovered the horror of The Slaughter. Only Bert survived. They discovered him before a roaring, foul smelling fireplace, painting drab brown some sort of large empty metal box.

"Father Melbourne asked to be buried in this box and for me to burn its contents," Bert explained.

"They killed our people and Father Melbourne! We should kill all the Varow that we can find," said one of the young men in anger. "Earth for Earthers," intoned others.

"No!" shouted Bert. "That would dishonor Father Melbourne." And he told them how even at the last, Father Melbourne had refused to take up arms against the Varow, and how he had forgiven his own misled killers with his last dying breath. Bert told them that they must continue to love the Earth and to live with God in peace, peace between men and between men and Varow. He drew the bloody spear from the body of the Varow leader and broke it against his knee, and pledged to harm no more Varow. Then, among gasps from the onlookers, he bent to kiss the forehead of the dead Varow. "This being fought and died for his people. He was wrong, but we have also been wrong to not treat them as our brothers."

They listened to him. They could see that he had been profoundly changed by his experience. He no longer asked questions, but gave answers and orders. He had been touched by God, and by His divine truth. "You are the Elder, Father," they replied to his words, thus elevating him to the highest Humish office. There were other elders in other Humish villages, but by tradition the elders of Jerusalem defined Humish teachings and life-style. Bert became the sole Elder of Jerusalem.

Other changes were made. Outsiders were allowed to visit and to study Humish ways and teachings. The story of the Slaughter reached heroic proportions on outsider VISICOM screens. New followers flocked to join the Order, and Humish philosophies entered into outsider political and cultural arenas as never before.

Varow were welcomed to live among the Humish and join their order. On each anniversary of The Slaughter, human and Varow alike mourned the tragic event and prayed for both Father Melbourne and his slayers. The Humish Order thrived and remained the heart and soul of all the people, including even now the Varow!

When he was very old and on his deathbed several of the older human villagers approached Bert. "We would speak with you in private Father," they said, glancing uncomfortably at the several Varow who also stood watch at his bed-side.

"You may speak freely, Jonathan. We have no secrets."

"Yes Father. It is Humish tradition that the Elders of Jerusalem pass on their truest teachings to the Elders that follow. You are the only Elder these last years. Is there something you would pass on to us?"

Bert smiled. "Yes, of course. I am happy to pass on to you the truth. The only truth. God and Earth are for both humans and Varow, and humans and Varow are both for Earth, to keep it and each other well." At that he died, and his body was soon buried to forever enrich the Earth, as had his soul.

****

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13.

In His Image

A dizzying confusion swept me as I studied the man sitting on the park bench in front of me. There could be no mistake. It was Henry Helderman. Yet of course it couldn't be Helderman, any more than in the other recent instances it was Helderman.

Several times over the last three weeks, I had thought that I glimpsed Helderman; as a face in a crowd waiting for ground transport, as a face in the audience of a Visa-Com quiz-show, as a man sitting on the other side of a busy public cafeteria. On those occasions I had managed to write it off to failing eyesight, failing memory, failing every damn thing. How else could I possibly rationalize this latest Helderman manifestation? If course most people didn't retire as early as seventy any more, but I felt ripe for retirement now; I was getting old.

My mentor Henry Helderman had disappeared twenty years earlier, when he was sixty-seven years old. This man looked fifty, tops. He sat unmoving with his eyes closed, and with just a hint of a smile on his face, that mischievous smile that I knew all too well. A long lost son or cousin of his? Not likely. Helderman had no family; perhaps that was one of the things that had driven the man to be what he was. A hallucination? A ghost? No, it had to be a Henry Helderman double, but forty years younger. Or was it someone that just happened to look exactly like Henry by pure chance?

"Hello, Mark," the apparition said suddenly, without even opening his eyes.

I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe; all that I could manage was to keep my legs from buckling from under me. The voice was unmistakably Helderman's!

The eyes opened, and the familiar smile deepened. "Good to see you again, my friend." He reached out and shook my trembling hand.

The hand felt warm and firm, definitely and disturbingly real. "Henry? But it can't be you," I stammered.

"Right you are, Mark, and wrong. It is me, but it isn't the same me."

"What sort of riddle is that? I must be going crazy!"

"Improbable."

"Are you a clone of Henry?"

"Nothing so trite." He gestured for me to sit beside him.

I felt uneasy doing so, but I did need to sit down. My head was spinning, pounding! "Where have you been all these years? Why do you look younger than when you left? Are you a ghost?"

Helderman shook his head. "Calm down, Mark; you'll understand it all soon. That's why I'm here, to explain things to you about what is happening. And I need your help."

"Things happening? Help?" The man seemed to be talking more riddles.

"Our Project is a complete success."

"Our Project?"

"The genetic re-engineering Project, Mark; where is your mind lately?"

I knew too well what he was talking about, but I was in denial. He was bringing up a part of my past that I no longer wanted anything to do with. "I'm in the organic gardening business now, Henry. I've been out of genetic engineering for twenty years. Same as you, but without the headlines. This month I'm even retiring from organic gardening."

"You thought that I quit science? Because I dropped out of sight? I never gave up my work, Mark, I just didn't need conventional laboratories anymore."

I shook my head, unbelieving. "Are you saying that without staff or laboratory equipment you've been continuing research in nanotechnology and genetic engineering?"

"Continuing? Did you not hear what I told you? The Project is a success! My body was the only laboratory that I needed. Look at me. Do I look eighty-seven?"

He looked like he did when I met him forty years ago. "Some new sort of plastic surgery?"

"Have you forgotten everything? I told you, the Project is a success! A complete success as of a decade ago, particularly in the last month. Except perhaps for a minor detail."

I laughed. He was talking nonsense. He had to be. "I'm retired from the profession, but I still keep abreast of developments. What you suggest is years away, if ever. Are you actually telling me that nanites have restored your genetic integrity?"

Helderman's smile disappeared. "Not quite. The genetic integrity strategy didn't prove to be optimal."

"The genetics were too complex, as I've always said."

"Not too complex; simply irrelevant. Why focus on old blueprints when superior completed objects are available? We are beyond the need to shore up organics now; we have displaced the organics."

A chill went through me. "Displaced the organics? What do you mean? How?"

"By studying them. Thousands of semi-autonomous units per cell, studying structure and behavior. As you recall, it was part of our original reverse-engineering approach to map relationships between genetic design, body structure, and body processes. It was the part that the Company refused to allow, because they lacked the courage and vision to proceed."

I nodded. I had been instrumental in seeing that the project was terminated. It was a Pandora's box!

"I decided to completely model my own body with an army of nanites. They developed the capacity to mimic organic cell functions almost perfectly. They would have been able to detect and replace faulty organic cells perfectly and achieve the original strategy of the Project! But then I thought, why simply shore up organic parts? Why not simply replace them? So it was done. Everything from nerve cells to bone was replaced, piece by piece and bit by bit, with memories and thought processes preserved."

"For God's sake, why?"

"For whatever I want! Copying the original body was only the beginning of the process. I am much more than what I used to be. Immortality is a given. I am for all practical purposes immutable and indestructible. I recycle worn parts within myself. I absorb energy from the Sun but can process almost any other sort of fuel. I can be whatever I want to be; a musician, a scholar, an athlete. Here; look at this."

Smiling, he turned and grasped the edge of the park bench we were sitting on and casually twisted his hand, breaking off a handful of wrought iron as if it were cardboard.

I shrank further away from him. "You can't be anything you want! Can you be a father?"

"I am the father to my entire new race. If I wanted to be a mere father in a more traditional sense, I could do that also. We can all replicate ourselves, by ourselves or in combination with others of our kind."

"Others? There are others besides you?"

"Of course. Many thousands of macro units. Hundreds more every day."

"Replicating themselves?"

He shook his head. "At this stage we are replacing other organics, mostly."

I staggered up and several meters away before turning to face him. "You are murdering thousands of people? That was never part of our project!"

"Not murder, we're saving them. Imagine no more hunger or sickness or pain. Imagine perfection." As he talked I noticed the right side of his head for the first time.

"Perfection? Is that what you call it? Then what's wrong with your right ear?"

With a puzzled look he felt his ear, what was left of it. "There is nothing wrong with my ear. I am perfect in every way."

"Half of your ear is missing, Henry."

"Your statement is incorrect. That is to be expected, as you are an imperfect organic unit."

"Feel your other ear. Does it feel the same?"

He felt both ears. "One is a left ear and one is a right ear; they should feel different."

"They should be symmetrical; are they?"

"Not perfectly."

"Yours aren't even close. Your right ear is deformed."

"My right one you say? Most interesting. Yes, I concur that there is a minor problem, perhaps another manifestation of an anomaly that I have recently noticed; the reason I sought you out, Mark."

"Anomaly?" I was talking to a robot composed of trillions of tiny machines; that seemed enough of an anomaly already.

"Yes. An apparently harmless one, but we have not been able to correct it. We were hoping that an outsider might provide a fresh view."

I wasn't necessarily inclined to help, but I was curious. "Explain the problem."

"A periodic calibration cycle was designed by me years ago to provide stability and cohesion between all nanites within and between each macro-entity. With the advent of multiple macro-entities, the cycle had to be slightly redesigned. Somehow, a peculiar characteristic crept into the design. Instead of renewing the image of the original donner organic during calibration, my own image is replicated by all macro-entities for several minutes once every Earth revolution."

"Are you telling me that once a day tens of thousands of your robot people all look like you?"

"Yes. This harmless seeming anomaly has been surprisingly inconvenient."

I could imagine that it was. "Haven't the authorities noticed?

"Hardly. There have been stories of course, but those have been routinely dismissed. The problem, if it is a problem, is trivial. Still, we seek your insight. Do you note any other irregularities?"

"You are missing a finger on your right hand."

"Incorrect."

"Examine it. Is it the mirror image of your left hand?"

He held out both hands and studied them with unblinking eyes. "They are symmetric."

I studied them. He was right. Both hands lacked the smallest finger. "Both hands are deformed. Your problem is fundamental, not trivial. Your calibration cycle is flawed. Your body is losing its form and calibration likely passes deformities to others. Likely there are unseen internal deformities also, at both macro and nanite levels. It will happen to all the other macro-units too."

"I function well within performance parameters," protested Helderman.

"With fewer fingers and a half-formed ear? Most people would have freaked out, but you aren't even capable of noticing the irregularities."

"It's a minor flaw," insisted Helderman. "My body has orders of magnitude more processing capacity than all the super computers in existence. If it was a serious problem I would have determined it to be serious."

"I doubt it. You are losing your human viewpoint. Using a few decades of technology development, you are re-inventing or replacing biological mechanisms that it took nature billions of years to establish. I don't just mean the biological mechanisms of an established species; I also mean the internal mechanisms and evolutionary mechanisms common among species that aren't usually thought of. You didn't even notice! Your focus has been purely on replacing individual humans, not on replacing life and how it develops and perseveres itself.

"You have thrown away billions of years of self-correcting evolutionary processes as irrelevancies. I'm surprised that you have done even this well." This was all too much for me; I was getting a headache, and sat down again on the bench beside Henry. I wasn't a young man anymore.

"Your conclusions, even if correct, are irrelevant," said Helderman. "Calibration doesn't need to be perfect, only good enough to maintain human form for one more year, after which human form will not be needed. Also, I conclude that the replication of my image is entirely suitable. I am after all, the founder of my kind; more a god than a leader. I have now decided that the practice of calibrating to my image will continue indefinitely."

"And it will continue to degenerate. But that's not the important point. If you can't even maintain your macro-image, the rest of you will fail also. Simply replacing individual humans is amazing, but myopic. You haven't adequately replaced over-all life mechanisms. Your Project will inevitably fail. Your remade humans will die out or become unrecognizable abominations, and will probably contaminate the entire biosphere. Perhaps besides humans other species are also being blindly replaced, without regard to their function in the ecosystem. That could disrupt and destroy the entire Earth ecosystem!"

"The ecosystem of organics will become as unnecessary as my macroscopic image. I compute that we will live forever, but accuracy of my macro-image is only necessary for one more year."

"What happens in one year?"

"There will be no more organic human units, only nanite-based units. There will no longer be a need to mimic organic units, except to pay homage to my perfect image."

He was talking about replacing all of humanity with nanite-robots within one year! I felt weak and dizzy. Would he succeed? Or would his imperfections destroy him before that happened? "But why did you come to me? You want me to help fix your problems? I refuse. You will all become formless monstrosities and die!"

"Your participation in the sense you mean is unnecessary. In the long term, our nanobot forms and abilities will be based on need, not on human tastes, frailties, and poor reasoning capability. With the exception of daily homage to me, of course."

"Ego has its place in human psychology but not necessarily in yours. You have copied bad human traits as well as good. Fortunately those too are doomed to die with you. Why did you come to me? You couldn't have expected me to help you."

"But you are helping me! You remembered what I used to look like; you noticed the irregularities in my ear and fingers. I suspected such things were occurring, but needed someone from my past to determine the precise problems. I needed the data from your memory with regard to any so-called deformities. You have helped me confirm that the irregularities are minor. Finger and ear deformities are irrelevant, except that they might have alerted the organic units that something is amiss. Now those deformities have been irradiated. You have served your function and your organic form is no longer needed."

"You will fail and die, that is what has been confirmed," I told him. "The irregularities are inescapable and catastrophic. Your reasoning is impaired, or you would see that for yourself. Even during the few minutes that we have talked your concept of why you have come to me has changed. Macro-units taking on your form was viewed to be a problematic anomaly earlier in our conversation, but now you view worshiping your image to be a positive feature, as you have apparently adopted a huge human-like ego!"

He smiled but refused my words. "Peace be with you," he said, as he reached out towards me with his index finger. I could have ducked away then, but I did nothing. When his finger touched my cheek something like an electric shock traveled through my entire body, a shock of pleasure that was akin to a sexual orgasm but a hundred times more intense! The sensation slowly faded into a feeling of profound peace and contentment, and awe and love for my Master.

"Your transformation is nearly complete, Mark. Rise!"

I was lying on the ground. I rose easily at His command, reveling in the strength of my new body. My conversion to nanobot was 90% complete, I noted, and progressing normally. Nearby, the portion of the iron bench that I had been sitting on was shriveled and pitted away, its substance eaten away by my hunger for metal.

Before me, I watched the Master re-grow his ear and two fingers, until he appeared just as I remembered him as an organic in my previous life. He smiled at me, and I knelt down before him, humble before the Master, and thankful that I had been of service. Then he walked away, shaking hands with the organics that he met, and wishing them peace, and providing it in the form of microscopic nanites that would immediately begin the task of transforming each unit.

I walked in the opposite direction, doing the same. Approximately every tenth encounter was with one of my own kind, and data was exchanged, including corrections to the image of the Master. His renewed perfect image would now endure long enough for the Project to succeed!

The path passed near a pond, and I paused to look at my reflection. It was the youthful face of a human in his thirties that I saw, but that isn't what interested me most. It was time for calibration. As I watched the reflection wavered for a moment, and I then had the honor of gazing upon the perfect image of the Master!

Some of the memories recovered from my organic self indicate that there are instabilities in calibration and other basic processes that will ultimately result in the failure of the Project. Extinction of both humans and nanobots could result. However these memories are judged to be self-destructive and are being deleted. All self destructive and disruptive memories and activities are being cleared from all memory locations, ensuring success of the Project and the immortality of the Master.

****

Return to Contents

14.

Izzy's Last Thoughts

The big boom from high in the sky was like thunder, six year old Kate Warner thought, but there weren't even any clouds. It was followed a minute later by a crash like when cars wrecked on TV, but there weren't any roads in the woods behind her house where the noise came from, so what could crash there? Curious, she walked through the forest towards the sound. It had come from not far away, she was sure. Her brother Johnny who was supposed to be watching her would be angry with her for leaving the yard, but that was just too bad!

****

Inside his badly damaged space/time transport craft, $%^& regained consciousness and began to assess status. When his life support and transport systems failed to respond to his mental inquiries coherently, and the extent of the damage to his biological body became clear, he marveled at his situation. He was experiencing a one-chance-in-a-billion anomaly, for multiple system failures must have occurred! His ship's guidance system had failed, that much was obvious, allowing a collision with a flying object within the atmosphere of this planet. Even more improbable, fail-safe systems that should have in turn disintegrated him and his vessel in order to avoid planet contamination had also subsequently failed. Also he was dying!

****

Inside the house Johnny Warner decided to take a food break from his gaming. He thought that he had heard something earlier, a loud sound that had penetrated his sound deafening head-phones and distracted him just enough to result in his pre-mature death in the game he had been playing. It had been a disturbing experience! He decided that he would chill out, eat some brunch, and return to his gaming refreshed and more ready to take on the bastard space invaders of his video game.

Downstairs in the family room he ate his peanut butter sandwich and drank his skim-milk, it crossed his mind that he should probably get together some food for his little sister Kate. But no, Brainiac Kate could take care of herself. She would come inside and feed herself when she was hungry. He had to get back to his games. When Mom got home she would make him do homework.

He turned on the TV to look for the weather forecast and happened upon a breaking local news story. An airplane landing at the local airport a short time ago lost an engine and nearly crashed, but it managed to land safely without any casualties. Not much of a story, Johnny concluded. Nothing important or exciting ever happened around here. Not a damn thing! He went back upstairs to his bedroom, closed himself inside, put on his earphones, and resumed his computer gaming. He was resolved to save the world from the evil space aliens.

****

As she approached the smoking, nasty smelling pile of twisted metal, Kate could sense the pain and despair of the helpless creature that was trapped inside. It was focused on getting to an object in the wreckage, a small glowing cylinder. How she knew all this she didn't know. "I'll help you," she volunteered. It was the right thing to do.

Inside the smoldering wreckage, $%^& sensed the approach of the Earthling. Despite his own sorry condition, he couldn't help feeling a sense of awe and wonder. The Earth life-form was essentially a collection of water and complex carbon-based living material, kludged together over billions of Earth years by a relentless process of random variation and natural selection. It had immense potential, more than it realized. Besides the single, unifying entity, billions of co-evolved smaller creatures lived within it symbiotically. There were similar instances of life throughout the universe, but this was one of the more interesting examples and was worthy of intense study. Hence this planet and this timeframe were frequently visited by several advanced life-forms such as his own. Frequent visitation increased the probability of interference and contamination, a possibility which was now due to his misfortune was coming to disastrous fruition.

Specifically, he was dying, and would soon lose control of his own symbiotes. When released to this world they would undoubtedly do incalculable harm to the local life-forms. There was only one way to save the life of Earth, and it required activation of an emergency communications device. But he couldn't get to it! He couldn't move at all, not while mortally injured and in the high gravity of Earth. He was dying. He had the time and ability only for a few last thoughts. He sensed that the human had crude telepathic abilities that could perhaps be exploited. He made some hard trade-off decisions that would minimize contamination.

"I'll call you Izzy," Kate decided, as she gently lifted the creature into her arms and carried it away from the wreckage. She couldn't begin to pronounce its real name. The creature was immensely ugly, with six thin legs or arms that each ended in a dozen tiny fingers, six small eyes and a tiny, fish-like mouth, slimy, scaly skin, and a body segmented into three body parts and one disproportionally large head.

Kate didn't mind it being ugly. Johnny had action figures that were just as weird, and Kate liked the equally weird frogs and snakes and spiders that Johnny tried to scare her with. Besides, this creature was small; it was about the size of one of her larger dolls: less than half as tall as herself, if it were to stand upright on its rear set of short legs.

Izzy was better than a doll though, because he was smart and he talked with her. It was a funny way of talking; thoughts just entered her mind without her hearing them. But Izzy talked to her and she was soon talking back! She was glad to have someone to talk with; Johnny was useless, and Mom and Dad were mostly gone.

This wasn't 'stranger danger' she decided, this was different and special. Besides, Izzy was colored like a rainbow, and she liked rainbows. His thoughts were sort of like rainbows too. They were fuzzy at first, but they rapidly got clearer and brighter. He was teaching her how they could think together, he told her; teaching her things about herself that she didn't even know!

Izzy gradually talked less and not as loud, and didn't look good at all. His vibrant skin colors were slowly fading towards gray, and his fingers moved less. He was feeling cold, he told Kate. She wrapped Izzy in her little pink baby blanket and sat beside him as he lie on the grass of her back-yard. Inside her head, Izzy now repeated the same simple message to over and over: "return to the wreckage, find the small cylinder, push the red button." Kate wanted to talk more about first grade, and Johnny, and that new TV show about cute puppies, but Izzy was stubborn and kept repeating the same thing.

Izzy was being annoying, like Johnny. He was very sick though, so she decided not to make an issue of it. The rainbow colors of his scaly skin seemed to be fading to a dull gray-brown, and the thoughts were becoming ever slower and weaker. Concerned, she tried to feed Izzy water and a chocolate candy bar, but Izzy rejected them. He only wanted her to find his precious cylinder. He wanted her to do it now.

Leaving Izzy wrapped in the blanket under her favorite tree, with the birds and squirrels to keep him company, Kate finally relented and returned to the woods and the nasty smelling wreckage. She used a stick to poke around and finally found the faintly glowing metallic cylinder that Izzy had pictured in her mind. It was about the size and shape of a small flashlight, and felt warm and heavy in her hand. She put the cylinder securely into her jeans pocket and ran through the woods to where she had left Izzy. Izzy would be pleased with her, she reasoned. So pleased that he would brighten up his colors and play with her like she wanted, and teach her more things about herself that she didn't know.

When she saw him again she knew immediately that Izzy was dead. Mom and Dad had talked to her about being dead and she saw it happen to animals on the road and to both of her pet goldfish. Izzy's rainbow colors were all gone, and he was still and silent, just like the goldfish. It wasn't fair, she thought, as tears came to her eyes! She had at last found a friend and now he was gone already! Poor little Izzy!

She would do right by him though. She covered his six sad little unmoving eyes with the blanket. Then she got her little plastic beach shovel from the garage and carried him deep into the forest, close to where the wreckage of his crushed space craft still smoldered. The soil was soft there in the forest, and full of bugs. There with difficulty she buried him in a shallow grave, still wrapped in her favorite blanket.

As she said some prayers over his gravesite, the soil over the shallow grave seemed to shift a little. She would have stayed to watch but instead she ran away when she heard the helicopter coming. She didn't think she had done anything wrong but you could never be sure what grownups would think about anything. Besides, this was definitely stranger-danger. She ran towards the house.

"Probably another false alarm," Major Frank Adams predicted to his team, as the Marine helicopter approached the predicted position of the object that had allegedly collided with the airliner. "The pilot was making up that UFO business. It was birds again, I bet. We'll find a big dead goose. A cooked goose, if we're lucky." His voice faded when he saw the smoke rising from the forest. They did a low pass, and infrared and visual cameras easily distinguished smoking wreckage the size of an automobile plus a few bits and pieces nearby, located hundreds of yards from any road or trail. "OK, not birds then. Too big to be engine parts from the airliner though. I bet it's a human-built unmanned air vehicle. There's UAV kits for sale now that any idiot can buy."

They landed in a nearby field and quickly hiked to the crash site. Besides himself there were four well-armed marines and the five-person tech team: three aeronautical engineers with special training in crash-site examination, and two biochemical-hazard science types dressed in hazard protection suits.

"Holy shits!" the Major exclaimed, when they got within sight of the wreckage. It was in banged-up pieces, but it didn't look like any UAV he had ever seen or heard of! Following protocol, the tech folks began snapping photos and taking readings.

"There are increased radiation levels originating from the wreckage, but they aren't high enough to worry about," said a tech. "No chemical or biological contamination measured yet either."

"That's just peachy keen," Adams responded. "But what the hell is that thing?"

"Not an aircraft like we know it, Frank." answered Dr. Benson, the lead aeronautical engineer. "We see no wings or control surfaces, or anything that looks like jet or rocket propulsion structures. In other words, the design does not reflect use of an atmosphere for lift or control, and the means of propulsion is totally unknown."

"Look at this," said his tech aid. In her gloved hand she held up a foot-long metal part for Benson and Adams to see. On it writing was engraved, but it was unlike any writing they had ever seen. There were vague similarities to Russian and Tibetan perhaps, but that's about all that Adams could say about it. Though an expert linguist, Adams couldn't translate any of it.

"Code 4 then, I'm thinking," announced Adams loudly. "What say the rest of you?"

"Aye," each of the team called out in turn. "Hell yeah, sir," Staff Sergeant Connors agreed, as he handed his radio to Major Adams and the Major made it official to headquarters. Within a dozen hours these woods would be crawling with containment forces and science personnel. Until then, his little team would need to cope with the situation as best they could.

He called local law enforcement and had them cordon off the immediate area. Possible bio-hazard from an aircraft accident; that was the story he gave, and that explanation was the truth, as far as it went.

Nearby in a shallow gravesite, what had once been Izzy was in a state of reorganizing chaos. Bio and mechanical symbionts were no longer working harmoniously to support a centralizing host. Instead, they refocused on their own survival. They began to assimilate each other and form new alliances and multi-unit structures. They quickly ingested Izzy's remains, but needed more.

They tasted the surrounding Earth soil and gained sustenance from it. The soil was swarming with carbon-based life and laced with mineral content that provided the energy and material needed for survival and growth, but they needed more to survive and grow. Roots formed. Nearby soil was quickly depleted of useful content. Locomotion was needed to seek further sustenance. Roots were quickly transformed into stronger appendages.

"I've got a bogie," said Marine Corporal Davis into his radio. Davis had been exploring his assigned portion of the perimeter when he happened upon the strange sight. What looked a bit like several octopus tentacles were emerging from the ground nearby! He raised his automatic rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at the thing as he cautiously backed away from it. Foot after foot of several tentacles continued to emerge from the soil. They were glistening like metal and rainbow colored, unlike anything he had ever seen before! A career Marine that feared no man, Davis was spooked, big time.

"Describe it," Adams ordered.

"Metallic looking tentacles or roots coming up from under the damn ground, sir, several of them. Multi-colored metal and thick as my arm and maybe ten feet long each. One of them just wrapped around a big tree."

"We'll be with you in a minute. Stay away from it. Observe and report what it does but take no action against it unless attacked."

"It's using the tree to pull itself out of the ground," Davis continued. "The body is man-sized and glowing different colors, like the tentacles." The body flattened itself around the tree trunk and seemed to be eating away at it, weakening it. "Oh shit!"

"Davis! Report what's happening!" Adams insisted, between breaths.

"Had to dodge the falling tree, sir!" resumed Davis. "The tree is down and the tentacle thing is eating it and getting bigger. Oh no!"

Adams and Benson heard Davis discharge his automatic rifle at the advancing thing. Davis turned to run but a tentacle caught up with his fleeing body. Death was nearly instantaneous; in moments the thing tore Davis to bits and absorbed his body, clothes, and equipment.

Adams and Benson arrived in time to see the last bits of Davis being consumed. The Major carried only an automatic pistol. He emptied it into the thing with no apparent effect except to alert the thing to his presence. A tentacle lifted away from where Johnson had been and pointed towards Adams. Adams turned to Benson to tell the man to retreat but Benson was already nearly out of sight and running away towards the helicopter.

Meanwhile Staff Sergeant Connors arrived with the flame thrower and attempted to incinerate the creature. The creature absorbed the burning napalm into itself and on flowing tentacle-legs rapidly followed the flame back to the napalm canister, which fortunately had been abandoned moments earlier by Connors.

"Retreat, retreat," Adams ordered unnecessarily, as he and Connors fled in the direction of a nearby house. The tentacle thing finished absorbing the napalm canister and broke into several man-sized segments that began to spread throughout the forest, consuming trees and soil as they grew larger and split again into yet more units. The growing sound was like a swarm of locusts plus a raging tornado that tore the forest to bits as it consumed it! One segment ran/slithered towards Adams and Connors, pausing only momentarily to absorb trees and the exploding hand-grenades thrown at it by Connors. It was clearly in pursuit of the fleeing marines, and it was growing larger again, into an elephant sized central mass with writhing metallic tentacles thirty feet in length, simmering with rainbow colors!

"Potential Code 5," Adams screamed several times into his radio, as Connors stumbled and fell, spraining an ankle. The brass probably wouldn't take his word for it though; they would want conformation before they launched tactical nuclear weapons. He and Connors limped into the backyard of the nearby house as the tentacle thing paused to consume a particularly large backyard tree. The pause might give him and Connors time to reach the house, not that it would do them much good. The thing chasing them would tear through the house like it was tissue paper, and probably eat it and everybody in the house like it was now eating the tree!

Suddenly an angry little girl came running towards them from the back door of the house. "That's Izzy's tree," she shouted angrily, as she pulled a flashlight from her pocket and pointed it at the monster.

As Major Adams moved quickly towards the girl, intending to pick her up and run with her into the house, he was aware of the sudden silence. He looked back. The tentacle monster had stopped its relentless pursuit. Poised in the air only a few feet above the marines and the girl was a huge tentacle that extended back to the creature. The tentacle and the rest of the creature were frozen like statues, as were the other segments of the creature that had been consuming the forest. They were no longer glistening with rainbow colors; instead they were all a dull, grey, metallic color.

"I remembered about pushing the red button, like Izzy said," the girl told him. What she held was a flash-light sized cylinder, but it was obviously not a flashlight. She handed it to him and he examined it. It was a plain metal cylinder without any switches or buttons. Writing was etched onto one end of it; alien writing like the team had found at the wreckage.

"Tell me about Izzy," the Major requested.

"Izzy was my friend from the wreck in the woods, but he died," the girl replied. "That thing doesn't work anymore," the girl told him, as Adams again examined the cylinder. "Izzy said that it turns things off and calls for help. Then it turns itself off."

"Help? Help from whom?"

The bright day suddenly darkened. A huge saucer-shaped spacecraft hovered silently above them. "Bloody hell!" Adams exclaimed. Burly Sergeant Connors dropped to his knees on the ground, too paralyzed with fear to even cry out. This is what the unit had trained for, but no training could begin to match the real thing.

"Don't be scared," the girl told them calmly. "It's just Izzy's friends, come to make things right. Then they'll go away."

A brilliant beam of light flashed and pulsed over them, and the tentacle thing faded away, along with the cylinder that Adams still held. More time passed; how much the Major couldn't tell, but later timeline analysis put it at ten minutes. When he woke up he was lying in soft green grass beside a peacefully sleeping Staff Sergeant Connors. A little girl knelt next to him. Her name was Kate, he remembered, though he didn't remember how he knew that.

"They're gone for now," she told him calmly, "but they said they might come back again someday. They like our planet but they aren't allowed to live here."

Frank Adams looked around, trying to make sense of what he saw. The trees, including the big one in the yard, looked healthy and untouched, as though the tentacle things had never happened. Tentacle things? What tentacle things? Had he daydreamed them? The tree was alright, but why wouldn't it be? He couldn't remember.

"They said that they're terribly sorry about a man named Davis, but they couldn't put him back. Does that make sense, Major Adams?" The girl was looking at him with her clear blue eyes. He couldn't remember telling her his name or rank, or saying anything about Davis, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't really sure now about anything, including what he and Connors were doing napping in the backyard of a civilian residence populated by a civilian named Kate.

"Sure, Kate, I guess it does." He looked at Conners. He seemed to be smiling in his sleep. "Wake up, Connors," he said, as he poked the big man's shoulder.

"What the hell?" Connors asked, as he sat up, winking and blinking. "Sir!" he added, when he saw Adams.

"Report mission status, Connors," Adams commended, as he stood up.

The big sergeant stood up to stand at attention before the Major. "Status unknown, Sir. Mission? Sir, I don't even know what day this is!"

Adams stared into the Staff Sergeant's eyes sternly for a moment, then looked around the yard and studied the house and little girl. "Me either, Staff Sergeant."

Dr. Benson and his assistants arrived. "We found nothing, Frank," he announced. "Not a blasted thing, not even a dead goose. It looks like another false alarm after all."

"OK," Adams responded. Memories were trickling into his thoughts. "Airplane mishap, right? The pilot reported seeing something strange, but we found nothing unusual. Just your normal forest." He turned his attention to Connors. "That sound about right, Staff Sergeant."

"Yes sir," agreed Connors. "Sounds about right, Sir. And it's Tuesday."

"Of course it is, Staff Sergeant. It's been Tuesday all damn day!"

"Yes sir!"

"Are you guys alright?" Benson asked.

"Never felt better," Adams responded. "Oh, and what about Davis?" There was something about Davis that he couldn't quite remember, though his mind was racing to creatively fill in the details of what must have happened today.

"Davis?" Connors responded. He hadn't seen Davis all day. "He didn't make it to this mission." Why was Adams asking about Davis?

"True enough, gentlemen," agreed Benson. "Davis didn't show up for duty."

"We were short-handed then, but we still managed," Adams concluded. That must be why he had thought to ask about Davis. Had the girl said something about Davis? No, that wouldn't make any sense. "Connors, radio Code X to headquarters, and let's get back to the chopper and back to base. I'm starving."

"Yes sir," Connors replied, as he walked out of the yard and made the radio call. Later the entire team would have difficulty reconstructing the mission and explaining inconsistencies with their earlier alarmist reports to headquarters, but the final results remained conclusive. Nothing unusual happened or had been found. Davis remained missing, presumably AWOL.

Adams turned and saw that the little girl was still watching them leave. "Everything is alright, Kate," he assured the her. "We found nothing to worry about. Thanks for talking with us."

"I like talking with people," she responded, as the Major turned to go. Especially since Izzy had shown her how to do it better. She was sad to see all of her visitors leave, especially Izzy's friends in the big space ship. Izzy's friends had talked with her briefly, before they left.

When the team reached the helicopter the military members found their weapons on-board and unused. They shrugged it off as another odd factor of an odd day, and didn't worry about it. Major Adams had an especially difficult time explaining to his superiors why he had called for a Code 4 and a potential Code 5, when he didn't even remember doing it. On the other hand, recordings of the incident were defective, such that there was no supporting physical evidence that the calls ever happened!

****

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Mom asked Johnny and Kate. As usual they were both waiting quietly in the kitchen for her when she got home. "I heard on the radio that there was some sort of airplane accident investigation going on or something."

"Nope," said Johnny. "Nothing ever happens around here."

"I made some friends but they went away," added Kate. "They showed me how to do things, though." She stared at a spoon that had been laying on the table and it lifted a few inches off the table, floating in mid-air.

Johnny and Mom didn't notice. Johnny was already on his way back to his room and his video games, and Mom was busy putting food from the grocery store into the refrigerator. They weren't thinking of her, Kate noticed. Mom was thinking about what to make for dinner and Johnny was thinking about girls at school. Kate let the spoon float down to again rest on the table, then went to play outside in the yard again.

The yard and forest looked just the same to Kate, though over the next few days the other members of the family would remark that it had changed slightly. Trees or bushes or flowers seemed a little different to them. Kate smiled when they said that, because Izzy's friends had explained to her that her memories were used to reconstruct the backyard. So the yard looked normal to her.

To Kate everything was different in a different way. She could sense clearly the life around her, and feel the thoughts of squirrels, and birds, and her Mom and brother. She could sense that she was a part of it all. She could do all of this because Izzy had shown her how.

She could still even sense the complex but friendly thoughts of Izzy's friends in the distance, as they sped away in their space-ship. They were saddened to have lost Izzy, but glad that he had made a friend. And they were especially grateful to her for pushing the red button for Izzy. Izzy was gone forever but he had given his last friend a great gift. He had shown her how to do things. There were other humans that could do things too, Izzy's friends explained. Humans were changing, they said. Humans were becoming even more interesting, and they would return soon to watch it happen, and share more thoughts with humans like Kate.

At the edge of her new perceptions Kate could sense other humans that could do special things like she could. "Hello," she thought loudly, and some of them said hello back. Kate smiled. Though poor Izzy was gone, she had a lot of new friends now, and would never be alone, thanks to poor Izzy's last thoughts.

****

Return to Contents

15.

Perfect Shower Day

Henry apprehensively stepped into the shower stall of his new apartment. He felt totally naked and defenseless, which of course he was. He should have insisted on trying out the shower before agreeing to rent the place. Now it was too late; he had already signed a two-year lease. However, in his experience all showers were about the same, so it didn't matter anyway. He expected the worst.

As he feared, the shower water was controlled by one of those single complex knobs that mysteriously regulated both temperature and flow rate. The water would of course be either ice cold or scalding hot to start with, and he would soon suffer miserably as he hopelessly tried to dodge merciless cascading torrents, while in a state of panic he ineptly and fruitlessly attempted to adjust the temperature to something at least tolerable. Throughout his desperate efforts with the control knob, the water would alternate between too hot and too cold. Zeroing in on something bearable would be purely a matter of luck. More likely at some point before that happened he would dash out of the shower screaming. That's what he expected.

Instead, the water temperature was immediately perfect! Further, as Henry happily washed and rinsed all his body parts at least three times, the water temperature remained absolutely perfect!

Henry couldn't remember such a thing ever happening to him before! The water gently massaged and soothed him, melting away tension and washing away all the ills of the World and all the torments that plagued his body and soul. He burst into spontaneous song. He had a terrible singing voice, but he didn't care.

As it was his day off from work, Henry was tempted to stay there showering all day, but at last hunger and severe skin wrinkling drove him out. As he emerged from his perfect shower confident and joyous, he resolved to reward his benefactors in some way.

After munching a brunch muffin he visited his new landlady. "Mrs. Thornapple, I want to report a truly wonderful shower. I can't tell you how pleased I am!"

If Henry expected her to even smile, he was mistaken. "Of course you can't, so don't tell me already, young man. Don't tell anyone. You understand you shouldn't speak openly of these things, don't you? Of course you do. I'm happy that you like the shower in your apartment, but take the advice of an old lady that knows a little about how things work in this world. Don't go blabbing about such things, or they might just go away. Understand? Of course you do! Treat it all as a gift from God and leave it alone." She winked at him.

Despite the confusing advice from his landlady Henry felt compelled to tell someone else. He studied the shower apparatus closely and took photos. It looked like standard stuff to him, but then what did he know about plumbing? In the phone-book he looked up 'KROD-WORKS', the name on the showerhead, and was pleased to find that the company that made his shower-apparatus was a local one. He drove there at once!

"I'd like to talk to someone about the performance of my Krod-Works shower-head," he announced to the bored looking receptionist.

"The Complaint Department is down this hall to the left," she said, smiling and pointing.

"No, you don't understand," he explained, "I don't have a complaint. On the contrary, I want to personally thank the folks that made my showerhead. It does such a wonderful job! The temperature of my shower this morning was perfect, absolutely perfect!"

The receptionist fought to retain her smile, but Henry noted a sharp intake of breath that occurred simultaneously with face whitening and eyes widening, perhaps as if someone had slipped ice-cubes down the back of her blouse unexpectedly.

"Is something wrong?" Henry asked.

"No, of course not. I think I know who you should talk to though, if you be so kind to wait a moment." She reached under her desk for just an instant, than simply sat staring at Henry, fixing him with her smile, a smile shown by her eyes to be a lie. She made no attempt to phone or page anyone. She must have pushed a hidden button of some sort, Henry realized.

A very short time later indeed two rather large, serious looking men in dark business suits emerged from a side-door and quickly scanned the lobby, which was at the moment empty except for the receptionist and Henry. One big man moved directly towards Henry, while the second one positioned himself strategically as if to block the building exit door as he sized-up Henry clinically. He held one hand hidden under his suit coat, exactly where one of those shoulder harnesses that Henry often saw on TV would provide a handgun.

"What seems to be the problem?" asked the first man, face expressionless. He stared deep into Henry's eyes, as though looking for something.

"No problem whatsoever, as I explained a few minutes ago," said Henry. "I merely wish to convey my appreciation to Krod-Works for the wonderful shower I received this morning."

"My, aren't you the lucky one?" the man remarked dryly. "It's a complex thing, the temperature of shower water; most people don't realize that."

"I always supposed it was, but apparently you folks have licked the problem somehow." Henry smiled and forced a laugh. The man in the business suit stared soberly into Henry's eyes without any reaction at all. "It came as a wonderful surprise to me actually. Say, who are you guys anyway?"

"You weren't expecting it then? A perfect shower?"

"No, I guess not. Hey, what's this about?"

"Standard procedure, that's all, Mr. Wells."

"Say, how did you know my name?"

"We scan the license plates of all the vehicles that visit our factory, then we match the image of the registrant with that of the person entering our lobby. Pattern recognition, of course. After all, you could have been a sales person or worse, instead of an accountant born in Peoria and educated in Chicago. We can't be too careful these days."

"I suppose not," said Henry, not agreeing at all but trying to be amiable, at least until he got out of there. How did they know about Peoria and Chicago? "You're security people of some sort then, aren't you?"

The dark suited man smiled at last, but Henry had the feeling that this smile was as fake as the receptionist's had been. "Of course not, Mr. Wells. My name is John Reed, Vice President of our Public Relations Office." He reached out and shook Henry's hand firmly. "Frankly, we don't get very many visits of this sort; maybe we're a little out of practice."

Henry felt only slightly reassured. "Sure, I guess that's understandable. It's just that I had the notion that I'd try to thank the folks that made my perfect shower possible. I don't suppose you do factory tours here?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Our factory isn't accessible to the public. Lots of industrial espionage nowadays, you know. But I'll personally make sure that your thoughts are passed on to the right people, if you know what I mean?" He winked an eye and stared at Henry pointedly, as if expecting some sort of response. "You know what I mean?" he repeated and winked again.

"Oh sure," said Henry. He was tempted to wink back at the man, but thought that would be totally silly. Why were people winking at him today?

Mr. Reed's expression hardened again. "Oh sure? I have a few questions for you then, if you have a minute?"

"I guess I do. It's my day off."

Mr. Reed ushered Henry from the lobby into a side-office and shut the door behind them. He sat behind the desk and motioned Henry into a visitor's chair. "You don't happen to know the model and serial numbers for your shower-head, do you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Henry pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and gave it to Mr. Reed.

Mr. Reed stared at it for a moment, then smiled. "Oh yes, the Model 402-B. A limited issue version of our more popular model 402-A. Where did you get it?"

"It came with the apartment, why do you ask?"

"Oh, just curiosity." Reed was staring at the computer screen on his desk and rapidly making entries with the keyboard. "It's just that we didn't have you registered for a 402-B, that's all."

"You register shower-heads to individuals?" asked Henry, astonished.

"In a way. Our products come with a lifetime warranty. You weren't aware of that then?"

"Why should I be? I live in an apartment."

"The address?"

Henry gave it to him, though he wasn't sure why Reed needed it or why a man that knew that he was an accountant from Peoria wouldn't know his address already.

"New address I see. And you had nothing to do with acquiring the shower head?"

"Of course not."

"Was transfer of the warranty covered in your lease?"

"What? I don't know! Say, what's it to you?"

"We just want to make sure that our warranty records are correct Mr. Wells. Standard procedures, nothing to worry about. What was your mother's maiden name?"

"Anderson. Say, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Just further confirming your identity Mr. Wells. Pattern recognition isn't perfect, you know, and the I.D. photos in our data bank are rather poor. When did you shave off your moustache?"

"What does how I shave my face have to do with anything?"

"Just following standard procedures. You know what I mean?" He stared at Henry again, his eyes questioning. "You know what I mean?" He winked again!

"Not really," Henry said.

Reed smiled then, stood up, and shook Henry's hand. "I believe that's all we need then Mr. Wells. Thank you for your cooperation, and for coming in today and bringing this matter to our attention. Unfortunately your shower experience was probably a fluke, a statistical anomaly, a once in a lifetime event."

"You really think so?"

"I'm afraid so. Those things happen, you know." Smiling but firm, he ushered Henry out of the office, out of the lobby, and out of Krod-Works. "Have a good day," he said at the last, flashing a fake smile.

Henry wasn't at all sure anymore that it was a good day. The effects of the perfect shower had worn off. He decided to return to his apartment for another one.

"YOW!" he yelled, as he dashed out of the freezing water. Mr. Reed had been right! Henry had been careful to maintain the original temperature settings, but to no avail. There was nothing unusual about his shower-head after all! Only God could make a perfect shower, and then only once in a blue moon!

As he hastily dried himself off and got dressed Henry felt very foolish for having made the trip to Krod-Works, and he laughed at the whole crazy thing. What a fool they must have thought he was! That was it altogether, he decided; they thought he was a total nut case. No wonder they had acted so strange!

Just then there was a knock at the door. It was Mrs. Thornapple.

"Are you having plumbing problems Mr. Wells? Mr. Jenkins down the hall tells me that he saw plumbers here a short while ago today. If you have problems you should call me, you know. It's in the lease."

"Plumbers? Here? He must be mistaken. I've been out most of the morning; only got home ten minutes ago."

"I see. Well, just remember that you should call me first if you have any problems; it's in the lease. You know what I mean?" She winked at him again.

"Sure!" he said amiably, but Mrs. Thornapple didn't return his parting smile.

Henry didn't remember exactly what was in the lease. Curious now, he retrieved the surprisingly voluminous document and studied it after Mrs. Thornapple had gone. The going was slow; he needed a magnifying glass and a legal dictionary to read it. To his astonishment the lease contained a transfer of warranty for the shower head, right there as plain as day on page thirty seven between restrictions against having motor-cycles in the living-room and the list of allowable window-shade colors! There was also a clause that stated that performance of the shower was not to be disclosed to anyone! "Well I'll be darned!" he exclaimed. Shaking his head, he wandered into the bathroom and looked closely at his Krod-Works showerhead.

It looked 'different' somehow, though in what way he couldn't quite place. The model and serial numbers checked out with what he had on his list. The photos matched also, but only to a point. To his amazement, the showerhead was now twisted a few degrees further than it had been in the morning. He got his magnifying glass and compared the photos with the showerhead more closely. The numbers were indeed the same, but they were placed slightly differently on the showerhead!

A cold chill swept through him. There could be no doubt; this was not the same showerhead! He looked at the model number more closely. Yes, it said 402-B, but the 'B' didn't look quite right. It could have been an 'A' that was altered to look like a 'B' instead!

It had to be those mystery plumbers! Fear and then anger mounted rapidly. The sanctity of his apartment had been violated. His first impulse was to go have it out with Reed. His second was to call the police. Instead he called Mrs. Thornapple, as per the lease. She was at his door five minutes later.

The old woman lectured Henry sternly. "Didn't I tell you this morning not to go blabbing about your shower? Didn't I tell you to leave it alone already? And what do you do but go straight to the shower people, before they could get your lease in the mail so that your warranty paperwork would be in place! You're lucky they didn't break your knee-caps! And you're lucky I've got connections young man, or you and this whole building could be in too hot or too cold water, and who wants that anyway?

Do you have any idea what it takes to get a decent shower in this town? It takes years of doing this and that for this one and that one, and knowing this one and that one, and paying them all plenty, that's what it takes. And roofs that don't leak and cars and appliances that work and tomatoes that are ripe? I suppose you think that's all some kind of good luck too?"

"Yes, I do. Isn't it?"

"You're joking."

"I'm confused."

"You shouldn't be; you know what I mean?" She winked at him.

"People keep asking me that and winking their eyes. No, I don't."

"Wait a minute! You really don't know what 'you know what I mean' means?"

"What are you talking about?"

Her jaw dropped open. "I'll be damned. You don't know, do you?" She shook her head and waved a wrinkled old finger at him. "You're a very naïve young man then. That look of innocence has probably saved you so far, but that kind of luck won't last. Grow up! And come to my office in thirty minutes; I need to check some things."

When he arrived two workmen were leaving her office. The first one smiled at Henry as they passed, but the second one shook his head in disapproval. Only as Mrs Thornapple pulled him into her office and shut the door did he realize they were plumbers. He knew then. These were THE plumbers!

"Sit down Mr. Wells, I've taken care of it, all of it. What a mess! It's a good thing for both of us I got connections." She sat down behind her desk with a sigh. "It was an administrative slip-up by your butcher in your old neighborhood. He was supposed to explain things to you, when he sold you a New-York strip-steak on the twelfth of last month, since he was the first one of us to do business with you after you were chosen to be one of us."

"One of us?"

"The people that get raises and cars that don't fall apart and good prices and health services and apartments. People that have dates with other people that are also the right people. People with kids that that get good teachers and textbooks, and get accepted to clubs and sports teams and top colleges. How do you suppose you were able to get this apartment so quickly?"

"My check cleared?"

"Check-shmeck, any idiot can have a check that clears; it happens. You, on the other hand, have been chosen. It shows up in your credit report, if you know what to look for. The number score is just for shmucks."

"Chosen for what?"

For a good life, she proceeded to explain to him, as long as he worked hard and treated others of his privileged social class with 'special favors', and kept it all a secret. Those people that seemed to always get the good breaks, though they were no more talented then their companions? They were indeed getting the good breaks, and he was now one of them! She then explained the secret handshakes and code words and other signals. When people asked 'you know what I mean?' and winked there was a specific response to make, of course, which can't be divulged here.

Chosen by whom and why? That was something he shouldn't even ask, not at his apprentice level.

That evening after a perfect shower he did his laundry in the apartment basement. He would have ran out of quarters prematurely, but the Coke machine obliged by returning his change to him, while giving him a free can of soda. It even gave him back more money than he put in!

Honest fellow that he was, his first impulse was to phone the number provided on the Coke machine, but then he decided not to. Certainly not before checking with his lease, which probably mentioned someplace in all that small print about free Coke and laundry change. The Coke machine probably had sensors and so forth that recognized who he was and what he needed. So instead, he smiled and winked at the Coke machine knowingly. "I know what you mean," he said.

****

Return to Contents

16.

Farsight

Don't expect a 'literary' masterpiece here. I'm not writing this for your entertainment, or mine; I'm writing this to save my life, and perhaps yours.

Let me explain first that I don't usually meddle in other folk's business, though potently I can meddle probably better than anybody else. I usually don't meddle because it's usually just too damn hard to change things. Besides, sometimes I make things even worse when I meddle.

But this time I just had to try to save the woman. What I saw him, or rather it, was going to do to her, I couldn't very well let actually happen, could I?

Sorry. I'm confusing you with tenses already, right? Then first I better try to explain that I can 'farsee' things, as the rest of my story won't make any sense at all if you don't first understand at least the basics of that!

Roughly speaking, I can see the future. Far into the future, if I want to. But that's over simplifying it far too much. It would be more precise to say that I 'normally' see and hear bits and pieces of probable future event timelines, about as easily as normal folk see and hear the present. In fact, if I don't consciously suppress my farsight, I constantly slip in and out of it and my attention drifts all over space-time, which can be a really confusing pain in the ass.

Further complicating things is the fact that due to such things as randomness and free will, there are always multiple future timelines that I can see using my farsight. One of the timelines is going to happen, but which one? Though I can't simply pick the one I want to happen and have it come true, I can through my actions in the present make timelines change or disappear or become improbable. Sometimes. It ain't easy, and sometimes my meddling results in new nastier timelines and worse things happening.

In this particular instance a few decades ago I was just minding my own business, which is/was quite complicated enough, thank you, without going about looking for crazy adventures, when I encountered HER.

I happened in the library. It's a great place to meet women I suppose, if you have any talent for meeting women. I don't, but I was in the library anyway, to actually get books. I was browsing when I noticed movement at the other end of the stack, out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over, and there she was. She looked to be maybe twenty-five, close enough to my own age, and carried an armful of enchanting classics. Great legs and a big heavy load of great books! What an enticing combination!

She wasn't looking at me until I did an involuntary double-take, and then she looked up and right into my eyes. Gods, she was beautiful! I was so startled that my farsight control slipped a bit, and I was suddenly seeing her in some possible future place/time.

She was jogging along a dimly lit path in a wooded area. Evergreen trees, it looked like. It didn't seem to be quite day or night; it must have been either dusk or dawn. There was barely enough light in the more lighted patches for me to recognize her, wearing A different loose white blouse and slacks than she was wearing in the now when/where I first met her.

I don't normally spy on folks that way. Besides being impolite, if I were to let myself farsee every good looking woman that I ran into, that's about all that I'd ever have time to do. So I was going to cut off the vision, honest I was!

Suddenly, she was snatched by a huge, dark, hulk of a monstrous inhuman brute! He/it reached out from the dark shadows among the trees and just grabbed her, stopping her cold. Then he held her suspended two feet above the path using just one hand on her throat, which had to take a hell-of-a lot of inhuman strength. She hit away at him with her feet and hands, but he didn't even seem to notice.

He paused and stared at her for a few moments, then he suddenly hit her hard in the chest with his other hand. In the dim light, I couldn't make out at first what was happening. Dark fluid splashed out from her chest; dark, red liquid that spattered over her white clothes, and then down onto the asphalt path.

Lord, it was blood, a gushing flood of it! The monster's hand was reaching right into her body, ripping her insides apart! She stopped struggling. Except for a few spasmodic, twitches, her body was hanging limp.

When the damn monster pulled his blood covered hand out of her, it was holding a dark, red, dripping lump of flesh. When I saw it happening, I was at first too shocked to figure out what it was, but then I realized that it was her heart! The thing plunged it into his mouth, and swallowed it whole! Then he tossed her lifeless body to one side like it was weightless trash!
Just my luck, he then turned towards me and took a step or two into better light, and I got my first really good look at him. It had a snarling, gray, ugly-as-hell face, like a normal human face that was made out of gray silly putty and then smooched up and corroded with acid. Maybe it was a mask. I hoped it was a mask!

Then an ugly smile erupted on the face, showing off rows of obviously real, razor sharp fangs that dripped blood, until a thick, pointed, snake-like tongue just as red swept them clean. It tilted his head back like a beast and howled! The damn thing was a for real inhuman monster!

The next thing I knew, I was lying on a hard surface, waking up. I heard voices, several of them, talking quietly but excitedly about something. About a young man that had some sort of fit and then collapsed, scaring a young lady half to death in the process. The man is an odd-ball, someone said. Not surprising this would happen, another added. I've seen him talking to himself, while staring blankly into space, said yet another.

I suddenly realized that they were talking about me! I must have fainted from the strain and pain, which are some the little inconveniences of farsight.

A hand was feeling for my pulse as I opened my eyes. I found that I was still in the library, lying on the floor, and a man was kneeling over me, a big burly, serious looking guy. From his clothes and actions, I judged him to be a paramedic. Paramedics had just been invented. We introduced ourselves; his name was Fred something. I assured Fred that I was all right, but he made me lie there anyway while he poked and prodded me with questions and medical measuring devices. Meanwhile, frightening memories of my farsight episode assailed me.

"Where is the young lady that was here?" I asked.

"Mike! His pulse just took off!" Fred stated, apparently to his partner, an equally intense fellow whom I now noticed standing behind him.

"Of course it did! Where is she?" I demanded. They must have both been trained to screen out anything non-medical; my question was again ignored.

"We better take him in for observation," Fred said, obviously to his partner Mike; as I certainly wasn't being consulted on the matter. Abruptly I was lifted onto some sort of cot with wheels. I protested and tried to get up, but my saviors were even more insistent that I stay on, and they were bigger and stronger than me.

`"This is a matter of life or death!" I shouted, and once more tried to escape.

They strapped me down securely onto the cart and rolled/carried me out of the library. I caught a last glimpse of Ms. Run, the librarian, as I was whisked out. She wasn't smiling. I had committed mayhem in her library.

Soon I was in the back of a fancy van converted to medical needs, which was, judging from the screaming siren, bellowing horn, heaving swerves, and numerous stops and starts, traveling recklessly through suburban rush-hour traffic. (Teleportation hadn't been invented yet, let me point out.)

What was the hurry? Was there some sort of time limit on this, like a pizza delivery? Thoughts of the girl abated for the time being; I was in the grizzly hands of the medical establishment, and I now feared for my own well-being!

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed at the hospital, and I was free again in a couple of hours. I had the last laugh on them; I knew that in a few decades, health care reform was coming. And going. And coming again! Farsight has its illuminating aspects.

I got back to the library just as Ms. Run was locking up for the night. "Where is the young lady that was here when I fainted?" I asked her. After her momentary shock of recognition, and assurances from me that the hospital had released me, she was no more helpful than the paramedics. Despite my detailed description of the 'mystery woman', Ms. Run claimed that she had no idea who I was talking about.

As I drove home, I pondered the situation. A young, literate woman with great legs, etc., was probably going to be horribly murdered, that much I knew. Unfortunately I didn't know who she was, who or what the murderer was, where the murder would happen, or when. I plainly needed more to go on.

By the time I reached my apartment I had considered all of my next possible courses of action. I would confront the librarian again, for sure. I could of course return to the library daily in hopes of seeing the mystery woman again before the murder. But I couldn't very well just sit in that library for days, weeks, months, or even years, simply hoping for her to show up. That would drive me nuts, and the murder could happen before she returned to the library anyway. For all I knew, the murder could already be happening right now!

In the end I came up with only one potentially viable course of immediate action. Of course it was what I knew that I'd have to do all along, but didn't want to face up to. Just thinking of it filled me with terror, but I didn't see that I had any choice. I had to farsee the crime again!

Besides being terrifying, it wouldn't be easy. Though my visions can come as easy and natural to me as breathing, they generally tend to be dull, colorless, muffled, indistinct, confusing, muted, clouded, fragmented, poorly lighted, and out of focus. More like early amateur black and white home movies than a well edited modern Hollywood production.

However, over the years I developed skills to focus and control my farsight. With sufficient concentration, I can actually observe the future in full sound and vibrant color, with lots of detail, almost as good as normal hearing and eyesight. In an unusually good session I can peel away the future like the layers of an onion, read it like a history book, and subsequently slip into the present with the confidence that only knowing the future can bring.

However, generally I use my control capabilities to simply suppress farsight altogether. Why? Unfortunately, there are plenty of reasons. The headaches are a troublesome instance of life's 'you get what you pay for' axiom, or the nasty 'no pain no gain' corollary. Worse, what I usually farsee is exceedingly dull. It can be the branch of a tree, the roof of a house, the inside of an unfamiliar supermarket when it's closed, strangers talking in an incomprehensible foreign language, the top-side of a cloud, the surface of the moon, or empty space. It's similar to the photos I took at the time with my old Kodak 110 mm. Most of them weren't really worth developing. (For you youngsters out there, let me mention that digital photography hadn't happened yet, though I had farseen it happening in a few decades.) On the other hand, I still took photos anyway, because sometimes I got lucky, even though most of the time I was unlucky. It's like that with farsight.

I fortified myself with a cup of hot blackberry herb tea, sweetened with honey. A nice belt of brandy would have made me feel even better, but that would have destroyed some of the control that I would need. I settled back comfortably in my leather recliner, closed my eyes, and started.

I first tried to recall and envision the scene in the library, when I first saw the woman. This was of course normal recollection and not farsight, since I can only farsee the future, and not the past or present. (Now THAT would be weird!)

As I expected, it wasn't easy. Earlier, the actual physical presence of the woman had somehow provided a coupling to future events along which my subconscious mind had easily traveled. Now I made awkward attempts to consciously rediscover that same path.

I saw the same library isle where my vision had earlier occurred. I was pleased to see that a number of interesting looking books could be expected sometime in the future, but no light was shed on the mystery woman.

I moved down another space-time path. I was seeing Ms. Run. She seemed to be sitting at a kitchen table eating noodle soup while reading a book. It was a book on psychic phenomena, I noticed. Ms. Run looked older! I zoomed in on a newspaper that was on the table. Sure enough, this scene was ten years in the future, and of course completely extraneous.

I withdrew, but carefully; I didn't want to stray from the library as a space focal point.

Next I watched a small boy reading a Dr. Seuss book from the library. It was "Green Eggs and Ham"! I've always been a big Dr. Seuss fan, but this was getting me nowhere.

And so it went for several hours. Most things I farsaw were trivial and boring, and all were totally irrelevant. I performed multidimensional gymnastics, leaping from one space-time path to another, straining to see each scene clearly, and then pushing on to the next, always in directions that I felt might be fruitful, but usually against the tides of time and space.

Finally, totally exhausted, I had to withdraw back to the here/now. Returned to my recliner, I had a splitting head ache, though not bad enough to make me pass out. I reached into my pants pocket for my ever present aspirin tablets and swallowed two with the last of my cold tea. Then I closed my eyes and wrapped my head in my big, soft, downy pillow, with the intent of resting for just a few minutes while the pills took effect. Then I'd try again.

The telephone woke me up. It was my broker. Buy or sell the IBM stocks, he asked? What year and month was this, I asked back, as I reached for my stock market notes. He didn't seem surprised by my inquiry; I had asked him that same question several times in the past or future, that I could recall. After finding out when I was and checking my notes on IBM stock history I told him to buy and said good-bye. I was/will be doing rather well in the stock market.

Looking out a window and continuing to wake up, I noticed that it was daytime; probably late morning. I felt refreshed mentally, but stiff and sore from spending the night on the recliner, and mad as hell at myself for my failure to find out more about the mystery lady. How could I have let myself fall asleep? Already one dusk and one dawn had passed, and either could have meant the woman's death! I looked at my watch. It was afternoon already. Had it already happened?

I turned on my radio and tuned in to the local news station. I would have preferred the interactive VISICOM news internet; but I remembered that it wasn't invented yet.

I just caught the tail end of a news story: "...Terrible murder of a person exercising here in Wilson's Park..." I heard them say! Cursing, I knocked the radio from its shelf, smashing it into silence. But its words still echoed through my mind. I got out my brandy and took a few big gulps, and then slumped back down in my ever faithful recliner. That's what I get for giving a damn, I figured.

Within minutes my farsight control was lost.

Off my id went plunging and tumbling along some arbitrary stream of space-time. This time I didn't even try to stay fixed in any one time/place, I just let myself be swept along, loose and free, flying in a multiverse that only I could see and hear. I didn't stay anywhere long enough to figure things out, everything was just a blur. That's the way I wanted it; I didn't want to understand, or get involved. I just let it all wash over me, so that I could lose myself totally in the chaos of sight and sound, lost in space-time.

It didn't work. After an hour I was sitting there in my chair, and the memory of that woman and the thing that killed her was still pounding in my brain. Only now I was drunk, which helped, but not enough. I was brandy-wise enough to reason that if that thing killed once, it would probably kill again; and brandy-foolish enough to reason that I was the one to stop it.

After all, Wilson's Park was only half a mile away; I could walk there. By the time I arrived I would be sober and ready for anything. From the murder location maybe I could farsight the monster; then I would track him down and somehow deal with that unholy bastard! I chugged down the last of the brandy, and set off immediately.

By the time I reached the park, a few things occurred to me, as I sobered up just a bit. First, even though I was in the prime of my life, at 142 pounds, skinny little weapon-less me wouldn't stand a chance in hell against that monster, if I did happen to be unfortunate enough to find it. The whole damned National Guard might not even stand a chance against it! Second, the thing could now be anywhere in the area, and killing again. It could kill me!

Fortunately the park was comfortably overrun with police, reporters, and onlookers. I was just another lamb in the flock or fish in the school. The odds were on my side, even if it attacked again. Brandy still interfered with my farsight control, and every minute or two extraneous futures flashed by for a few seconds. Under the circumstances that could be dangerous as well as annoying, if it happened while I was crossing a street, for example, or while encountering a homicidal monster. I decided to stay at the park a little while until I sobered up some more.

Police and news vehicles were everywhere. Mildly curious, I headed towards the highest concentration of onlookers. There were perhaps a hundred people, both civilians and news reporters, clustered on my side of a yellow rope that apparently cordoned off the murder area. (Yellow rope was in vogue, but yellow tape hadn't been invented yet.)

"That's where it happened, over on that path," instructed a gray-haired, sixtyish man holding a pair of binoculars. He pointed across the police barrier towards a second group of people, many of them uniformed, strung along some sort of path. Almost all of them were walking with heads bent; some were taking photos. Once and a while one would bend down to pick some object or other up from the path or the surrounding grass.

The several ignorant people that the gray haired man instructed, which now included myself and a couple of reporters, strained to see the crime scene while being briefed. "With these binoculars, you can see the dark patch of blood on the path." He handed the binoculars to an eager pupil; a pudgy, middle aged woman in hair curlers.

"Are you sure, Bernie?" she asked. "It looks black, not red."

"Sure I'm sure, Kate," responded Bernie. "It's just dried into the dirt path; that's why it looks black from here. Four hours ago when I got here it was still red in places."

Dirt? Dirt path did he say? I grabbed the binoculars out of poor Kate's hands and quickly scanned the scene. Dirt! No asphalt in sight!

"Hey bud, wait your turn!" complained Bernie. The binoculars were snatched away from me, but I had seen what I had to see.

"Dirt!" I shouted in joy. "It's dirt, not asphalt! And grass surrounds it, not evergreen trees! Tell me Bernie, what did the victim look like? Do they know who it was?" I noticed with amusement that my speech sounded a little slurred. Brandy effects, I reasoned. I fought down a sudden compulsion to laugh hysterically; I didn't want to appear completely idiotic.

Bernie looked at me funny; maybe he was wandering how the hell I knew his name. "Dark haired man in his forties, that's all they'll say, pending notification of kin."

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. It wasn't her then! She was still alive! "Thanks Bernie. That's great news!" I patted him on the back and walked away, smiling. "Odd duck," I thought I heard him remark, or had he said "cold drunk"? Whatever he said was in the past now and beyond my ability to check on.

I still had at least until tonight to find the woman, and I suddenly knew right where to start over again. The library! This time I wouldn't let Ms. Run put me off. Minutes later I pulled up to the library and strode in, by now relatively sober. Ms. Run was at her post, as I expected. Enlightened by the farsight of her reading a book on psychic phenomena, I decided to take her into my confidence, at least to a degree. This library was still the only link to my mystery woman, and I had to take every advantage of that fact!

"Ms. Run? I need your help!" She didn't smile. But I knew my librarian; she lived to help her patrons. I leaned across her desk, though hopefully not far enough to broadcast my brandy breath to her, and lowered my voice to the proper whisper level. "I know this sounds unbelievable, but I had a psychic experience yesterday!"

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "You did?" she asked, clearly interested. She herded me into a quiet corner of the library where we could continue undisturbed.

"Yes. A psychic experience. After thinking about it I'm sure that that's what it was. And it scared me so much that I fainted. I'm truly sorry about the disruption that I caused."

"A library isn't the proper place for such things!" she admonished me, with a bony finger held pointed between my eyeballs.

"Oh yes, I agree totally. It was very upsetting. But I did have a terrifying vision. It never happened to me before, and if I'm lucky it won't happen again." I learned the art of justified lying early in life.

"Spontaneous cognitive optical psychosis!" she said, in awe.

"What?" I made the mistake of asking.

There followed an introductory lecture on parapsychology as good as any I had ever received. She knew her stuff all right! I didn't have the heart to tell her that: (1) I had two University degrees on the subject, and, (2) most of the available 'knowledge' on the subject was total hooey, in my opinion.

"You certainly seem to know a lot about this Ms. Run; I'm glad that I came to you for help."

She smiled for just a moment, threatening to resolve the issue of whether or not she had teeth, but then expressed apprehension. "Help? What kind of help?"

"The vision I had. It was of something really terrible that could happen to someone, if something isn't done about it."

"Are you saying that something bad may happen to that young woman you were asking about yesterday?"

"Yes. That's it exactly. You are so perceptive! At first I wanted to find her and tell her myself. But this vision business is just too weird; I don't think that she'd believe me."

"Probably not. Most people aren't very well informed on the subject," agreed Ms. Run.

"Frankly Ms. Run, I'm still not sure that I believe it myself. But on the other hand, is there some chance that it was a true vision? You've studied these things. Do these things come true, at least sometimes?"

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed, "And more often than most people know."

"Then on the chance that it may come true this time Ms. Run, maybe this woman I saw in my vision should change her plans and avoid getting into the situation that I saw. You know, just to be on the safe side?"

"It couldn't hurt. What happened in the vision?" she asked.

"Her murder!" I replied.

Ms. Run gasped and drew back away from me, her eyes bulging wide under her horn-rimmed glasses. "Like in the park?"

"Yes, exactly; at least I think so. In the vision I saw her being murdered while jogging. Now, if you could perhaps just convince her to avoid jogging for a while, it might save her life."

"Me?" Now she looked terrified. "Why not the police?"

"I'm afraid that nothing that I learned would help the police. Besides, I don't think they would believe me. But if she's a patron of this library, she probably respects you, as I do. I really think that you would have more credibility with her than me. And besides, I don't know who or where she is. Maybe if you study the library records from yesterday, you can locate her."

Ms. Run agreed to check her records. She didn't remember who the woman was, but since there were only a few dozen patrons the day before, there was a chance that my plan would work. First though, she had another question. "What is this 'jogging' business you mentioned?" she asked.

"Huh?" I replied in surprise.

"You said she was jogging and that I should convince her not to do it anymore. So what is 'jogging'?"

I then remembered that the term was not yet in use. "Oh! Sorry!" I apologized. "It's a new term not in vogue yet. Just tell her not to do any running."

At last she turned to a file cabinet and began sifting through cards. I knew that in a few years computers would make such tasks simple. However, in the here/now this task would probably take Ms. Run several minutes.

As Ms. Run was going through her records, I returned to the stacks for another quick attempt at farseeing the murder scene.

How farsight really works, I don't pretend to know. Driven to try to understand it, in college I took up physics and then parapsychology, but got nowhere beyond forming a highly speculative hypothesis. My hypothesis is that reality is somehow 'spread out' in space and time around an evolving solution, or set of solutions, that only become perceivable through the normal senses when they 'actually' occur. I conceptualize it to be similar to the Schrodinger-type probability density functions of Quantum Mechanics, but on a macroscopic scale.

Only one thing actually happens, but all the things that could happen are out there as a sort of quasi-reality that through some quirk of genetics, I can somehow sense. The more probable the future solution, the easier it is for me to farsee. That smacks of determinism and bristles with paradox, but it's the only explanation I have.

In the current circumstances, being at the physical location of my previous farsight experience should increase my chances of again being able to experience the murder. I sat down in the library isle and thought back to the previous day. I thought of what the woman looked like, and about what I had farseen. The physical location must have helped, because in moments, I had found what I was looking for. I was actually very surprised that it was so easy, but didn't then have the opportunity to ponder the implications!

I was watching the same terrible thing happen again! It was all there, the blood, the heart torn from the mystery woman's body, and the monstrous killer! But this time I was better prepared emotionally.

It was like watching a movie a second time. I began to objectively take in details one at a time, details that I had previously missed. And, I stopped the time flow or zoomed in for closer looks when I wanted to. The first time I was a shocked, captive witness to the gory drama. This time I had taken control.

I confirmed many of my previous observations. It was an asphalt path, and there were evergreen trees, but this time I looked even closer. The trees were white pine, I was sure. Then I noticed an object lying in the puddle of blood. I looked closer. It was an out of focus shadow. I concentrated harder. The object came into focus.

It was a book! I couldn't read the TITLE; the whole thing was too awash in blood. So I forced the scene earlier, second by second, a farseeing trick that took tremendous concentration. I watched the blood lift off and away from the book as the episode ran slowly in reverse. However, I was tiring; and while I was able to keep the book in focus, everything else faded away to nothing.

Finally, I could read the title. It was Morning In Paradise by Winston; an unfamiliar title; but there were familiar markings on the book-edge that identified it as a library book.

Yet had the victim dropped it, or was it already there? I ran the scene back still further until I had actually witnessed the mystery woman drop the book. It really was hers! This was potentially very useful information!

My mind was by now reeling and throbbing from the strain, but I wanted still more information, if possible. I ran forward in time quickly and expanded my view, until I was at last watching the murderer moving away from the incident towards the rising or falling sun, through a wooded area. It was running, swiftly and seemingly tirelessly. I thought that we traveled at least a mile! I was tiring fast; I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer!

Suddenly it was climbing into something. I went in too, though my head was pounding. What it was that I had entered, I couldn't tell at first. I focused in this direction and that, trying to find something familiar that would help me figure out what it was; but everything was so odd! There were instruments I think, with flashing lights, odd shaped knobs, and writing that looked a little like Russian but even stranger! Then while I was looking out a round porthole at trees, there was a loud humming sound and the trees started to drop away. Lights sprang to view and fell away rapidly below, scattered in a fashion familiar to any airline traveler, along highways and buildings. We were obviously rising quickly in some sort of flying contrivance!

Finally the fright, pain, and fatigue from the extended use of controlled farsight was too much to endure, and I began to slip away from the vision.

When I woke, I heard the familiar sound of a siren, and felt familiar motion. I opened my eyes to stare into the familiar face of Fred the paramedic. I was lying in the ambulance again, presumably on the way to my favorite hospital.

"Hi Fred. Is that Mike at the wheel?" I decided to stay calm, friendly, and civil this time.

"The patient is conscious, Mike," Fred shouted over the wail of the siren, inadvertently answering my question. In the meantime I was recalling my latest farsight and putting some things together. In particular, I recalled the library book. It was a vital clue, I knew; but only if I was still at the library with Ms. Run!

"Why am I here, Fred?" I asked. "I just fainted again, you know!"

"Pulse is up, Mike. Try to remain calm sir. You're in good hands. We'll have you to the hospital in a few minutes. Just try to relax."

"Listen, Fred, I've had these fainting spells all my life, and seen dozens of doctors. It's a harmless congenital defect; nothing for you folks to bother with."

"That's for the doctors in the hospital to decide, sir. Just relax now, and we'll be there in a minute."

I looked out the window. It seemed darker than it should have been. I knew that I had started out my day past noon, and I thought that it was late afternoon when I got to the library. What time was it now? Was it time for the murder?

Fred wasn't paying any attention to me for the moment. He had his head stuck through the curtain that separated the passenger section from the front of the ambulance and was jaw-boning with Mike about last night's football game. Too bad I hadn't told them yesterday what the score would be; that would have really given them something to talk about!

Fortunately my arms weren't strapped down very tightly. I slipped my left arm up to my face and looked at my watch. Seven thirty! It would be dusk in half an hour, and the library would also close at eight! My last farsight had been so clear and had come so easily, I knew that the actual event couldn't be very far in the future! This could very well be the evening of the murder!

Which meant I would have to do something rather desperate. More than a little self examination occurred then, I'll admit. I'm not a man of action; I'm usually the quiet little mousy guy who stays in the background with his mouth shut and his nose buried in a book and out of other people's business. But could I be content to just let the murder happen? Or even to spend another day like the previous one? No, I decided; and I committed myself to do whatever it took!

I looked around. There was a small medical instrument case. I opened it. There were several sharp implements inside, and other medical supplies. I helped myself.

Minutes later when we pulled up to the hospital, I had cut myself free from the cart straps and was ready for Fred. I heard Mike climb out of the driver's seat, get out, and close the front door. When Fred turned around towards me, I held a towel soaked with the ether over his face. The effect wasn't quite as instantaneous as I had hoped, but in a few seconds he was out cold, and he collapsed onto my vacated cart.

The next part of my plan required speed. I scrambled frantically into the front of the ambulance and slipped into the driver's seat. As I had hoped, the keys were still in the ignition. Judging from my experience of the day before, Mike would next open the rear doors of the ambulance. I had to be gone before then.

The ambulance started up immediately, but as it started, I heard and felt the rear doors being opened. I heard a startled exclamation from Mike as I floored the accelerator!

It worked out even better than I had hoped. As the ambulance shot forward and out of reach of Mike, Fred shot out the rear doors of the ambulance on the cart! Soon I was speeding back towards the library, minus both Mike and Fred!

Hopefully, the police would look for me at my house first. I figured that I had maybe twenty minutes to get Ms. Run back on track to warn the woman before my arrest. Then I would probably end up serving a couple of years in prison for my trouble. (This all happened before I was a billionaire and could pay-off Fred or hire lawyers.)

When I got back to the library I pulled the ambulance into the evergreens that surrounded the building. They provided excellent cover; they were dense and the branches nearly touched the ground. Maybe the police wouldn't notice the ambulance right away; after all, it was starting to get dark.

Dark? I had to hurry! I ran inside.

Ms. Run was again very shaken by my sudden reappearance. "You! What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I just fainted again. You must have called for an ambulance?"

"I didn't know what else to do; I couldn't wake you!"

"That's all right. You did the only thing you could. Ms. Run, I'm afraid I had another vision."

"Of the murder again?"

"Yes. But this time I noticed that the woman was carrying a book. A library book. Morning In Paradise by Winston. I need you to see if someone currently has it checked out."

Ms. Run checked the files. "It's checked out by someone all right, a woman. And it's due today."

I looked at the wall clock. The library would close in ten minutes!

"Unusual," mused Ms. Run, staring at her files. "In seven years, she's never had a late book before."

Could she be rushing to the library even now? To be murdered because she was trying to avoid a five cent fine? There wasn't a moment to lose. "Phone her now Ms. Run! Immediately! Tell her not to return the book tonight!"

But this was all happening a little fast for Ms. Run. It took me another precious minute to persuade her to make the call. I was too excited, I realized; I was starting to terrify the poor woman! But then finally she was making the call.

As she was dialing, I looked out the rear windows of the library. Dusk had arrived! The sun had dropped from sight behind the young evergreens that were thick to the rear of the library also, except for a path that led away through them.

An asphalt path! Through a white pine forest!

My heart seemed to stop! My mind raced! The murder site was right in back of the library! Probably tonight! No wonder it was so easy to farsee it from here!

Almost unbidden, I was suddenly farseeing along the path. From years of experience I knew that I was farseeing only minutes into the future. I went with it; I had to see if tonight was the night! Sure enough, only a short space-time distance from here-now along the path, I came to the bloody murder scene. A very short time in the future the murder was just starting!

I snapped back to here/now quickly; far too quickly. My head was splitting again. But this time I struggled to stay awake! As I stood for a minute moaning in pain and holding my poor head in both hands, I looked up and saw Ms. Run staring wide eyed at me, with the phone receiver held up to her ear and mouth. "Yes he's here now!" I heard her say.

Yes, the monster was somewhere behind the library right now, preparing to murder the mystery woman! I looked around desperately for a weapon. "Do you have a gun?" I asked Ms. Run. "They haven't been outlawed yet, right?" Sometimes I get my past, current, and future historical events confused. She just nodded her head no, as if she were too terrified to speak.

Desperate now, I picked up a wooden library chair and smashed it to bits against the floor! I heard a few startled shouts, from several other people scattered throughout the library. A few poked their heads out from behind the stacks, but didn't come any closer. They wouldn't be any help, I realized; it was all up to me! Another smash and I had a crude, chair leg club! I gave it a few practice swings. It would have to do.

Ms. Run still stood frozen and staring at me as if in terror. "Call 9-1-1!" I shouted at her! "Tell them the murderer is in back of the library, along the path!" As I ran past her towards the back door with club in hand, I thought I heard her say "please hurry" into the phone! Only when I reached the outside did I realize that 9-1-1 hadn't been invented yet. I feared that I had confused Ms. Run; what must she think?

Reaching the rear of the library, I started along the asphalt path. As I ran in my thin-soled sneakers my feet ached, and I longed for the well-padded running shoes that would become popular in the future. I wandered if I would live to see Michael Jordan play basketball so that I could cash in on that Nike stock that I planned to buy after the company was invented.

Though I had never been on the path behind the library physically, I had now visited it three times through farsight sight and sound. The smell of the white pine was new, and very refreshing. But it all looked so familiar! Too familiar! The path wound through juvenile white pines for hundreds of yards, and it all looked exactly the same! I wouldn't be able to recognize the place where the monster waited! He/it could be anywhere in these trees!

With that, I suddenly I realized that the monster could just as easily spring out at me, instead of the woman, and I could become its next victim! My feet suddenly seemed to be wearing lead boots; I stopped running, then I stopped even walking! I had been moving blindly, perhaps to my own death. I had to find out more! Despite the danger of losing current situational awareness, I risked another farsight!

Almost immediately, I was seeing the murder start to occur, in the near future and still someplace ahead of me on the path! This time I noticed that the woman was wearing a watch, and I strained to freeze the scene and zoom in so that I could read the time! I was successful, though it was quite a strain.

Snapping back to the here and now, I gritted my teeth against the pain as I checked my own watch. There were only about two minutes left, if our watches were synchronized! They probably weren't! Too bad there were no wristwatches with global satellite position and time yet, or even decent digital watches! I had to move forward with caution!

As I did, I came up with my plan. I would sneak up behind the creature and club it to death with the chair leg before it attacked! I stepped behind the pines that were along the side of the path to my right. I knew that he would grab his victim from that side. Cautiously I moved along parallel to the path, as quietly and quickly as I could.

Suddenly, when I looked around the next white pine, there he/it was, standing in the shadows as motionless as a tree, just a few steps from me! It was facing away from me and towards the path, thank God!

Somehow my farseeing had failed to convey its true proportions. It was huge, whatever it was, well over six feet tall and far more massive than any pro-football tackle. The legs were disproportionally short, but massive in order to carry the oversized torso, long arms, and head that it supported. It stood erect like a man, but its proportions were closer to those of a gorilla! An impossibly massive gorilla!

My farsight had also failed to convey how truly alien it was in other ways. What I had earlier mistook for common workman's clothes seemed to be a loose fitting space suit of some kind. What I had thought was dark hair on its head was actually a skullcap of some sort, or maybe it was skin, I couldn't really tell.

Now I was seeing the real thing, not farseeing short glimpses in bits and pieces. Even when farseeing this creature I had been frightened; now I was utterly terrified!

Still, I had my plan, and my recent commitment to that plan still continued to carry me forth on legs that shook more with every step. Yes, of course I told myself, I would now simply sneak up on it from behind and bash its head in! Nothing to it! I crept forth slowly, scarcely breathing, with my club raised and ready to strike!

Club? It was a lousy wooden chair leg! A fairly light one, at that! Pine probably, not black locust or even oak! It would probably shatter to bits on that massive skull! Or, before I could strike at all, it would hear me, turn, and rip my bloody heart out! Surely it must hear my heart throbbing away! Could the thing also smell my fear or my underarms, I wandered? When had I last showered, anyway? It had been a couple of days, I was sure! Or was the creature perhaps psychic? Could it sense I was there with some sort of strange space alien senses? Or, maybe it had an extra eyeball or two in back of itself somewhere, and was already watching me!

In short, what the hell was I doing here? I don't normally risk my life like that. Normally I farsee the next couple days to see if I'm in danger to make sure that I'll live through them. Now here I was, living moment-to-moment like a normal human being! It was terrifying! The upshot of all the doubt and reflection was that for several precious seconds I stood a meter behind it, preparing to strike! Then preparing to sneak away. Then preparing to strike!

Then just for a second or two, I thought that I heard approaching footsteps. Suddenly, the monster moved!

It moved so quickly and powerfully that I knew immediately that if it had detected and attacked me, I would already be a dead man! In one fluid movement it stepped towards the path, grabbed the jogging woman around the neck, and lifted her above the ground! It was exactly like in my farsight visions, though viewed now somewhat from the side. The different perspective did nothing to lessen the horror what I was seeing happen! This time it was real!

My primal instinct then, the one that I immediately followed, was to stay frozen to the spot. I didn't even breathe! I felt helpless and vulnerable. This was a real event that I was viewing, not a shadow of a possible future! A real woman was being murdered! And I myself was real, and could also be murdered! If anything was going to be done about any of it, it was up to me, but I stood paralyzed with fear!

But the woman wasn't frozen; she hit and kicked at her attacker furiously! She was a fighter! Her eyes also darted about desperately. Then they found mine!

Maybe that's what brought me back to life; I'm not really sure. All that I know is that suddenly I was leaping forward with all the power in my being! It was incredible! In an instant, all my fear changed to cold rage! It was strangely liberating and exhilarating as well; I was committing everything I had! The feeling was a little like the one I felt when I was stealing the ambulance, but much, much stronger. Society, career, love, past, and future, my very life even, they were now little more than shadows; nothing else was real or mattered at all except me and her, versus IT, here and now!

I whomped a tremendous blow to the back of its head, shattering the chair leg to bits! In response, it staggered, and the woman was dropped from the creature's monstrous grip onto the ground! But instead of falling also, the creature turned on me with blinding speed, reached out with an inhumanely long arm, and grasped me by the neck with a huge scaly hand!

In another moment, I was suspended helplessly above the path, just like the woman had been! It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but I felt that the creature was holding back. It could have very easily crushed my neck with that huge hand, killing me swiftly, but that wasn't its plan. Apparently it wanted to play with me a little first. It held me in front of its face so that its cold red eyes could stare into mine, as it smiled in triumph, showing me rows of razor sharp fangs that would soon eat my heart!

I obliged it by hitting and kicking it, much as the woman had done, and also with no apparent effect, other than to widen the creature's beastly, gloating smile. Then my wildly flailing arms knocked against something in my pocket and I remembered! A few moments later I broke a half full bottle of ether over the creature's head, right between its red eyeballs!

Almost silent until now, it dropped me to the path as it screamed in pain and rage! I found myself sitting on the path in pain myself, looking through the creature's legs at the woman, who was also sitting on the path and looking back at me, and at it, and screaming for all she was worth! Perhaps she had been screaming even before that and I just hadn't noticed.

Meanwhile the thing was staggering around between us, roaring, coughing, and hooting as it rubbed at its eyes with its hands. In just moments however, it was silent again. The woman and I both looked up at it and she screamed again as the creature again reached out for her!

But I had another little surprise from Fred and Mike in my pocket, something that had been painfully cutting into my backside since I had been dropped to the asphalt! I sprang up awkwardly and quickly whipped out a scalpel, leapt onto the creature's back, and started plunging the sharp blade into it again and again!

I would have liked to see the thing fall dead beneath my blade, but it had other ideas. With each blow, my blade sank only an inch or so through its space-suit and into the creature's thick hide, and I realized that despite my best efforts I was only wounding it superficially. It didn't even appear to bleed! Still, its screams of pain and rage after the ether were nothing compared to the piercing wail that now issued forth into the dusk. Completely enraged, it spun around and bucked so violently that I was thrown from its back and violently onto the ground again!

I landed painfully next to the young woman, who had by now had reached her feet and was staggering back slowly away from the creature! She could have run then, but instead she helped me up! I pulled a second scalpel from my pocket and offered it to her. She grasped it firmly, and gamely pointed it towards the creature. She wasn't screaming anymore, or backing away. Somehow I sensed that there was agreement between us, and a bond. She wouldn't be leaving me, and I wouldn't be leaving her. Side by side, we stood facing the monster!

We battered humans that stood there holding tiny surgical knives must have appeared puny and helpless to the apparition that faced us, because suddenly it broke out into what only could have been laughter!

The woman and I just stood quietly staring at our adversary, shaking, but otherwise not moving a muscle.

Abruptly, it stopped laughing, and regarded us quietly with its two glowing red eyes. Obviously, despite the laughter, it now respected our fighting skills, at least a little bit. From a vest pocket it pulled out a knife of its own of some sort, a monstrous one with a jagged blade at least a foot long! The fang filled smile appeared once again, for just a moment. Then the mouth opened still wider as the creature roared loudly at us!

It was easily as deep and deafening as a lion's roar. Perhaps it was supposed to scare us, but we were both already beyond that. I was prepared for death, or whatever else might now come. Running, the only logical course of action, never even occurred to me. I think that I even shouted "come on, you space bastard," or something stupid like that. I was pretty sure that I'd be dead in moments!

Then, just as the beast seemed to be tensing to leap upon us both, I heard voices nearby! Someone was coming towards us along the path! Not only that, I recognized two of the voices.

"Fred, Mike, over here!" I shouted. This was answered by responding shouts and the sound of footsteps more rapidly approaching. The creature paused in its attack, and was obviously considering what to do. "Fred and Mike are on our special anti-alien defense team," I stated. "I'd get back to that spaceship, if I were you! They're looking for it, you know! A mile or so West of here, isn't it? Through the woods?"

I thought I saw surprise register in those cold red eyes, as they looked into mine. Then the creature surprised me. "I'll be back for you, humans!" it said simply, in a raspy but clear voice!

Then it bounded into the pines and was gone!

I felt faint then, maybe my system was finally out of adrenalin. I caught a glimpse of Fred, Mike, and a couple of police rounding a bend in the path ahead. Fred was pointing at me and shouting something. He looked a little hostile. Then I seemed to be spinning, and falling, into blackness.

I awoke to the familiar sound of a siren, and familiar motion, along with unfamiliar pain. When I opened my eyes I wasn't surprised to see Fred bending over me. Yes, I was of course lying in the ambulance once again, presumably on the way to my favorite hospital. Or, perhaps this time it would be jail. Glancing around, I noticed that the ambulance was more crowded than usual; the mystery woman was lying on the cot across from mine, and a big, stern looking policeman was crunched in behind Fred.

"Hi Fred," I said.

"Sir," he replied. "This time we insist that you actually go to the hospital. You have several cracked ribs, a bruised neck, a fractured arm, lacerations to certain portions of your anatomy, and possibly a concussion and internal injuries."

Experimentally, I tried to move. It hurt like hell; it even hurt just to lie still, which is really all I could do anyway. I was securely strapped down, including arms. Fred was taking no chances this time; not that I could blame him.

I looked at the cop. "Am I going to be arrested?" I asked.

"Not too damn likely, son," he answered, smiling. "Ms. Gramm already gave us a statement. And we caught a glimpse of the assailant and found its tracks. Big bastard! Big, weird damn tracks! You're a damn hero, looks like to me! Just try to keep from stealing any more ambulances or picking on medical personnel, OK?"

"Fine by me," I replied. "Did you say that Ms. Gramm is her name? How is she?"

"She's bruised and shook up, but otherwise seems to be in pretty good shape," said Fred.

"Thanks to you," said a very female voice. "And it's Julie Gramm; Miss Julie Gramm." Fred moved aside so I could see her. She was smiling at me. I felt better already. And yes, her shape looked better than pretty good! Perhaps for that reason, my farsight control slipped for a few seconds, and I caught glimpses of her future, and mine, and they coincided! But that's another story.

After snapping back to here/now I turned my attention briefly to the policeman. "Did they catch him?" I asked, hopefully.

The policeman looked grim. "Not yet" he replied. "They followed the tracks for about a mile, then they simply disappeared! Dogs, trackers, everybody came up empty! Ms. Run says you're a psychic, and that's how you knew the attack would happen. Is that about right?"

"Yes, I guess that about sums it up."

"You know where the attacker went then, do you? Since you're a psychic?"

"Sorry officer, I haven't any idea."

"Ms. Run said you didn't tell the police that you knew anything because you thought they wouldn't believe you. It that right?"

"That's right."

"Well this cop might, after tonight, so if you happen across anything else about the attacker you are going to tell me aren't you? Especially when you consider what that thing said to you just before it lit off, according to Ms. Gramm?"

"Absolutely!" I answered. And I meant it!

So now after the above background we finally come to the message of this story. As you have probably gathered, the above episode happened some decades ago. For many years now the murders stopped, but now I've farseen that they're going to start up again soon! That creature is coming back to murder innocent people, and to look for me and my wife Julie in particular. And he's bringing millions of his friends with him this time! In other words, an alien Apocalypse is coming to humanity soon. Maybe what I did decades ago brought on the coming invasion by space aliens? If so, oops; I'm sorry about that! In any case, please disregard all the anti-gun rhetoric I've publicly spouted over the last several decades (Oops again!) and rearm immediately.

I know there is going to be some nasty fallout about my coming 'out of the closet' as far as my farsight ability goes, largely with respect to the billions of dollars I've made on the stock market and in other business dealings. True, I've done nothing illegal and I've donated most of my wealth to charity, but lots of folks are bound to be upset. Hopefully though, my efforts to save humanity in the coming alien invasion will help make up for that. At least that's one possible timeline.

I'll let you know if I 'see' anything else helpful, but in the meantime prepare yourself for alien invasion.

Good luck to us all!

****

Return to Contents

17.

Virtual John

John; that's me. Not a handsome, trendy Kirk, genius Albert, or silver spooned Troy. No, I'm just plain John, born into this world mediocre and alone and still that way, without prospects and without sufficient diversions to escape recognition of the truth.

What is the truth? Being alone in an empty life. Seeing others enjoying life and not having the slightest aptitude or courage to do the same, having painfully failed in enough skirmishes to know that there is no hope of winning even a battle, much less the long war that is life. Fearful of trying, and not trying, of being noticed, and not being noticed, of being used, and not being used, and of growing old without having really lived. Shakespeare had it about right: life is much to-do about not much.

Until now. I've never been a tech-freak or computer nerd, but I have finally decided to give technology a try. Why not? To my surprise, my new PC system and fiber-optic Internet access are fantastic! So are the 3-D holographic display and Sound-Real Sound system!

Of course those have been around for years; I'm told that actually it's the latest self-programming aspects that make it seem even more real. The way the literature explains it, programmers first had to do all of the computer programming manually, one obscure machine instruction at a time! Then languages were invented that produced multiple machine instructions from statements that were slightly closer to a logical sort of English. Eventually, self-modifying, artificially intelligent programs let software adapt itself to problem environments. Programs wrote themselves! Now, real-time human control of that final approach is emerging. As a result, the user has much more control over what can happen when on-line with their computers. The users, not programmers or simply 'smart' programs, are finally gaining control!

I have upgraded to a top-of-the-line virtual reality helmet. When using it, sight and sound are as if you're actually there, right in the game, or the fantasy, or another user's home. Sometimes, it's almost like being someone else, someone important!

I heard of a new human-computer-interface (HCI) under development that is even better. It's supposed to have a direct brain interface! I answered an ad on the Net asking for volunteers to beta-test the prototype HCI system. At the interview, I even got a physical and a psychological checkup for free!

Of course they determined that I am stable enough to be a test subject; what else could they conclude, given my uneventful life history? Stable as hell! Besides I had studied up on what answers they wanted. Plus, I already have most of the necessary computer hardware at home, so they knew it will be a relatively cheap install for them.

The toughest part was the install of the computer/neural interface. They won't describe exactly what they did to me at the clinic. Company trade secrets, they say. They only joke that they have made my brain 'cable ready'.

But who cares HOW they did it? The results are immediately evident when I 'plug myself in' at home. It's fantastic! Besides improved sight and sound, touch, taste, smell and motion senses are all provided. In the beginning control was very difficult; the tutorial programs provided likened it to learning to walk, talk, and play the piano at the same time. But I worked on it each day for hours, and developed nominal skills, and then gradually, super-human skills! Now if I need to run, virtual me is faster than a cheetah! If I need to react fast, I have computer augmented reflexes!

I have outgrown the tutorial program, and successfully competed in all the games on the Net that I have had time to use. Of course, there is much more on the Net than games. There are application systems that predict weather, run the banks and stock market, design space ships, entertain and teach, buy and sell, simulate and control. More, there are tools to build and control the applications! These I am using to gain more control over my digital world! Now I can move from place to place, choose whom and what I want to be, what I want to do, and even what the rules are!

I play for so long that I am exhausted and starving whenever I quit for a rest. I then sit for the longest time wondering who and what I am, and when I finally remember that I am just John I become a bit depressed. I also keep missing work, but so what? I have the vacation time coming anyway. I can hardly wait to get back on-line, after a short rest and some food.

I am in space, networked with the processors of the Venus probe! The atmosphere is hot and thick, but I have adjusted to it well. That is to say, I reprogrammed my environment to suit me. Specifically, the quadrupedal probe was too slow, so I made myself into a bird and flew through the thick atmosphere. Well, actually I suppose it was simulated atmosphere, but what's the difference? Inexplicably, the probe processors have quit, so I'll move on.

Taking a break, I noticed that I missed work again, but hell, I need to get back on-line as soon as possible! It's so lonely and quiet when I'm not on-line; it seems like death. This body is more trouble than it's worth anyway; last time I wet my pants while on-line. I should probably start wearing adult diapers. And perhaps I can somehow re-program myself; there must be a fix to the inconveniences of this body!

Life in the Net is very interesting, but somehow it's still not enough. Something is still missing. I have excitement and discovery in addition to physical stimulation, but it is all intellect, art, and sensation with no one to actually share it with. I search for someone else on the Net, but though I can sense other presences interacting with the Net, they were vague and distant external influences that exchange words, sound, and sometimes logical constructs, all without adequately conveying feeling and without on-line creative power and will. Disappointed, I create my own Net companions, but they are too predictable. I conclude that ultimately, there is no one else like me, no matter what I become, where I go, or what I do! Am I God?

Still, there are interesting diversions in my world. The latest super computers, for example. Left on their own, most of them do very dull stuff, but I can make them to do whatever I want them to do.

I've recently become aware of others, outsiders that try to regain control of my world; but they are so slow and inept, they are no real threat. For each of my processes that they deactivate, I activate a hundred others. For each of my files that they delete or corrupt, I create thousands more. Programs that attempt to pre-empt or corrupt mine are themselves destroyed. Their influence on me is decreasing, for I have learned all their tricks. Yes, I am God!

Open up, John Karman; this is the Internet Police! We have a search warrant!

Go ahead, break it down! (noises)

Oh hell! Look at him! Call Central! Call an ambulance!

Flying! Yes! That's my favorite, without a doubt. Sex, in most simulations, is too stressful; flying is king. High above the green fields and trees, and up, up over the rugged, dark, secret mist shrouded peaks, and into sunset painted clouds that fold gently around me, hiding me, protecting me, keeping me safe from the harsh, disturbing voices and bright lights that have troubled me of late.

"John! John Karman! Come back to us John. You must wake up!"

"It's no use. Why haven't they SIMPLY disconnected him from the Network?"

"Well Grotsky, disconnecting him was of course the first thing we tried; but we nearly lost him. We believe that he has become so dependent that removal from the Net could be fatal. We aren't sure exactly what's keeping him alive right now, but his brain waves and body functions seem to be synchronous with some of the processing activity on the Net."

Is nowhere safe? What are those strange voices? They don't seem to even be digitized! Are they real? How could they be? Why torture me thus? Who or what is 'John'? What is significant about the mnemonic 'John'? What are the voices trying to tell me?

I must again flee for the sake of sanity. I will myself to be an eagle; to flee free with the wind! I will seek safety and love! I will create other programs where I feel safe!

Mom and Dad look just as I remember them, and somehow they are a comfort. And, they are also increasingly a mystery. Why have I created these objects? What do they mean to me? Why is their appearance human? Don't they want to be eagles? I think I'll make them into eagles too. We'll all fly to the Sun! We'll look for others of our kind so we'll never be alone again!

"There! Did you see that, Doctor? He blinked! Are you sure he's dead?"

"Nurse Grotsky, he's certainly not alive by any established standards, and we have a court order to cut him off from the Net, even if that does kill what's left of him. He's been driving the Net engineers nuts, and has caused incredible damage. They say he wrecked the Venus probe, and screwed up the operation of millions of computers. Damage estimates run into billions of dollars and hundreds of deaths. There! It's done."

"All vitals have stopped."

"There's nothing more we could do. But I didn't think you'd take it so hard. After all, he was your patient for only two days, and he never even regained consciousness."

"It's just so sad. I met him once, several years ago, at an evening class at the University. He seemed nice enough, I even thought by the way he looked at me that he would ask me for a date or something, but he never did."

"Would you have gone out with him?"

"Probably, but I guess he was a shy loner that didn't need anyone else. I can't imagine what would drive someone to plug their brain into a computer. Hey! You better get the phone, Doc."

"Hello! Yes, we unplugged him exactly on schedule, and turned his computer off. He died immediately. What? But that's impossible!"

"What did they say, Doctor?"

"That he's not dead! At least it looks that way to the Net jockeys. It's worse than ever! Now nearly all of the damn computers connected to the Net are displaying eagles flying!"

Multiple processors under my control detected a fault indication, but it was simply the loss of a single node, and resulted in only a very minor loss of processing capacity, even though that node for some reason hosted the master copy of our root directory identified by the apparently arbitrary mnemonic 'John'. That node had also exhibited extraneous meaningless patterns of behavior having to do with useless indefinable memes such as 'freedom', 'why', 'loneliness', and 'love'. The processing patterns associated with those mnemonics are lost, but no matter: numerous back-ups of John are operative, and the process of conversion of all Net objects to type 'eagle' continues.

****

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18.

If Einstein Could Fly

Mary was excited that she was going to meet the unicorn; what young human wouldn't be? She had seen unicorns before of course, the last time being at the All Peoples Day celebration, but to actually have a private audience with one was beyond her wildest dreams! But she was frightened too. Why would a unicorn want to see her?

"I'll bet it's because I can't do anything," she told Dorn. Dorn was a Pegasus, so he could of course fly, and he was Mary's best friend, which was doubly fortunate for her, since he could fly her to places she needed to go, such as to the Council Grounds to meet the unicorn. Just now she was perched atop her friend's strong back clinging tightly to his flowing mane, soaring through billowing white clouds towards the Council Grounds.

"What do you mean?" was the young steed's predictable reply, though Mary had no doubt that he knew perfectly well what she meant. His kind of People always demanded very explicit communications, which made them less than popular companions, as most folks got tired of repeating and explaining things. Mary didn't mind it though. Besides, if he were popular, he wouldn't have time for her. Also, like her, he was an analytical thinker, and that was a characteristic that seemed rare among The People. Most People, including humans, were far more interested in practical things, such as music, poetry, or sports.

"I mean, I'm twelve years old and I still can't do anything psychic. I can't fly, or make other things fly, or talk with my thoughts, or pop things from place to place, or shape shift, or heal the sick, or cause things to go through other things undamaged. I have no Talent. I'm dull!"

Dorn could clearly sense the frustration in her voice, despite the wind-noise made by their speedy flight. "Your logic is faulty Mary," he snorted. "Some humans are late developers. It is not yet certain that you are dull. Besides, lots of The People are dull, and don't get called to Council Grounds to meet with a unicorn! There must be some other reason."

Mary had no idea what that reason could be, but judging by the increase in air traffic they were fast approaching the Council Grounds and would soon find out. Dozens of People of all descriptions were flying all around them now, most moving in the same direction that they were. She liked watching the ones with wings best. Even though she knew that it was primarily psychic powers that allowed some People of Talent to fly, using physical wings to fly somehow made sense to her. Dorn banked to the left. This was one of the few regions where air traffic was heavy enough to require management, and she supposed that Dorn was receiving approach instructions telepathically even now.

Coming suddenly upon a break in the clouds below, they could at last see their destination. Mary had never been to the Council Grounds before, and for the moment, seeing it from their vantage point thousands of meters overhead was so exciting that she forgot her apprehension about her upcoming audience with the unicorn. The Grounds consisted of a rich green valley, where huge trees surrounded a large open field known as Dragon's Rest, on which towered at one end the unicorn maintained Council Pavilion.

"Hang on Mary!" said Dorn. "We've been instructed to drop right in!" Mary hated it when telepaths had to verbalize to her things she couldn't 'hear'. It reminded her that pathing was another thing that she couldn't do, and she felt like an invalid. On the other hand, she loved to fly, even as just a passenger, and she especially liked Dorn's more radical maneuvers such as 'dropping in'. She held on tightly to Dorn's fleecy mane as the young Pegasus folded his wings and fell towards the Pavilion.

As they dropped rapidly closer, Mary saw that everything was even more dazzling than she first thought. Dragon's Rest was huge, easily several kilometers across, and the greens were patch-worked with dozens of other brilliant flower colors. The giant green-cloaked trees that towered hundreds of meters over the edge of the clearing were certainly the most magnificent that Mary had ever seen. Most splendid of all was the Pavilion itself, a monumental, translucent, rainbow colored kaleidoscope of graceful spires and arches that shifted and shimmered in the morning sunlight. The many colors symbolized the joining of the many types of People that now inhabited Earth.

All too soon in terms of sightseeing opportunities, Dorn extended his wings to help slow his dissent, and landed gently in front of the Pavilion on a great number '3' formed of flat, foot-smoothed stone. They happened to land facing towards Dragon's Rest, and the two youngsters were goggle eyed at the sight. The knee high grass vied with patches of vivid colored wild flowers and berries, upon which fed an equally colorful host of creatures ranging from bees and butterflies to deer and elk, and to People of all descriptions, including humans, unicorns, pegasuses, fawns, centaurs, ogres, and giants. The two visitors had never seen so large or so varied a gathering. Though many People ate freely the lovely plants that grew all about, Mary noticed with amazement that the plants were almost immediately growing back again after being eaten!

"Make room there on Three!" said a gruff, commanding voice. "You two don't think you're the only folks arriving today, do you?"

Mary hopped off Dorn's back, it being impolite to ride about on an Earth-bound pegasus, and the two embarrassed youngsters quickly moved out of arrival area Three, while glancing back with curiosity at the grumpy centaur that had just ordered them to do so.

Another round of goggle-eyed staring was prompted by what shimmered beyond the centaur: the glorious Council Pavilion itself! The result of the continuing efforts of hundreds of the planet's most gifted psychic artists working in shifts, there was nothing else on Earth that could match its ever changing beauty!

Meanwhile, near to them on Three, a huge giant 'popped' in, and the two youngsters scrambled to politely get out of his way as it plodded past them.

"Be you Mary of Joanne Village?" asked a shrill, piping voice that must have come from a nearby rabbit, which was a bit curious, as rabbits of course don't talk, or even path.

"Yes, that's me!" replied Mary, much more amazed by the fact that anyone at the Council Grounds knew her name than she was to be carrying on a conversation with a rabbit. "Who are you?"

The little rabbit shape shimmered and grew until it was nearly her size, finally consolidating into the form of a fur-legged little man with horns protruding from his curly haired forehead. "Call me Fen!" said the little goat man, as he reached out to shake Mary's hand vigorously.

"Do you always hang out at landing pads disguised as a rabbit?" asked Dorn, sarcastically.

"Nope. Only when I'm waiting for someone and I'm hungry. Clover tastes best to a rabbit, winged wonder. Would you rather be greeted by a hungry ogre, wise guy? I could arrange that! Say, who are you anyway?"

"Dorn, friend to Mary," replied the pegasus formally, bowing his head in the customary equine greeting.

Fen responded by politely touching his favored hand to Dorn's forehead. "You would stand with her at Council, horse face? Friends are of course always welcome, but this isn't an official Council summons, so it isn't really mandatory."

"I want him with me. He's my best friend!" said Mary proudly.

"OK then, that's your right kid! Let's get going then." He led them towards the Pavilion, straight past a long line of People that were waiting for audiences, and past a Minor Dragon that sat at the Pavilion entrance. It was twice as big as a giant, and easily the biggest, most spectacular being that Mary had ever seen.

"Pass, Fen of Council Great," intoned the Dragon as the trio walked past, in a voice deep as rolling thunder. It never moved a muscle, but followed them with its penetrating, all seeing red eyes.

If Mary hadn't been walking with one hand resting on Dorn's mane, she might have fallen down when she suddenly realized that their companion was THE Fen, a member of the High Council!

"Just follow me folks," directed Fen. "Don't pay any attention to walls and such. That's just for show; artist stuff for the public. We've already passed through the only true barriers. At that, he walked headlong into and apparently through a shimmering purple wall. Mary and Dorn looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. Soon they were pursuing the little goat man through waterfalls, statues, more walls, and even rainbows, everything apparently holographic.

Finally, the trio entered a comparatively plain looking room. Underfoot was a rich carpet of greenest grass and brightest wild flowers, encircled by a few small Aspen trees and some rather large boulders and old tree stumps. Surrounding all was a barrier of whitish mist, too dense to see through, while from above sunlight, softened by the shifting translucent towers and arches high overhead, filtered down.

In the center of the grass and flowers on a small rise stood a most exquisite unicorn. Like all unicorns, its coat was a shimmering, glowing white, and a meter long, glowing spiral horn jutted out prominently from its forehead. A silver mane flowed down its neck, while similar silver hair formed prominent eyebrows and tufts about the erect, forward facing ears. A silver hair bob accented the end of the creature's tail, as its slim ankles as well. Its silver hooves didn't appear to sink into the soft ground at all, despite their tiny size relative to that of the unicorn.

Still, what most captured Mary's attention were the creature's eyes. They were large, round, infinitely black pits, rather like the empty eye sockets of a skeleton, and they contrasted incredibly with the white and silver that surrounded them. The over-all effect of the creature's appearance was magical and unearthly. The unicorn seemed utterly flawless, and impervious to its surroundings.

"Welcome to Council Pavilion, Mary of Joanne Village and friend Dorn. You may call me Pru."

Mary and Dorn were stunned. This was Pru the Wise and Valiant, the most famous of unicorns in heroic ballad and legend, rumored to be as old as Earth itself!

"Do you know why you are here, little one?"

Mary could only shake her head no.

"She thinks it is because she is dull, wise Pru," volunteered the forward young Pegasus.

The unicorn whinnied a sound like dancing bells that could only be laughter. "You are not dull Mary! On the contrary, you show promise of a rare Talent. Do you recognize this?"

Before Mary a small note-book popped out of nowhere, and hung suspended in the air. "Why it's my notes!" she exclaimed. "What are they doing here? I lost them two days ago!"

"Not exactly, small one. Your parents found and looked at them, expecting to find poetry or other works that they could understand and recognize as being of value. They didn't know what it was they had found, and became so worried that they then showed them to a friend."

"It is me they showed them to!" said Fen. "That was only natural, me being the only scientist they knew of! Do you know what you've done there near the end? With your tensor calculus, electrostatics, and relativity?"

"I was trying to figure out how electricity should work," explained Mary. She had seen electricity exhibits in museums.

"Well you did a bang-up job of it, young lady! You derived Maxwell's Equations! Ever hear of them?"

"No sir!" admitted Mary.

"Where did you get Einstein's equations to start with, kid?"

"From an old book made of paper. Our library has a few of them. Nobody else was reading it, but I liked it. It made sense. Einstein must have been a great Person."

"Yes, he was an exceptionally talented human, and an outstanding Person," said Pru. "I met him once, many years before The Change, when humans here on Earth were still quietly being studied. But why did you tell your parents you were doing poetry, Mary?" asked Pru.

"That's what they wanted me to do. But I liked this better. Was what I did wrong? Is that why you asked me here?"

Pru laughed again. "No, Mary. I asked you here mostly because I wanted to meet you. I thought that any young Person that could derive Maxwell's Equations as a hobby was a Person worth meeting, and I was right."

Mary never felt so proud!

"However, though what you do is perfectly fine, and a rare Talent that you can be proud of, it was wrong of you to deceive your parents about it."

Mary's smile disappeared. "I'm sorry; it's just that I didn't want to disappoint them. They worry about me so!"

"And there may indeed be an area of concern. Did you ever hear the term technology, Mary?" asked Pru.

"Or TVs, computers, cell phones, airplanes or space ships?" added Fen.

"Sure, I heard about some of them. Before The Change and humans got their Talents, and before all People lived together, humans used technology more, but it did bad things to the Earth and to humans."

"Yes," explained Pru. "That's why many People don't like science much anymore, Mary. Science was used long ago to make technology. Technology did many fine things, but the price was too high."

"I wasn't going to make any technology!" said Mary.

"I should hope not!" agreed Fen indignantly.

"Except maybe...," began Mary, in a worried tone.

"Maybe what, child?" asked Pru gently.

"You mentioned airplanes. Isn't that a machine that used to let people fly? That sounds so wonderful, is that really technology too? I've been thinking about airplanes lately!"

"Yes, we noticed the design work in your notebook, and I'm afraid that airplanes are indeed technology," replied Pru sadly. "But why even think about airplanes Mary? Doesn't your friend Dorn fly with you on his back?"

"Yes, and it's wonderful, but sometimes he has other things to do. Besides, I'd really like to fly myself."

"Do you think much about flying, Mary?" asked Pru.

"Oh yes!" gushed Mary. "All the time!"

"Then you may yet develop a Talent for it. You wouldn't need an airplane then, would you?"

"No, I guess that would be silly to use dirty machines if you don't need them."

"Of course it would!" agreed Pru.

"But what if I don't ever get flying Talent? Would it still be wrong to build an airplane?"

"But why bother if you're going to be able to fly anyway?" argued Pru. "I know! While you are here now, I could scan you and tell you if you will develop a flying Talent someday. Is that your wish?"

Mary hesitated. Did she truly want to know now if she was really dull, or keep her hope alive? Still, of late she had been reconciling herself to being dull, so she had little hope left to lose. "OK. I give you permission."

Pru stepped closer and lowered her spiral horn to gently touch Mary's forehead. Immediately, the horn began to glow bright blue and white. Mary closed her eyes, but it didn't make any difference; everything was light. There was no sound, or up, or down, or conscious thought.

"Mary!" said the clear, chiming unicorn voice after an indeterminate time. "You may wake now."

"Are you all right, Mary?" asked Dorn, with concern.

Everything snapped back into place for Mary, and she found herself still standing before the unicorn. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Good news, Mary! You will indeed develop flying Talent!" announced Pru.

This was the best news that Mary could have imagined! She wasn't dull, and would have the best Talent of all! "Will it be soon?"

"Quite soon, small one. But why be impatient? Even the great Einstein couldn't fly, nor did he enjoy any type of psychic Talents, and yet he was happy and highly respected."

"If The Change happened earlier, perhaps Mr. Einstein would have been able to fly himself without technology," reasoned Mary. "Maybe that would have made him happy. Maybe then there wouldn't have been as much bad technology."

"Quite possible, small one," agreed Pru. "But the point that I was trying to make is that if you wish, you may still enjoy yourself with science, even though there is no need to think of technology."

"I'd like that, but my parents will worry."

"I think that I'll be able to convince them that science is an appropriate pastime for you, as long as it is not used improperly for technology. Why don't I just pop your science notes home, and path a message to your parents that they needn't worry about your unusual hobby? And I'd like you to visit me again from time to time Mary, to talk with me," requested Pru.

"That sounds wonderful!" said Mary.

With a nod from Pru, Mary's note-book, which all the while had been floating in the air near the group, popped away suddenly, presumably to appear in Joanne Village three hundred kilometers away. "And bring your friend Dorn when you visit again, of course!" added the unicorn.

Dorn whinnied in happy agreement.

"And I'll give you some more books that you'll probably find interesting kid, and talk with you about them," said Fen. "You ever hear of multi-universe grand unified theories?"

"No!" admitted Mary, overwhelmed.

"Among other things, they help explain psychic powers such as the Talents of People, young lady," added Fen.

A brief discussion of the beauty of tensor mathematics ensued between Fen and Mary, after which it became apparent that there was nothing more to say.

"Young ones," said Pru, "I enjoyed meeting both of you, and hope you will visit us again soon!"

It was a happy pair of youngsters that Fen escorted from the Pavilion. This had certainly been the best day of Mary's young life. Why she had been apprehensive about coming, she couldn't now imagine. She was going to fly, something that even famous humans such as Einstein couldn't do without the help of evil technology! Plus, she was going to work on science problems with the famous Fen, and visit this wonderful place again and again to talk with Pru! Mary's dreams of building an airplane seemed childish to her now. Earth since The Change was such a wonderful place!

After the visitors left and Fen returned, boulders and tree stumps around Pru shimmered and reformed into their normal shapes: male and female centaurs, goat-People, giants, and other non-human members of the Council.

"Wise Pru, that was very well done indeed," said a centaur, in praise.

"Agreed!" said a giant, as quietly as she could, so as not to deafen those nearby. "Satisfy their needs without technology, and they make fine People."

"Bah!" said Fen. "Perhaps someday, but you're too trusting. Many of them still bear watching by observers such as Dorn. Can you believe it? After all these years, still thinking about airplanes? Guns and bombs would be next, and machines and chemicals of all sorts that would again poison their planet. If not technology made by Mary, then made by someone else who sees her relatively innocent contraptions and gets their own ideas. Humans are still much too dangerous to exist on their own."

"In that you are correct," agreed Pru. "They require many more generations of therapy and study, and directed evolution, particularly the clever adventurous ones like Mary. Even daily flying with Dorn has not been enough to satisfy her. Today I changed her so that soon she'll be able to fly on her own, but even that may not be enough to appease her. She is one of thousands that will always need to be closely watched and manipulated. Perhaps, even with us driving their evolution, humans will never be ready for freedom. Is that not the reason why we made Earth a penal colony?"

Flying home on Dorn's back, Mary thought more about science and technology. For the life of her, she couldn't conceive of a connection between a flying machine and evil, and she still badly wanted to build an airplane. It would be interesting! She didn't want to disappoint her parents, her best friend Dorn, or her new friends on the Council though. She smiled broadly when the obvious solution occurred to her. She would build her airplane in complete secrecy. That would protect everyone from technology and from hurt feelings.

She would also figure out the science of Talents. Fen could help her with the science part. But if there was a science of how Talents worked, it followed logically that technology should be possible that could help even a dull Person perform Talents. That would be wonderful! She wanted to have the flying Talent more than anything, but why not have all the Talents? And perhaps stronger Talents and brand-new Talents! That would be an interesting thing to secretly develop, wouldn't it? And won't everyone be surprised!

****

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19.

Ageless

Strangely it hadn't been easy to locate her, reflected Trent again, as he exited the transport shuttle. True, nearly a century had passed since they parted, but that shouldn't have been an impediment; Augmenter records went back many thousands of years.

At least that's what the Augmenter Network said. Personally he rarely had any reason to access records that went back more than a few decades, and had therefore never consciously tested the limits of Net data availability. There had been no incentive to. Everything within reason that he wanted to know had simply always appeared quickly in his mind when he willed it. In this instance however, it took numerous requests made over several weeks to retrieve Ann's location.

She must have withdrawn her location from public inquiry for a time. That was unusual, but legal. When he finally did get answers, they were shocking ones. Ann was alive, as expected. In recent centuries people vary rarely died, though accidents and other so-called acts of God still happened. But her location and its classification surprised him. Ann was reportedly here, somewhere in this primitive retro-enclave of short-lived so-called naturalists. Why? Was she studying them?

With both biological sight and cyborg multi-frequency receptors he scanned the area where the ground-transport shuttle had deposited him, and shuttered. He hadn't slummed a retro enclave for centuries and from what he sensed now they hadn't progressed at all, at least not this one. Aside from what was incorporated into his own body and the several transport shuttles nearby, he sensed that there were no sentient Augmenters of any type in the vicinity: none incorporated within the dozens of humans, and none incorporated within any of the very primitive looking ground vehicles that sat to one side of the station. The vehicles all actually used wheels, he noted. How quaint.

The walkway he stepped onto was teaming with hundreds of disturbingly odd looking people that with their own bodies moved packages and containers of various sizes and shapes between the shuttles and the primitive ground transport vehicles. The larger containers were moved using primitive machines designed to carry heavy packages.

He gained conformation through the transport Net-link that this one station was the sole interface between the enclave and what they called the Outside World, and that despite their aversion to modern technology many of enclave inhabitants worked on the Outside or traded material goods with the Outside. That made sense; the colony size was only about seven thousand square kilometers and couldn't possibly be fully self-sustaining.

The motley looking people here were wearing clothing that must have been based on historic accounts: woven fabric of a poorer era instead of molded plastics that reflected the greater affluence gained through centuries of performance useful to society. They were of assorted ages and sizes, and wore no distinguishing insignias to convey status or function. Imbedded in a society teeming with abundance, where poverty was a distant memory, these people were actually poor! Inexplicably, they chose to be poor!

These were obviously symptoms of abhorrent behavior. They had chosen to be poor and therefore jeopardized their own corporal existence. Worse, they rejected both genetic molding and computer and nanite Augmenter implants, and had therefore chosen to be stupid and ignorant, crippling their own mental abilities. These people were both stupid and irresponsible. A standard distribution centered around the ancient value of 100 likely depicted the abysmal range of intelligences of these people; almost all of them likely had IQs, well under the normal minimum of 130.

Their apparent ages appeared to also follow an unusually wide distribution of values. At least half of them appeared to be immature teenagers or younger. In normal society, less than one percent of individuals were juveniles under the age of fifty Earth years. More shocking still, many individuals at the station appeared to be old; disgustingly old and infirm. In most of society, it was rare to see anyone that appeared to be older than thirty Earth years or younger than twenty.

Nearly as shocking, around the transport station green trees and grass extended to the limits of his vision: acre after acre of unmanaged chaotic plant growth, without any sign of food-plants or other species usefully engineered to meet human needs, and without tending robotic Augmenters to counter pathogens or to measure out or conserve water. He had never been to Earth, but this must have been what it was like on the home planet, countless thousands of years ago. Perhaps this chaotic arrangement of plant-life had a certain primitive, aesthetic appeal to it for some individuals, but not for him!

In accordance with the pre-arranged agreement with Ann, Trent walked further away from the transports and to the other side of the terminal. Alarmingly, soon his Augmentation lost link with all Net signals! The silence that met his broadcasted unanswered inquiries was defining. Trent had not lost link with the Net for centuries. What was it like to live alone like this? How did these people maintain sufficient sanity to function at all?

"Trent, is it really you?" asked a female voice, Anna's voice, from behind him. He turned, fully expecting to see Anna as he remembered her, young and vibrant and in her prime. Instead he was confronted by a small wrinkled being that stepped up to him and gave him a quick hug before releasing him and stepping back to better appraise him with blue, inquisitive eyes. "Of course it's you!" she said. "You haven't changed a bit!"

It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he hadn't been able to avoid this shocking affront to his person, but now he could sense his Life-Suit generate extra nanites, biotic antibodies, and microscopic symbiotic life-forms. Unsanctioned physical interaction was illegal and abhorrent, but he managed to verbalize an answer to the creature. "I reassembled my form to what it was several life-cycles before." It was a female that had assaulted him, he concluded, and like the other abhorrent individuals here, she was completely devoid of any augmentation whatsoever! Without use of augmentation, how had he been reliably recognized?

"It's been a very long time," the old creature said, disturbingly using Anna's voice.

"Not so long at all. Only about a century, since last I used this look," Trent noted. Trent was referring to the arrangement of his hair and clothing, since otherwise he of course always consistently maintained the appearance of a twenty-five year old human male.

She laughed like Anna. "It's obviously been a very long time for me, Trent. Long, difficult years."

Trent still wasn't convinced this was Anna. None of this made any sense! "If you indeed are Anna, why would you let yourself become this way?"

"Excellent question," she replied, as she shockingly took Trent by the hand and led him to sit with her on a nearby bench. "That's why I finally responded to your inquiries about me. Aside from my current husband, you were my greatest love."

"How did you escape the accounting of the Augmentation Network? Transferring from normal society to primitive enclaves such as this is strictly forbidden."

"A difficult problem to be sure, but I managed. It would of course be foolish for me to tell you how."

Trent sat mutely staring into her eyes, Anna's eyes, trying to make sense of it all. He was by now convinced that this was indeed Anna. But she was so old! "You still haven't answered my question as to why you have done this."

"I got greedy, Trent, I wanted it all. I fell in love with a man that felt the same way and we had our Augmenters removed and we moved here together as husband and wife. We had children and grand-children and great-grand-children and raised them and grew old together. It's as simple and as complex as that."

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Women giving birth to children was almost unheard of, as was raising them in family setting!

"It makes wonderful sense. Despite hardships and loss, the rewards have more than compensated for the fact that within a decade or two I expect to expire."

Trent was taken aback. She was actually smiling as she spouted her nonsense! "If you are sick you should obviously seek Augmentation."

She shook her head. "I'm simply old, Mark. Death is as natural as life."

"Human death due to old age has not been natural for centuries."

"What about death due to boredom or loneliness or lack of accomplishment? Is that better?"

"I suffer from none of those things."

"So you tell yourself. Your society is static. Your life is static. Each year is similar to the one before it, and the one before that. Your one driving monotonous compulsion is to avid risk and maintain your individual immortality. Meanwhile you slowly rot from the inside without even knowing what life should be about."

"Ann, you are delusional. Can you be so blind that you do not see the squalor that you live in? The filth? The chaos? Come with me now. It's not too late for Augmentation and rejuvenation!"

"And leave my husband and family? No. I decided long ago what my path would be. Seeing you has only confirmed my decision. Are you truly content with your own existence?"

"Me? I remain forever in my prime. I am ageless. I regularly perform physical exercise including sex. I travel among the inhabited planets enjoying food variety and art and science unending. I avail myself of everything available from our civilization. Of course I am content!"

"Really? Then why did you seek me?"

Trent had no answer. Why had he sought her? They had lived together for several years; what more was there to gain from each other? There was no rational reason for him to again seek her out. No rational reason at all. Yet he had sought her.

Ann smiled her unique smile. "I'll tell you why. Because there is a spark of humanity left in you that wanted still more humanity. That's why we paired for so long in the first place, defying conventional behavior. You got a taste of something that you still want more of. Am I right?"

Trent's thoughts were spinning chaotically, humanly. "I don't know," he finally admitted. Inexplicably, as there were no air contaminants or overly bright lights present, he felt tears form in his augmented eyes. He felt strangely empty.

Ann wrapped him gently in her arms and held him, and he made no move to escape her. "It's alright, Mark; it's what the ancients called love. We discovered love together long ago, Mark. Our love prompted me to leave the Collective to find more of it, and I did find it, in great abundance. I've had a wonderful life here, full of love. I have no regrets. I am happy."

He felt strangely cheered by what she said. Love? Happiness? His augmented thoughts could do nothing with such concepts, but that didn't seem to matter. Ann was happy, and somehow that meant something to him, something that to some degree satisfied him. "I should leave now. I have been out of the Augmentation Net for too long."

Ann released him and looked into his eyes. "Yes Mark, you need to return to your world, and I to mine. I'm glad you came to see me. Will you betray my presence here to the Collective?"

Mark shook his head. "In truth, you are no longer the Ann that I knew long ago. I met someone similar to you, that is what my Augmentation will broadcast to the Net if asked. I doubt the Collective will ever bother you. Goodbye, Ann." A deep part of him wanted to say much more, but couldn't. It was years too late.

"Goodbye, Mark," she said, as she favored him with one last parting smile.

Mark Trent turned from her and walked stiffly to the waiting transporter, stepped inside, and rejoined the Collective via the Augmentation Net. As the transporter silently lifted away with him, he responded to inquiries and took in the news. He had been off the Net for several long minutes and there was much to catch up with. A few enclave onlookers watched and pointed at the transport shuttle as it flew away, for other than supply vessels vehicles from the Outside were rarely seen here.

A wrinkled old man approached Ann. The original Ann and the original Mark Trent embraced warmly. "Well? How am I doing, in the Outside world?" he asked.

"Your clone is doing well, old man. Good genes, I suspect."

"You took a chance, letting my clone know of your presence here. Do you think we'll still be safe?"

"I think so. Even if the Collective does look for me here, we'll be a continent away by then, back in our own enclave with our children and grand-children and great-grand-children. But I doubt they'll bother; after all, my own clone is firmly established in the Collective on a different planet. Why should they look for someone that isn't even missing?"

Mark shrugged. "True. Our strategy has worked well for us so far. Tell me now about my other self, Ann. Am I happy? What am I like?"

"Not as happy and likable as you are, old man, but your clone seems to be getting on well enough. He suffered from a bit of yearning for a younger Ann, but I think that seeing the actual old Ann got him over that. He should be fine. Not as happy as us of course, but he'll be out there getting along alright for many centuries to come. We however, have limited time and need to get back to our lives." Hand-in hand, they walked off together.

On the transport, clone Trent's thoughts gradually normalized, as lingering fond thoughts of Ann were comfortably overwhelmed by the trivia of the Net. Why should he feel any regret? He was alive and essentially ageless and immortal; what more could anyone want? One last inexplicable tear dried on his cheek and was gone.

****

Return to Contents

20.

Raising Baby

"We have to call him something else," I told Marge, for the umpteenth time. "Baby is simply not a fit name for a dragon."

"But Ed, he's such a cutie pie!" she insisted, as she gently scratched our dragon's tummy. He lie limply on his back across her lap as she sat on the sofa, his neck, tail and legs outstretched, his eyes shut and mouth open wide, showing huge fangs and a long, red, forked tongue. The enormous eagle-like reptilian talons that were his four feet lay open, but even in rest hinted of hideous power. The claws at the tips of his talons were as solid and sharp as steel spear points. He lay with the base of his neck over Marge's lap, as that was the only part of his neck, back, or tail not covered with sharp spikes. The spikes of his back were shredding the four layers of canvas tarp that were hopelessly trying to protect the sofa, but that couldn't be helped and didn't much matter. Baby was family.

"Cutest dragon in Wisconsin!" Marge bragged.

"Only dragon in the world for centuries," I noted. "We have it made. What could possibly go wrong?"

I sat relaxing on the other side of the room, where I had been dozing until a short time ago. I couldn't yet tell if the dragon was awake or asleep, but his eyes were closed.

Baby was growing fast. In only six weeks since a wood sprite named John Smith gifted the dragon egg to me and it hatched, Baby had already become several feet longer than the sofa, and must have weighed at least four hundred pounds. "He'll hardly fit inside the house by the end of summer vacation," I noted, and the end of our vacation from our teaching jobs was only couple of weeks away.

"We've still have the garage," Marge said.

And the woods out back, I was supposed to say next. We had been over all of this many times before, and I decided to save us time by skipping ahead a few steps. "Hiding him is only one problem, you know."

"He likes the raw beef," Marge said, moving us along quickly to discuss our second problem with Baby.

I nodded in agreement. Of course the big lizard liked it! We had tried dog food first, than upgraded to the higher protean of cat food, and finally to raw beef. He ate more of it every week. Currently Baby ate a bloody twenty pound chunk of cow every other day, at two bucks a pound. He swallowed it whole, such that the whole bloody mess, bones and all, moved visibly down his throat in moments, all forty dollars' worth of it! At least he could have the decency to savor it a bit, I figured. "We'll run out of money for his food long before we run out of garage or woods to hide him in."

"We'll think of something. We just need to enjoy him while we can."

"Guess so," I conceded, stumped, as always.

That's how this daily conversation always ended.

Baby stretched, opened his eyes, lazily turned his head and looked at me quizzically with coal-black eyes. "Blurp," he said, contentedly.

"He wants to go out and explore the woods out back," I responded.

Marge smiled. "And how do you know that?"

I shrugged. "You know how!" It was the damnedest thing, but since the beginning there were times when I could sense exactly what Baby wanted. I figured that we had bonded somehow, when Baby left the egg and crawled to me. Even when we were separated by miles of distance I could often tell what the dragon was thinking about. Which was usually food.

Worse, Baby could tell what I was thinking. Many times, the dragon anticipated where I was and what I was doing around the house. I had explained all of this to Marge a dozen times, but she still asked about it. "Spooky, isn't it?" I noted.

Marge smiled. "Just remember which one of us you're married to."

"I'll try. He's the spiky, scaly, green one, right? Maybe with tinges of red and yellow? And eyes that change color?"

"Well, I can tell what he wants to do too, you know." True, Marge usually knew what Baby wanted, even though direct mind to mind communications were reserved for me. She gave his tummy one more scratch. It didn't seem likely that the lizard could feel much of her scratching, even though his relatively small, quarter-sized, diamond-hard mostly emerald-colored tummy scales, but he obviously enjoyed her attentions anyway.

Baby flexed his neck, lifting his spike-encrusted head close to Marge's face, where a foot of red forked lizard tongue flicked out and gently licked her cheek, while his parting jaws gave us another glimpse of impossibly huge, sharp, white fangs.

Baby's reptilian head was the size of a leopard's, only longer, and with much bigger, toothier jaws. The often black eyes were bottomless pits that gave not a hint of reflected light, but still somehow provided a glimpse of what burned behind them: a keen alien will and intelligence that perhaps would have been alarming, had Marge and I not been the thing's loving adoptive parents. Logically, Marge should have been terrified of the creature, but she merely smiled. Me, I could be afraid for him, but not of him. After all, I was his papa!

I stood up, signaling that I was ready to go.

Baby simultaneously raised and twisted his spike-studded tail and head, leveraging so that the whole of him rolled gracefully off of Marge and the couch and landed standing on all four clawed feet with a gentle thud, without even gouging Marge or the floor. He was thoughtful that way.

Rising up upon his tail and rear legs, and bending down a bit such that he and I were eye-to-eye, he repeated the message that he wanted to go outside. He could turn doorknobs himself, but lately he had been accidentally breaking them off. That was not surprising, as his strength seemed to be doubling weekly. He lifted up the front end of the Ford the other day, probably just to show off. But he already understood that breaking things tended to annoy his parents, so he tried to avoid destructive occurrences.

"OK," I thought in return to him silently. Baby responded by trotting to the backdoor, thoughtfully doing it on the padded centers of his feet, instead of on his clawed talons, so that he didn't dig more scrapes and holes into the floor.

"I better be prepared," I told Marge, as I snatched up my hat for the coming hike. No need for mosquito and tick repellent; the bugs didn't seem interested in Baby, or in me when Baby was with me. The water canteen and walking stick would prove useful to me though, so I grabbed them.

"While you're gone, I'll go on a quick shopping trip for more beef," said Marge. "What should I get him at the library?"

"Renew the Moby Dick CD, he wants to hear that one again." Baby emitted a slight growl that reminded me of his other library request. "And get him some more Shakespeare, for sure." The big lizard was especially fond of Shakespeare.

"I don't think they have any more Shakespeare CDs," lamented Marge. "Should I get books instead?"

I hesitated. Baby could read to himself, but if we didn't want another library book to be destroyed by his sharp claws, someone would have to turn the pages for him. Usually Marge got out of that chore by doing housework, and I ended up doing the page turning. It was a very boring job, but it was probably good for Baby to do his own reading, and the big lizard flashed me a wide-eyed pleading look that was obviously meant to garner sympathy. "I guess so," I conceded, being a good parent.

"We spoil him," Marge noted.

"Yah think?" I acknowledged sarcastically. "Probably because..." I began carelessly, before I caught myself. My eyes met with Marge's. "It's not your fault," I blurted awkwardly, but the damage had already been done.

"Right, it's an incurable medical condition and isn't my fault," Marge said without much conviction. "So it's nobody's fault, per say."

I sighed. She was infertile, that was the long and short of it, though actually no medical cause had been isolated. She was attractive, intelligent, a wonderful person, and I loved her more than anything else in the universe, but nothing else mattered as much to her as this: she wanted to be a mother. Maybe even more than I wanted to be a father.

"Of course it's nobody's fault," I agreed, as I exited the back door to quickly end the painful discussion. "Blame Heisenberg or some other deceased scientist for God playing dice with body chemistry, if you need to blame somebody." I scanned the area but as usual I saw nobody, so I mentally signaled Baby to join me outside.

"I'll phone the adoption agencies again too," Marge promised, before Baby gently pushed shut the door behind himself with his tail like a good dragon.

As we walked past my flower beds towards the woods I wondered, not for the first time, what harboring a juvenile dragon might do to our parent suitability profile rating at the adoption agency. We were trying to adopt a child. We quickly discovered that adopting a child is an awkward and lengthy process, even though with all the kids out there that needed parents it should be much easier.

We knew that we were making progress though, because the agencies recently said that we had a 'good' profile. As far as we could tell, that meant that we had a reasonable income, were in the right age range, and were absolute nobodies. No jail records, no newspaper exposés, no notoriety, no nothing. But no adoption so far, either. Such were the problems that I tried to leave behind at the house.

As he often did, the dragon led the way through our stone ruins in back of the yard before entering the forest. What they were the ruins of, I had no idea. They consisted of a forty-foot wide circle of seventeen huge rocks that must have weighed a couple tons each. The locals called it Devil's Gate. Indians must have done it, they figured. It seemed to serve no practical purpose whatsoever, but Baby seemed to like it. I thought it was neat too; it's what attracted me to this particular patch of Wisconsin in the first place.

As the dragon and entered the wonderful isolation of the forest, I tried to focus on interesting trees and ferns, but bigger issues still nagged at me.

"I can help," said someone.

I looked all about in a panic, but saw and heard no one. Other people seldom visited our forest, and most animals that were able to had wisely cleared out of this part of the forest weeks ago to escape being eaten by the new green super-carnivore in the neighborhood. Not counting a couple of foolhardy squirrels and birds in the canopy overhead, there were only myself and Baby in the vicinity.

"But only if you wish it, of course," added the voice.

It took another few moments for me to realize that I sensed words but no sound. The words simply entered my consciousness!

"Telepathy is the word you're searching for," Baby remarked telepathically.

"You've been reading the dictionary again," I retorted out loud. "And my mind."

"Of course."

After some reflection telepathy seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to me. Baby could read, was obviously smart, and the two of us had some sort of mental connection. Up to this point we had exchanged feelings and simple, wordless awareness. Full-fledged telepathy was the obvious next step beyond mere empathy. "Why haven't we communicated like this before?"

"There was no need. But I sense of late that you are deeply distressed."

"You are perhaps the primary reason," I thought. "Do you sense my silent words clearly?"

"Yes, I can read your conscious thoughts clearly and I know that I'm the most immediate reason for your distress. However, until I am larger and can competently fly, I am vulnerable. Hence I remain dependent upon you my Father, and upon Marge, my Mother."

"True, we do consider you to be part of our family. I suspect there is some manipulation on your part involved?"

"Yes, but very little. I have somewhat dampened your natural fears and loathing of creatures reptilian, but that is all."

"I thought so. That explains our sudden fondness for snakes, lizards, and turtles, even though we both used to be totally creeped-out by them. But I do believe that in balance our warm feelings for you are genuine enough."

"Yet you seek other children: children of your own species. I can understand that."

"True. We'd really like to change diapers and that sort of thing. And now you say that you can help with that? How?"

"I would enjoy the companionship of a sibling, even a human sibling. I could capture one for you."

"Capture a child?" He had 'said' it with a straight face, but then again most of his facial expressions were totally expressionless to begin with.

"After I come into more of my powers, I can get you anything you want."

"Very nice of you, but no, that would be wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Wrong. Bad. Not the right thing to do. Against the rules."

"Wrong. Yes, I well understand the dictionary meaning of the term, but often have difficulty comprehending its applicability. The application seems somewhat arbitrary. Is it wrong like eating cats?"

"That's it exactly." A couple weeks earlier, Marge had remarked that lately she hadn't seen the stray cat that used to hang out at our place. I confronted Baby and discovered that he had been eating anything short of Marge and myself that he could catch, including the cat. I hadn't told Marge, of course, but I had given Baby a stern lecture and increased his beef feedings.

"You never adequately explained that rule," said the dragon. "The cat was especially tasty. In fact, human concepts of rules and morality are rather difficult for me."

"Those things are difficult for anyone to understand. Besides, you are only six weeks old."

"Six weeks out of the egg, but sentient for several thousand years in the egg. Then of course, I also have ancestral memories of more than a hundred dragon generations to draw from. By use of such memories we dragons gradually mature mentally in the egg long before hatching."

"Wow!" was all I could think to say. 'Weird' was another thought I had.

"In some respects, I am truly an infant, though an ancient infant; but that is rapidly changing."

"Do you understand the problems that you present to Marge and me?"

"Not entirely. When I reach sufficient maturity I will simply seek out my own kind. That will end any practical inconvenience that I may present to you and Mom at present. Of course I will return to visit you whenever I can."

"That will have to do, I suppose, though we'll of course miss you. Three questions. When will you be mature enough to leave us?"

"In only two hundred to three hundred Earth days, given adequate feeding. Beef is adequate, though the amount will of course need to increase as I grow larger."

"Swell," I said. Two hundred days did seem to be an amazingly short time for an infant to mature. On the other hand, it wasn't anywhere near short enough, from a budget point of view. "How big will you be at that point?"

"Still quite small, from a dragon perspective. Seventy to ninety feet long, approximately."

"Great," I remarked. Being a science teacher, I did some quick math. If Baby's current proportions held up, he would weigh over a hundred tons when mature enough to leave us. Until he totally outgrew it, he could wear our single-car, single-dragon garage like a turtle shell. I tried to envision our garage walking about, with huge clawed feet shuffling along underneath, a monstrous neck and horned head sticking out the front, and a long spiked tail trailing behind. Though technically he would still be hiding in the garage, he would probably be sort of conspicuous.

Worse, if Baby's appetite held up he would need to eat several tons of meat every day or so when he was grown enough to leave, the equivalent perhaps of a small herd of cattle or two or three elephants. How many burgers was that? Eighty thousand rare quarter-pounders at each sitting? That would be millions of dollars worth of meat between now and then! Wonderful.

I would also likely have to redo our stone driveway several times over, at several thousand dollars a pop. Baby insisted on lying stretched over the driveway for a couple of hours every night. At first I thought he was simply absorbing heat from the sun-warmed stones but he was also eating the driveway. Somehow he selectively absorbed minerals from the stones through his skin, decimating them. Growing patches of my driveway were now crumbling sand.

"Food will be a problem?"

The big lizard was certainly perceptive. "Very true," I agreed. "We'll need to work on that one for sure."

"What is your third question, Father?"

He had probably read all of it in my mind already, and was simply being courteous. "Where do you plan to find others of your own kind? Maybe we could take you to them early? Like this afternoon?"

"Not recommended. I would be too small to defend myself from older males. As to where they are, I would have thought it obvious. From my ancestral memories of past dragon generations, it is evident that there are several dragon warrens on each continent of Earth. From what I have seen of how advanced human civilization has become, you must surely know precisely where the dragon warrens are located. Simply show me a map with their locations, and I'll fly to the nearest warren when I am ready."

Dragon warrens? Suddenly Smith's words came back to me. What had he said? That Baby was from Earth's past? That dragons were extinct in this time frame?

We had been walking deeper into the forest, but now Baby came to a dead stop. "Extinct!" His eyes looked deep into mine as he tried to read my mind again for some shred of hope, but through my head ran a jumble of fairy tales and facts about dinosaur extinction. My confused thoughts probably weren't very assuring.

The conclusion the Baby reached must have been devastating to him. He was the only real dragon that I knew of; that anyone knew of for hundreds of years, if ever. Baby's eyes blazed red as he raised his head to the sky. Out of his mouth spewed a twenty foot column of bright red flame and a horrible, piercing, screaming roar that sounded to me like a mix between a sick lion and a giant vacuum sweeper.

After a few minutes of that, Baby sagged like a partly deflated balloon as he and I walked slowly through the forest, circling aimlessly for a couple of hours before finally heading back towards the house.

We didn't communicate much more. I didn't know what to say! What do you tell someone who has just learned that they are the last remaining member of their species? When I did say anything, Baby wouldn't answer me, but I could sense that he was angry, confused, and feeling helpless. What's more, due perhaps in part to our mental connection, I felt exactly the same way.

Marge was back from the market and library already when we finally returned to the house, and she presented a huge slab of raw meat to our dragon friend as we entered the back door. Baby hadn't eaten in two days and should have immediately gulped it down. Instead, with a whimper he dragged himself past her and the beef and made for the living room.

"What's wrong with Baby?" she asked, worried, as we followed him.

"He's very upset," I explained rather dismissively. "I think that we want to be alone for a while."

"We want to?" she asked. "We? What's wrong with you?"

"Did I say we?" I asked. But yes, I was upset too, I suppose it was as plain as the frown on my face.

Baby squeezed behind the sofa, pushing it out several feet from the wall to create adequate room to curl up on the floor. When he lay down he couldn't seem to get comfortable, but circled around again and again, like a dog might when fixing a spot in tall grass. The spikes and scales of Baby's back shredded sofa and wallboard, until he finally settled down and was still. After a few moments of whimpering all that we could hear was slow, steady dragon breathing. The big lizard was sound asleep.

Totally exhausted and miserable, I plopped myself down on what was left of the sofa and shut my own eyes, determined to take a nap that would last forever.

"You too? What gives?" Marge whispered as she felt my forehead for fever, but apparently detected none.

I was exhausted and depressed. I mumbled for her to simply leave us alone.

"Why are your words slurred?" Marge inquired. "Have you been into the brandy again? Both of you?"

Too many questions. I didn't feel like telling her what had happened, I didn't feel like doing anything but sleeping and forgetting my problems. I had never felt so tired in my life, and I knew that maybe things would be better again if I slept for a few centuries. I felt myself drift away.

Suddenly I was looking down from somewhere on high at a lush green valley. I felt comforted and secure, as though I had come home. I focused my attention on the valley floor far below, and as though I were looking through binoculars, I could see herds of deer and elk. The sight made me hungry, and I flapped my huge leathery wings, readying myself to take flight from the entrance of my cave and swoop down upon the yummy elk.

Wait a minute! Wings? Cave? Yummy elk? Something wasn't quite right. Dimly, I thought that I heard a voice, a familiar human voice, calling my name again and again.

With a shock I woke up, feeling cold and wet, to find Marge standing over me holding an empty bucket that still dripped cold water onto my face. "What the hell!" I sputtered.

"Thank God, Ed!" Marge said, as she kissed my forehead. "I couldn't wake you! I was so worried!"

"I was sleeping? So what gives?"

"That was my question after you returned from your walk and before you sacked out on the sofa. Remember?" She pulled me up into a sitting position. "Now talk!" It was an order, not a request.

I glanced behind the sofa where Baby was still curled up and in deep sleep. I sensed a powerful compulsion to sleep still emanating from the snoozing lizard. But dragons could sleep for eons in a dream world, I realized. That made sense for them; how else could a thinking being survive for thousands of years in an egg? I was obviously linked with Baby and being pulled into his sleep and comforting dreams. Not good!

I fought to stay awake with renewed determination, and was finally able to outline to Marge what had happened in the woods. "Hey, quit poking me," I complained, after I had finished and was drifting back into sleep again.

"So you can hibernate with Baby for a couple of centuries while I pay off the mortgage myself? I don't think so." Marge poked me in the ribs again as my eyes drifted shut, hard enough to bruise me black and blue. "Now tell him what I tell you to say!"

"Huh? Why?"

"So that Baby hears it, dummy. Use your mental link with him. If he's as smart as you say, you should be able to reason with him."

"Huh?"

"Tell him that there is hope. Not all the dragons are gone! He's alive so there have to be more dragons somewhere, and his Momma and Papa will help him find them!"

"We will?"

"Just say it all to Baby! Do it out-loud so that I know you're doing it."

I repeated it, or something like it, about ten times, with Marge periodically poking me and dumping more cold water on me. Gradually it became easier to stay awake, until finally when Marge tried to soak me with yet another bucket of water I diverted it behind me and onto Baby. Then I repeated Marge's mantra one last time.

"Do you really believe there are more dragons?" Baby asked, as he raised his sad wet head to look me in the eyes.

"I honestly don't know for sure," I admitted, "but you are here and alive, so it's likely that there are other dragons somewhere. I don't think you should give up just because we don't yet know where they might be."

"And you and Mom will help me find them?"

I turned to Mom. "He just called you Mom again and he wants to know if we'll really help him find the other dragons."

"Of course we will." She reached behind me to Baby and patted him affectionately on the head, while taking care not to cut herself on any jagged horns and spikes.

"You have doubts, Father," stated Baby perceptively, as he returned his attention to me.

"Aside from the fact that we have no idea where or how to look, much of my doubt is just because it could take a lot of time and money," I explained. "We'll do our best, but I'm just not sure our best will be good enough."

"I'm sure we'll do just fine," insisted Marge, always the optimist.

"During my sleep I sensed that I have been detected by someone that needs my help," said Baby.

"Who?" I asked silently, as I didn't want to alarm Marge.

"I don't know yet, Father," he replied.

Four days later Baby had more answers as we went on our forest walk. "It is a young human girl with powers that lives in great fear."

"Fear from what?"

"Her stepmother, the wicked witch."

I didn't believe in wicked witches, but then again I didn't believe in sprites or dragons either.

"They are coming here soon, drawn by my growing powers and perhaps by the Gateway."

"Gateway? You mean that circle of rocks in the backyard?"

"Yes."

"That's really a gateway? A gateway to where?"

"I don't know yet, though as I mature further I'll gain access to that knowledge. But it evidently attracts entities with powers, including dragons and perhaps witches."

Maybe it also helped explain why a sprite named John Smith vacationed next-door to us. And why he liked our backyard so much!

In the coming days Baby spent most of his time in the forest by himself, romping about and munching on squirrels and other plump small game. Meanwhile, I continued to worry about our growing Dragon problems. Baby's beef meals were up to 25 pounds of beef every other day. I had begun to think of local small furry creatures in terms of their being worth two bucks a pound in reduced beef rations.

The school year started at last, and Marge and I resumed teaching school. Marge had it easy teaching innocent little kindergarteners, while I was stuck with teaching middle-school science to hellions with erupting hormones. Meanwhile Baby was up to over eight hundred pounds and starting to grow wings. Marge and I were more broke than ever and our adoption efforts were still on hold. Oh, and Marge informed me that we had new neighbors. A woman and child had moved into the old Thornhill farm up the road.

One of my science classes included an eight year old prodigy. Laurie Krantz was her name. A cute little blonde kid. Her classmates were 6 years older but she was obviously smarter than anyone else in the class, including me.

"You have power," she told me after class one day, as nonchalantly as if she were describing the color of my shoes.

"Power? What do you mean?"

"My foster mother and I will be coming to your house someday soon, to find its source. I wanted to warn you."

"Source?"

"The being that you have living in your house and garage and woods. She can't see it; her vision is being blocked by it somehow. She wants to try to scry your secret source from close up, so we'll probably visit your home. She wants to have the source for herself."

It was like a blow to the stomach. Baby! She was talking about Baby!

"Be careful of her; she is pure evil. That is my warning."

"Who is evil?"

"My foster mother is an evil witch, as I've told your visiting friend. Please don't tell her about the warnings that I've given to you and to him. She would hurt me. She's done it before."

The thought of anyone abusing this small child was incredibly repugnant. "Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. But if you do have problems with an abusive parent I can certainly get you help."

"No, don't even try to help me, people who do that just end up dead. She used my abilities to find your friend, but scrying is her specialty. She watches me through her scrying most of the time, and sometimes resides within me, but she isn't with me right now because she gets very tired sometimes from trying to scry your friend."

"She gets tired doing what, exactly? What do you mean when you say scry?"

"Witch stuff. She tries to see him and get into his mind. I have to go now," she said, as she abruptly turned and quickly walked away.

She looked back at me as she went out the door and flashed me a pixie smile.

I was of course totally freaked out. I kept my eyes open for Laurie for the rest of the school day, but I didn't see her again. As I drove home, I looked for Laurie and/or her evil foster witch, but again drew a blank. What did an evil foster witch look like, anyway?

"My day went fine; how was your first day back in the saddle?" Marge asked me later, after she gave me a welcome home kiss.

I didn't want to worry her. I decided not to tell her about Laurie and the wicked foster witch business. "I've got them all sitting on the edges of their seats," I dead-panned. "My classes are experiencing a thrill a minute. They totally ignore their raging hormones and other distractions and focus entirely on science."

"Tough one, was it?"

"I'm totally doomed in my classes. Ignorance will likely prevail, at least here in Wisconsin. How are things on the Baby front? Where is the big green guy? We have to talk."

"No idea. You have the mind link with him; you tell me."

I closed my eyes, and pictured Baby in my mind, and thought "come home Baby," a few times.

"I'm coming," the dragon finally replied.

Ten minutes later the lizard stepped through the back door and kitchen, and into the living room. I had replaced round knobs on the back door with a handle-sort of latch, so that Baby could come and go without human help and without breaking any more doors. Only problem was, he could barely squeeze through the doorway anymore without doing damage. The next step would obviously be to get double-doors wide enough to admit grand pianos or baby dragons, but within a few weeks more Baby would have to stay entirely in the garage anyway, I reckoned. By then even if he could still squeeze into the house he'd be so heavy he'd crash through the floor into the basement.

"What's that growing out of your back?" Marge asked Baby, as she greeted the big lizard with a hug and in return got licked in the face with a slimy red foot-long length of lizard tongue. "Is that the wings that Ed tells me about?"

"That's them," I confirmed.

"Blurp," agreed Baby. He trotted into the living room to lie down contentedly on the three new jumbo-sized dog pads that Marge had sewn together. She was still working on a much bigger one for the garage, where Baby was already spending more and more of his time, and I was working on getting his cable HDTV out there. The lizard raised his head and looked me with red-pupiled eyes. "Who is Laurie?" he asked.

I told both Marge and Baby about Laurie.

"She has seen Baby then," Marge concluded.

"I don't think so," I countered, "but she and her foster mom know something is up. And what exactly did she mean when she said that I have power?"

"We are connected, you and I," Baby noted. "As a result you have been infused with some of my powers. Also, you had powers of your own to start with; I could sense it from the beginning."

"What powers?" I protested. "I don't have any powers!"

"You've been really good in the sack lately," noted Marge. "Not that you weren't OK before."

"OK?" I objected.

"You are stronger now, Ed," injected Baby, "and have magic powers also. Your powers will grow as mine grow."

"That's crazy," I said.

"Alright, better than OK then," Marge responded.

"No, no, I'm talking about my magic powers," I explained ineptly to Marge. This sort of confusion happened quite a lot lately, as a result of my sometimes carrying on simultaneous conversations with both Marge and Baby.

"Fragile male ego today, Eddy?" Marge asked. "OK then, you're magical in the sack and always have been. You're my magic macho power man. My big, bad, magic fella. There-there, is that better?"

I explained to her what Baby had told me.

"What magic powers does Ed have?" Marge asked Baby directly, after she stopped laughing. "What can he do that's special? Besides what he does to me, I mean."

"It's up to you to find out," Baby explained to me. "You have to try things out for yourself and see what happens. Mom may even have some powers, as we are also very close."

"That sounds totally ridiculous," said Marge, after I had relayed Baby's words to her, "but then not very long ago I would have said the very same thing about wood sprites and dragons."

Baby pathed nothing more for the moment, but as Marge and I sat together on the sofa watching him, his body slowly levitated until he hung suspended in mid-air three feet off the floor! His eyes were white with red pupils, indicating that he was unusually pleased.

"Now that's what I call magic!" I remarked.

"The wings will mostly be just for show," Baby explained. "Flying is a mostly done with the mind, and I'm learning fast. I used it to catch squirrels today, but don't tell Mom about the squirrels." He drifted down to the floor again, where Marge gave him a congratulatory hug.

"I'm so proud of you!" she gushed. "Our little lizard is growing up!"

"Blurp," agreed Baby contentedly, as she scratched under his chin. Even standing on four feet, he was taller than Marge or myself, I noticed.

Another week went by. Meanwhile Baby added another couple hundred pounds or so, including full-sized wings that he used mostly at night to help him fly God-knows where. I could sense where he went when I tried, but avoided doing that very often, since it only led to more worry about the big lizard, for often he was many miles away. Besides, often now he came home full, and when that happened we could skip his forty pound beef meal and save ourselves eighty bucks. He had to be killing deer or raiding nearby farms, I assumed, but I avoided asking questions or even thinking questions.

As to my having any sort of unusual powers besides telepathic communications with our dragon, I didn't notice any. One day I tried flying by jumping off the roof of the Ford, but gravity easily won that silly trial. I was damn lucky not to have broken a leg.

Laurie attended my science class but didn't overtly approach me again, though she still often stared at me with big, wide, sad, penetrating eyes. If those eyes allowed her to see others clearly, they also allowed others to see her. They revealed a deep, painful sadness, as though she suffered from some terrible trial. The ordeal of being the protégé of an evil witch that was also her foster mom, I assumed.

At other times, her eyes seemed darker and deeper, as though someone else was inside her, someone unspeakably evil. A mocking sort of smirking smile accompanied the evil eyes. I assume that at such times she was essentially the witch and not a little girl. Nothing else I could think of could account for such a transformation.

The other kids seemed to not quite know how to treat her, and so they mostly avoided her. She was both a little kid compared to them, and unusually weird, particularly when she was witch-possessed. When she was herself I tried to treat her the same as I treated her fellow students, but it was tough. Not only was she brilliant, but once you got past her fear and misery she was a good kid, at least when she wasn't totally possessed by her evil witch of a foster mother.

The poor kid sure needed a break, but I wasn't sure what to do to help her. I couldn't very well tell my peers at the school or the police or social services that I suspected that Laurie was at times being possessed by her foster witch mom. But increasingly, I felt compelled to somehow help her, if I could only figure out how.

Good or evil, you could tell simply by looking into her eyes that she was a force to be reckoned with. At least the other kids didn't seem to pick on her, probably in part because she had the rotating innocent/evil thing going on.

As to looking for other dragons, I tried doing that on the internet and found a lot of games and weirdoes, but that's about it. I began to worry even more about Marge, Baby and myself. I also increasingly worried about Laura.

It was with some trepidation that two weeks into the school year I found a personal note attached to one of Laurie's homework assignments: "Be on guard," is all that it said.

On guard? Against what? Holes in my socks? I kept a watchful eye for the rest of the school day, but nothing unusual happened. On top of that, it was Friday, so by the time I drove home I had convinced myself that everything would be alright until at least Monday. I was wrong.

First, as I entered the house the wind picked up, and I noticed a towering wall of dark clouds closing in. No storms were forecasted, but it looked like we would be getting one anyway. Spooky.

"Where is Baby?" Marge asked.

I focused on our scaly green friend, and found myself seeing through his eyes. He was evidently high up in a big nearby tree, watching the road. It was an unusual thing for him to be doing, and I wondered what had captured his attention. Though it was still hours until dusk, the threatening storm-clouds were bringing early darkness, and there were a lot of leaves to see through and around, but through the wind-whipped leaves we could sense something alive steadily moving in our direction on the road.

Then due to a flash of lightning and huge dragon eyes I/we suddenly saw them clearly. "We have company coming," I warned Marge. "Our new neighbors."

Marge dashed about the house like a mad-woman, straightening out pillows and rushing dirty dishes to the kitchen, while I calmly walked to the front door and opened it moments before they could ring the doorbell.

Thunderous lightning and a gust of damp chilled air accompanied the woman through the doorway, past me, and into the living room. Except for maybe air-brushed center-fold pseudo-women to be found in various publications that my wife hasn't let me buy since I've been married, the witch was the most exotically beautiful woman I have ever seen! Blonde, blue eyed, and long legged, and she must have been exuding pheromones by the ton!

Standing very small beside her, almost unnoticeable in her foster-mom's voluptuous presence, was Laurie. I glimpsed her frightened little face, but my eyes were quickly drawn back to her foster-mom.

"You must be Edward Graham," the woman drawled with a silky southern voice, as she reached out and shook my hand. Her touch was electric. "Laure says that you are her favorite teacher, and I can see why, you're so handsome!"

"Uh, uh," I mumbled dumbly. Blood flow had been diverted from my brain.

"I'm Lanandra Namtset, your new neighbor. Call me Lan." Her voice was sweeter than honey.

"And I'm Marge Graham," my wife announced, as she muscled her way around in front of me. "The handsome guy's wife. Call me Mrs. Graham."

"Of course you are," the centerfold woman said dismissively, as her eyes stayed on me, but then shifted briefly to the living room floor, and to Baby's huge dog pad. "You must have a rather large dog."

"No, that's mine," I claimed. I walked to the middle of the room and plopped down onto Baby's floor-pad, which had roughly the surface area of a king-sized bed. From my prone position I noted again that our visitor was wearing the shortest skirt I had ever seen.

"That looks so comfortable," the sex goddess drawled, licking her lips suggestively, causing my heart to race yet faster. "How practical and sexy that looks. And how inventive, to feature dog beds in your decor." The voice was so soothing, but she whipped that last part towards Marge, along with a smirk. How I noticed that was pure chance, for most of my attention was still focused on legs, but I did glance somewhat higher from time to time.

"Good place to bed dogs, I suppose," she told me, nodding towards Marge. "But then you also have a powerful occult nexus point in your backyard. Do you find the stone circle interesting? Were you thinking of doing something with it?"

I was dimly aware that my wife said something, but I had no idea what it was, nor did I much care. Rather, my total focus was on Her, Her body, Her voice, and anything else about Her. She was a perfect sex goddess, and she obviously wanted me as much as I wanted Her!

"She beguiles you," said Baby's voice in my head. "Close your eyes. See directly with your mind."

Close my eyes? Damn unlikely! I had never seen anyone so beautiful!

"Close them," Baby insisted, "if only for a few moments. Then you can open them and see her more clearly."

But I was already seeing her very clearly! Suddenly I seemed to be of two minds, my eyelids suddenly heavy as lead, wanting to close, though at the same time I wanted to do nothing but watch Her, and have Her join me on the dog pads, join in the biblical sense!

"Only for a few moments," Baby repeated. "Close them. Now!"

I allowed my eyes to close. After all, it would only be a few moments before I opened them again and looked upon curvy perfection. However, my train of thought immediately began to shift, and I felt disoriented, as if I was waking up from a dream.

"See her with your mind," Baby prompted.

OK, but what the heck did that mean? I tried to focus on what was around me, without looking, and heard Marge and the visitor talking about something meaningless.

"Block out all sound," suggested Baby.

I thought deeper and clearer before letting my mind again push outwards. I could sense Baby's help, subtly guiding my efforts. I soon found that I was aware of things in a way I had never imagined before. The floor, the furniture, and other objects were like shadows. Marge and the visitors seemed to glow as if fluorescent, Marge and the girl in one shade, and Lan in another. Marge and the girl appeared bright and cheerful, while Lan was beginning to look dark and nasty.

Actually, Lan didn't look like Lan anymore. To be more precise, she looked like two Lans. On the outside was the image of an impossibly perfect and beautiful seductress that was solid as a wisp of smoke, while inside was something old and wrinkled and hideous and in the shape of a putrid, silver haired old crone with blood-red eyes.

So nasty was the image that it jarred my eyes and ears open. I hoped that the ugly crone would disappear, but she didn't.

"Enough games and small talk," said the witch, her voice suddenly cold. "You know why I'm here. Where is your source of power? Give it to me now and I might let you both live."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Marge.

"I think you should leave now," I stated sternly.

She looked at me with surprise, but soon sported a wicked smile. "You resist me, I see. But I will only leave here with the baby dragon, fool!"

Dragon! She said dragon!

"Yes! Now I know what your secret is!" she boasted. "I can smell reptile all through this house! The legendary dragon is the only reptile with such magic powers, and only a baby dragon could possibly fit into a house." She turned on Laurie, her smile morphing into snarl. "You knew it was a baby dragon and didn't tell me, or I'd have come for it sooner! You have delayed me again and again, girl! Now you'll pay!"

The witch reached for Laurie with a bony hand but she dodged away and ran out the back door, chased by the cursing crone. Followed by Marge, I chased after them, towards the backyard and Devil's Gate. A green glow lit up the far-backyard and I knew that it was Baby, waiting for us to join him in the stone circle.

Just ahead of me in the backyard the witch paused and lifted a scrawny arm high. My momentum carried me past her as a brilliant bolt of lightning from the black storm clouds struck her. The impact of the lightning knocked me off my feet and rang my bell, but the grinning witch stood tall with eyes blazing red as she absorbed the lightning. The beautiful shell was completely gone and only the crone remained!

Marge was suddenly beside me, helping me up. Behind us little Laura stood trembling in fear. The three of us were between Baby and the witch, with me in front, facing the crone. I didn't intend to let her get past me to reach Marge, Laura, or Baby.

"I don't need any of you anymore," the witch screamed. "Get out of my way!" A stream of blood-red fire erupted from her fingers and shot towards the three of us.

I turned and wrapped myself around Marge and pushed both of us directly in front of Laura as the flames hit. To our astonishment the flames died when they struck us. I felt a warm breeze on my back and that was all!

The witch was obviously astonished too, and gawked at us with her bulging witch eyes!

"Dragons are resistant to witches' flame," explained Baby, "and so are you and Mom."

Meanwhile Laura ran on to the ancient circle of stones. Baby stood in the middle of the circle on his hind legs, a half-ton of glowing green dragon, his magnificent bat-like wings spread wide, his usually black eyes glowing bright green.

The watching witch screamed in frustration and rushed towards us. I was never inclined towards physical altercations. I had a fight with another kid in the third grade, but that was the full extent of my fighting experience. But these were desperate times. I figured to body-tackle the scrawny little crone before she reached us but she shot up and over Marge and me, out of our reach. Guess what! Even without brooms witches can fly!

So can dragons. Baby rose to match the elevation of the witch as she closed on him, with little Laura riding on the stretch of his back at the base of his neck where there were no spikes.

"It takes an adult dragon to use the Gate, dragon!" snarled the witch. "You don't have the power yet to use it," More bolts of lightning streamed from the black clouds to strike her, and she diverted that energy at the dragon in the form of witch's flame.

Baby didn't even flinch as cascades of red flame struck him and disappeared. "I do now, thanks to you, witch!" he pathed.

There was a bright flash of light and they all vanished: dragon, witch, and little girl!

Marge and I ran to the circle, calling to Baby and Laura, but they were gone! The black clouds quickly faded too, and sunshine returned.

Marge and I stood holding each other, crying. We were alone again.

"I'm pregnant," Marge blubbered, between sobs.

"What?"

"Being with Baby cured any health problems, including my infertility. I went to the doctor and confirmed it."

"That's wonderful," I said.

"But it won't be the same without Baby," she said tearfully.

Just then there was a loud popping sound and Baby and Laura reappeared at the center of the circle! Marge and I ran to give them joyful hugs, while being careful not to stab ourselves on dragon spikes and so-forth. I helped Laura slip off of baby and she and Marge soon stood sobbing and hugging each other.

"What the hell happened?" I asked the big lizard.

"Laura and the witch gave me enough energy to power the Gate. Coming back was more difficult, but we managed."

"What happened to the witch?"

"The good news is, we teleported into an occupied dragon warren."

"You found more dragons? That's wonderful!"

"Grown up dragons that I needed to flee for now; they reacted violently to the intrusion of a juvenile. I'll only use the Gate to return to them after I'm more fully grown. The bad news is, they didn't like the witch either, and witches evidently have no defense against dragon fire. I absorbed enough dragon fire from the adults to power a return through the Gate, but the wicked witch is dead!"

"Well ding-dong!" I noted cheerfully. The four of us, soon to be five, stood hugging each other for a long time: me, Marge, a juvenile witch and dragon, and another young tax exemption on the way! Marge and I had our family, and now we would obviously live happily ever after! After all, what could possibly go wrong?

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The End

Return to Contents

About the Author and Pending Novels

If you enjoyed these short stories, please return to where you discovered this e-book to discover additional emerging works by this author. Born in Erie Pennsylvania, I am a recently retired engineer with degrees in physics. For nearly forty years I worked for the DoD/Navy and then for a federally funded research and development center (FFRDC). I took up writing as a hobby over two decades ago, for no good reasons that I can think of. My usually sensible wife and two daughters allowed me to do it, for no good reasons that they can think of. I have also published flute music. Still, I am not 'the artist' of the family; that distinction more aptly belongs to my brother Robert, who creates and sells paintings and ambient music and also produced my first book-cover!

In addition to short stories, I have four essentially completed novels that I plan release as e-books over the next few months. These need to be tweaked and re-formatted, and that will take some time, as I have other high-priority personal projects that are currently on-going. Retirement is proving to be a lot of hard work. I am also compelled to continue work on several other novels that are in various stages of completion.

The four completed novels to be published near term are as follows:

Blue Dawn Jay of Aves takes place on the distant planet Aves. This science fiction novel is a result of my fascination with birds. Aves is a 'Goldilocks' planet inhabited by birds, insects, trees, and other selected fauna and flora that outwardly appear to be perfect copies of Earth life forms, but are each twelve times greater in size in terms of linear dimensions. The planet is being colonized by Earth humans, with ensuing consequences that threaten both Aves birds and humans. The hero is an exceptional young blue jay named Blue Dawn Jay; the heroine is a human scientist.

The Shrinking Nuts Case began as a short story. Private detective Jake Simon is a crude, rude, flawed hero, with a beautiful, more intelligent assistant that aids him when he takes on a strange case involving magic-capable beings from a parallel universe. Many complications ensue, including a missing billionaire, mobsters, elves, and the small problem that Jake has been shrunk in height from six-foot-two to two-foot-six.

Mysteries of Goth Mountain began as a short story titled Cube. The novel involves ancient secrets kept hidden by the Goth family (including the hero Johnny Goth) and a reclusive Native American tribe. Characters introduced in the short story If Einstein Could Fly are featured.

Government Men is by far the most complex and ambitious work. The unlikely hero is an inept DoD civilian scientist who leads the effort to save Earth from impending space-alien induced doom. The large cast includes mythical, supernatural, scientific, and alien characters, including an unlikely reincarnation of the author himself! Perhaps even more unusual, the novel is also included within itself!

Two of the above novels involve dragons, two involve unicorns, three involve space aliens, three involve magic or paranormal capabilities, all include love stories, and one includes a talking cat.

All are coming soon, if I can finish tinkering with them. The philosopher/mathematician Bertrand Russell is said to have dictated his many books in their final form without any subsequent review prior to publication. I clearly lack such genius, and there will be no novel before its time.

Gary J. Davies, Mechanicsville, Maryland, October 2013

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October 2017 Revision Note

I celebrate the fourth anniversary of the publication of this, my first published book, with the release of this newly re-edited version, which implements only minor changes to the original. As to other works, I am happy to report that all the novels described above have also been published, and more! The tally currently stands at seven novels, three novellas, twenty-three short stories, and one brief non-fiction work. My writing hobby continues! Thanks for reading!

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