

# Refiner's Pyre

By Taylor Strop

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, 2013 Taylor Strop

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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" _I will bring the one-third through the fire, will refine them as silver is refined, and test them as gold is tested. They will call on My name, and I will answer them. I will say, 'This is My people'; and each one will say, 'The Lord is my God'"_

Zechariah 13:9

# Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Forward

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Alpha Test

Chapter 2 - Cycle X+1

Chapter 3 - The Consultation

Chapter 4 - The Dilemma

Chapter 5 - The Contractor

Chapter 6 - The Implant

Chapter 7 - Post Op

Chapter 8 - The Coverts

Chapter 9 - The Bot

Chapter 10 - Priscilla

Chapter 11 - Out of the Starting Gate

Chapter 12 - The Departure Gate

Chapter 13 - The Wave Schooner

Chapter 14 - The Termination

Chapter 15 - In a Rut

Chapter 16 - The Goose

Chapter 17 - The Pit

Chapter 18 - The Image of God

Chapter 19 - The Alligator

Chapter 20 - Astro-forum Session Five

Chapter 21 - Gone Fishin'

Chapter 22 - Lickin' the Spoon

Chapter 23 - Country Road

Chapter 24 - Alpha Translation

Chapter 25 - Salisbury Anyone

Chapter 26 - Terah

Chapter 27 - The Revelation

Chapter 28 - Ceremony

Chapter 29 - Omega Translation

About the Author

Acknowledgements

My English are terrible but God is good. I lacked the necessary resource and had little hope of advancing beyond my initial crude manuscript. In what seemed to me to be a gift from God, I serendipitously met James Maccormick. James comes from a literary family and is himself a former English teacher, published author and presently in the book industry. I most humbly appreciate and acknowledge James Maccormick for his gracious edit, counsel and encouragement without which this book would never have reached publication.

May God bless James and his lovely wife Susan for their patience and witness?

# Forward

This speculative fiction is set in the present. The protagonist, Martin Trask, is an individual who for his own reasons volunteers for an advanced particle physics experiment.

The scientists are delving into Einstein's acknowledged "Spooky action at a distance" phenomenon, hoping to enlarge upon it with the ultimate goal of facilitating teleportation. In this account the experiment is designed to research the feasibility of transferring large data packages within nano-seconds. The data package in this instance is Martin Trask's cellular essence.

In the course of the experiment Martin finds to his surprise that instead of sending his cellular data definition over a distance, he is instead experiencing a leap in time and a lateral shift between parallel universes. Because he is secretly trying to escape the consequences of failing to receive a globally mandated RFID implant, he chooses to remain in the testing program hoping to return to an environment in which the implant is a non-issue.

Each parallel universe exists with a varying chronology of history such that when Martin returns from a cycle of time travel, he returns to a possible shift in date and a somewhat skewed history.

Each return places him at a time when the authorities have only an empty folder and are forced to start from square one in their pursuit to apprehend Martin as a fugitive.

In his numerous travels he gains a respect for the nature and purpose of the "Refiner's Pyre"; this physical universe. In this instance the Pyre is the mass used to fuel the crematory fire; part of the purification in preparation for our lives to come.

In this interlude he is faced with an unexpected change that includes the implantation of an AI assistant, ANGL, which ultimately expands his understanding of the realities at hand. As a result he is again challenged to reassess his choice to remain on the run.

Technological innovation is masked by both the future and the past. The author uses this fictional narrative as a platform to express various concepts; some lost and some yet to be found. He looks at concepts relating to various versions of flight; of tethered flight, of active channel winged aircraft and also a version of aircraft based on the Coanda effect. He also considers a possible seismic function of Stone Henge as a means of communication. He speculates on a possible nano-technology and bio-electronic blend that results in a thin film interactive optical I/O device. In addition he speculates on the nature of the recently confirmed existence of the Higgs Boson Particle, as well as a yet to be identified fundamental particle oscillation and its relationship to time, space and parallel universes.

He presumes that we experience this existence as an interaction of three separate and distinct realms; impetus, capacity and order. In the Christian vernacular they are Power, Authority and Dominion. This physical universe is the manifestation of an immiscible Boolean like overlap of these three realms.

It is likely that we are traveling on a somewhat circular journey whose only real purpose is to achieve the Refiner's Pyre.

# Prologue

"Remember; be sly as a suitor and quick as a lover . . ."

"Shut up?" the old man commanded. The time for heckling was over. It was time for reverence for the occasion at hand.

Swan stood unmoved by the heckler. He faced the chief, his grandfather, waiting for him to continue the ceremony. His knees shook imperceptibly with anticipation not from fear of failure but from the excitement of this moment, this moment that had been his total focus for months on end.

Swan was a product of the New Era, an era brought on by a solar event decades before, one that had reset the genetic clock of the Savannah, and of the world. Ozone depletion and a change in the Magnetosphere, resulting from a Coronal Mass Ejection, or CME, had significantly changed the natural balance of things.

The Savannah had experienced an extended drought but was beginning to recover, now that abundant rains had returned. Animal populations not initially rendered extinct were rebounding.

A spike in UV had triggered mutations in both plants and animals. The new contenders in the food chain were not radically different from the old but necessitated a shift in natures balance. Every species adjusted to the quantum shift in their genetic makeup. The ill equipped mutations simply perished.

Swan was noticeably different from his peers; subtle of brow, slower growing, smoother skinned. He stood erect and had a less foreboding countenance. He was in his tenth year and entering a growth spurt. If it continued, he would soon surpass his counterparts. His quick and creative mind mirrored and exceeded his father's. Swan had skills that baffled his playmates; juggling stones and dancing on his hands seemed easy. His animation and wit delighted his peers.

Swan's father was proud of his son and excited about his future. He was also pleased that Swan was in harmony with the new Savannah.

Over the years, his father had watched the subtle changes in the natural functioning of the Savannah and passed this knowledge on to Swan. Together they tried new hunting techniques and strategies.

Swan's father prepared his young boy for the up coming emergence ceremony; coaching him in hunting and fighting skills, and guiding him through a series of fasts. The last fast was an extended one and had ended with a small meal on the evening prior to the ceremony. Swan's senses tingled razor sharp. His mind clear and focused his body taut and lean. Standing still for the ceremony was perhaps the toughest strain that he would have to endure.

His pouted lips, wide nose and smooth black skin glistened. His painted face spelled out his heritage, his accomplishments and his goals; he would be chief some day. At the center of his forehead a vacant space was reserved for the mark of royalty, which he hoped to receive some day in the future.

Swan's father had done well in preparing his son to receive an honor that he himself would never achieve that of being Chief of his tribe.

Swan now stood before the elderly chief; his gaze leveled at the old man's withered forehead. The chief, shriveled by years, looked proudly at his grandson and continued the ancient ritual of commissioning the boy into manhood.

With a Hyssop branch the Chief first brushed the boy's right hand and shoulder then his left hand and shoulder. He ended by dancing the branch across Swan's forehead.

Swan stood as still as an un-plucked violin string. His small stature belied the eminent masculine grace that would soon emerge. His father had told him to feel no inferiority towards larger, heavily muscled friends. They were becoming mere echoes of a time past. The tribe was emerging from an age of trials by war and drought. He was a foreshadowing of the tribesman of the new era, he was cunning, quick, efficient and respectful of his heritage. Brute force and ruthlessness was the residue of the moral failures of the past. Not only was he achieving the authority of manhood but he was soon to lead his people into the future.

His father had been bypassed because of physical imperfections. Swan was not so burdened. With him rested the hope of many offspring, so much so that three wives would not be out of the question. The chief finished the ritual by examining Swan's testicles to verify his qualification to undergo the final testing.

The old chief raised his dry and wrinkled hand, grasping the top of Swan's head, and with a trembling yet gentle twist he turned him one and a half times leaving him facing the forest. "Swan, son of my son, present yourself to the Great Spirit of All Flesh. Be tested and succeed as those before you have." and finally spoke the most significant word in all the ancient tribe language, "Return?" The word also meant 'breathe'; it was spoken at birth when his father held him cradled in his hands and above his head, as a living offering to the Great Spirit. "Return" was a request to the Spirit to bring life to the boy and return him to the fold.

The word was spoken again at this ceremony, excluding failure as an option. Finally it would be spoken at his funeral as a request for him to return as spiritual counselor to the tribe. On this occasion the going out was a given; a victorious return hung in the balance.

It was time. Swan charged forward with three strong strides, and then sprang into the air with three consecutive high bounds as though he were a pronking gazelle expending excess adrenaline. The test had finally begun.

Swan looked back, trying his best to appear casual, concealing his apprehension and excitement. He hefted his spear to feign confidence and stretched his stride to look the man he wanted to be. Behind him stood his Grandfather, father and several other men of the village. The women and several of the girls were huddled at a distance, but they watched him, he knew. His father's face was stern but brimming with a proud confidence.

One of the men snickered and more then one tried to stifle a smile. Swan knew that this was the moment that they reveled in, as they recalled the anxiety of their own emergence.

Swan was determined not to let his father down by bringing shame on the family name. This was his moment; his time to show the men of the village that he too was a man like them. This would be his moment to shine like the brightest star in the heavens.

He had found the other tests to be surprisingly easy; his father had taught him well and shown him much trust. He had instilled a sense of responsibility in Swan, honed his skills and demanded the diligence required to be entrusted with the honor of manhood. His parents had also nurtured a strong respect for the innate link between man and nature; for them, everything was linked; nothing was trivial. Every broken blade of grass, every careless killing of a creature, every unkind thought toward man or beast was held to account and in the end would be judged.

As Swan advanced out of sight, his eyes scanned the ground for a stone equal in weight to his spear. It would serve as an extra weapon, as well as a counter-balance weight for his spear; his strides would be controlled and his quiet running technique enhanced. Running for distance and running for speed required different disciplines.

He recalled his father's assurance that his size would not be an obstacle but an advantage to be exploited. His shorter more rapid stride gave him an opportunity to change direction quickly. The spring in his step, and hidden leverage in his compact frame helped him to toss his spear as far as the best of his rivals.

He could have brought his bow and arrows but his father reminded him that the choice of a spear was a matter of tradition, a sign of strength, self-assuredness, and a willingness to meet his prey on more equal terms. It would impress his grandfather. The bow would slow him down and would make for a lingering and disrespectful kill. The animal might run unpredictably and for a great distance before succumbing.

His father had told him that following the catastrophe the Kimbra still roamed the plains but in smaller numbers. Their tribe was small, the hunt more difficult. But as arduous as it was they still were able to survive.

Swan's father interpreted the woes of the former generation's as a judgment brought on by the indiscretions of the men of the Old Era. It seemed that the judgment had now being satisfied with Swan's generation. All that remained was for this new generation to honor, accept and revere the new blessings with grace and integrity.

This test required that he hunt alone. It was the first time, but it may not be the last. It would serve to demonstrate skills necessary to provide for his people, skills that might be required for his individual survival at times.

The test would be easy for Swan. With his father's instruction and example Swan knew he would prevail. Still, it was unnerving because his future hung in the balance. All he needed to do was to bring back the tongue or prong of the Kimbra as proof of the kill. His family would then go out and retrieve the hidden kill for food for he could not carry the whole animal by himself.

An honorable alternative to the prong of a Kimbra was to bring back one of several other animals that were even more elusive and in some cases rare to the point of legend. Swan had not ruled out this possibility. It would be a feather in his bonca and an honor to his family.

The Kimbra runs before the hunter can get within spearing range. The animal will run until it is safe and then will stop and rest. If pursuit continues he will run again. A very swift hunter with good stamina can eventually overtake the tiring Kimbra if it were not for one strategy. The Kimbra will return to his herd and hide among the herd. When approached, they will all scatter and the tiring hunter will likely be in futile pursuit a fresh animal.

The Kimbra is a swift animal and very wary. With several hunters the Kimbra can be trapped or cornered. But for a single hunter, the game is one of wits and a keen understanding of the animal's behavior.

The way to succeed is to carefully observe the chosen animal; to note subtle variations in its markings, how he stands, where he comes to rest, how he reacts to a threat, does he look over his right shoulder or left, does he pronk when he stops, does he forage, does he feign indifference while yet keeping careful watch? Swan must enable himself to re-identify his quarry out of the scattering herd.

He must be aware of where the rest of the herd runs to re-assemble and also where the prey runs; does he run to the right or to the left. The animals course must be anticipated as well as how many times he will stop before his circle returns him to the herd. By predicting the animals resting point, Swan can short circuit the arc of travel and run directly to that spot instead of following the longer circular track. This will also allow the animal less time to rest.

Diligence in these matters will give Swan the advantage needed in the pursuit of a single animal. The prey will be overtaken either within spear range or be run to death. His lungs will burst or his heart will fail.

Swan had learned his lessons well and had observed the Kimbra on several hunts that his father had allowed him to join, but now he was alone and the advantage of number was gone.

True, his father had taught Swan every trick he knew, but Swan had conceived of a few of his own. First of these was to locate the herd by climbing the face of The Cliff of Rutana. About half way up the cliff there was an arched hollow in the face of the sandstone wall where he could sit shaded from the midday sun and watch the plains below. He could climb the cliff face via a natural ledge leading up from the base of the cliff. From there he could observe the movements of several herds and choose his quarry carefully, a small herd, possibly nearby.

Another trick was to single out an animal with a single or broken prong. It would be easier to identify a single prong Kimbra.

From his vantage point he would also be able to check for a legendary kill. In any case he would watch until he was fully satisfied with the target; even if he had to stay the night.

Swan felt safe enough on his perch. Large animals would not threaten him and he wouldn't have to sleep in the trees. His back was to the cliff wall and the approaches to the ledge where he sat were well within his view. He laid his spear by his side even though his father had cautioned him against this act of un-readiness. He squatted on his haunches and settled in for what might prove to be an extended observation.

As Swan watched the shimmering plain he began to ponder the significance of the place where he sat. It represented the perpetuation of life for his tribe. It was his time to demonstrate his respect for this place and the authority being entrusted to him.

His father had told him the saga of The Cliff of Rutana and how it got its name. Rutana was the first chief in the new era.

The old era had ended with the solar event. That epic catastrophe altered the tribe's world forever. All but three of the Swan's ancestors of the time had died within days of the event. The three had survived the turmoil by hiding in the tribes storage cave in the base of the cliff. Other animals and members of other tribes also found shelter in numerous caves and burrows of the area. The animals exposed to the elements did not fare well; most dying shortly from the suffocating heat.

Father said that during the old era the people were numerous and the animals abundant. The people had grown fat and lazy and would rather steal from their neighbor than hunt to their own benefit or the benefit of their tribe. There were many wars with other tribes prompted by evil intentions, rather than a need for survival.

On a day when corruption was everywhere, the catastrophe happened. The sky darkened for three days and on the third day fire rained from the sky, along with lightning and thunder. Heat scorched the earth and a mighty wind intensified the ferocity of the fires that swept across the land. After the fires the sky grew darker yet, and night followed night. Within weeks after the fires died out, the world descended into a cold spell which lasted many months. Whatever had endured the heat was now tested by the cold.

The three survivors clung to life in their cave, venturing out to scavange what they could. While still scraping by in the cave one of the women gave birth to a child, a child that was sickly and strange looking. He had white hair and skin like the bottom of a frog. His survival was very much in doubt, so too was the survival of the three tribe's people. The threat of starvation loomed for many months.

In desperation they determined that they would offer the child as a sacrifice to an angry god. They took the child to the top of the cliff and with little ceremony threw him to what should have been certain death. But as they came down from the cliff, they passed by where the child would have fallen. Beside a small spring at the base of the cliff, there was a marshy area with a large clump of moss. In the middle of the moss lay the child uninjured.

They took this as a sign from their god that his anger was at an end. To them, the child's survival was a sign that they would survive. He was given the name Rutana, which meant bringer of life.

They continued their struggle to live, and as the time passed their condition did improved. The skies cleared and an occasional shower moistened the parched plains. The vegetation struggled to take hold where and when it could. The animals that survived the initial event slowly pulled back from the brink of extinction.

Though the rains remained meager the tribe managed to slowly recover.

Rutana, the boy who had been offered up as a sacrifice, grew. He gained strength and wisdom, becoming well respected within the tribe. When he became of age, he was chosen as tribal chief.

He led the tribe with honor and integrity, for many years. When he became too old to lead, he past his authority to another and then walked into the forest. Several days later his spear was found at the top of the cliff. It was believed by most of the tribe that he had jumped from the cliff. But his body was never found so they believed that he had survived and would someday return. The cliff was known ever since then as The Cliff of Rutana.

The story was fantastic and nearly beyond comprehension but Swan trusted his father and knew that he would not lie.

Swan sat intently watching the Savannah. The afternoon sun slowly entered the cave. He began to reconsider his perch. As he prepared to relocate he felt a tingling sensation. His neck prickled, and a high pitched ringing filled his ears. He was disoriented and he felt vulnerable, as if something was stalking him. Instinctively he moved to grasp his spear. Before he could touch it a sharp clap of thunder resounded with a shock wave that overwhelmed him. The blast of air from behind slapped his hair into his eyes and grains of sand pelted his back. Swan stumbled forward toward the edge of the shelf. In a desperate attempt to avert disaster he threw himself to the side, spinning his body for a better chance of recovery. His fingers clawed for purchase; his toes reached for the ledge and his spear rattled off into oblivion. Just as his toes touched and lost the edge of the shelf his frantic fingers found a cleft. He arrested his slide and scrambled back into the cloud of dust while rocks and pebbles continued to plummet.

Is the mountain angered? Did it try to spit me out? What have I done?

Swan squinted and blinked, frantically trying to clear his vision. As he distanced himself from the edge of the cliff his head struck something solid where nothing had been before. Blinded by the dust, he froze, realizing that no movement was a safer option. He needed a moment to regain his wits.

To his shock and horror he found himself crouched at the base of a creature unknown to him, a creature of immense proportion, one he could not identify.

The cloud of dust swirled and curled up over the creature's head as if in response to its command.

Paralyzed with fear, Swan kept motionless, struggling to level his thought, in preparation for what might come next. As he gazed up at the creature it began to move. Swan realized that whatever it was, it was very much alive.

Swan's spear was gone; there were no large rocks within reach; there was nowhere to run and no one to help. Swan was helpless but not yet hopeless.

Slowly he edged away to better position himself. But before Swan could decide on his next move, a sound came from the creature; a sound between the squawk of a crow and the voice of a man. Swan saw no mouth that could make such a sound.

The creature was tall and, to Swan, it seemed very ugly. It stood erect like Swan but there the similarity ended. It had one huge eye with no hair, ears or other facial features. Its skin was shinny and sparkled like that of a fish. There were three fingers on each hand and its arms and legs were each as big as Swans entire body. Its feet were huge and each had but one toe.

Suddenly and without warning the creature reached up and moved its single eye to the top of its head. Inside its head were features that were nearly as ugly but now Swan could see something that looked like the huge eyes of a fish, a protruding nose and a thin lipped mouth surround by hair. Its skin was milky and seemed without life.

The creature opened its mouth and sounds came out but it seemed not to know how to speak. It made strange gestures with its arms but they meant nothing to Swan.

On one wrist was a tumor that sparkled like little stars. The creature touched the tumor and it flashed and twinkled.

The creature put its hand into its stomach and brought out a thing like nothing Swan had ever seen before. When it reached out to hand the thing to Swan, he became frightened and retreated even closer to the edge of the cliff. After a few moments the creature withdrew the thing and removed its skin, dropping it to the ground. Then he ate the object that lay within the skin. It looked to Swan like animal droppings.

Still terrified, Swan began to consider his options. Fighting the creature without his spear seemed hopeless; no stones of any size lay within his reach. Terrified, Swan looked to the edge of the cliff. A jump from this height would be fatal. He reconsidered his option to jump and looked again at the cliff. Then in a whisper from within came "I love you Swan. Run."

As the creature raised its hand to its face, Swan dashed for the only exit he could see but not without first scooping up the skin that the creature had thrown to the ground.

He ran as fast as he dared on the narrow ledge leading from the shelf down to the base. It quickly became dangerously narrow even for walking. Swan slowed to look back over his shoulder. The creature was trying to follow but it was obvious that it would not be able to catch Swan.

Swan picked his way down the face of the cliff and upon reaching the base broke into an all out desperate dash for the village. He did not stop running until he arrived at the center of the village. As people gathered and his father emerged from his hut, they could see that Swan was terrified and exhausted. His grandfather joined the group.

Swan crouched with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

When he was finally able to speak, he uttered nonsense. His father did his best to calm the boy and to try to communicate with him.

Swan spoke of a huge creature without wings that had dropped from the sky. "It was ugly beyond any animal on the plain. It was larger then the biggest Kimbra and looked like a fish with one giant eye the size of its head. It took food from its stomach and ate it."

Swan remembered how careless he had been with his spear. Could he hide the truth from his father? He tried to concentrate on further describing the creature.

His father interrupted "You should never have laid down your spear. Why did you not heed my warning?"

Swan winced. As always his father had looked into his soul, seeming aware of everything. He could hide nothing; the truth was always there.

"Truth is eternal" his father had told him. "Deceiving or concealing is not the way with our people." After all it was nearly impossible. For untold generations communicating without words had been central to their survival as a people. Each individual was inexorably linked to the community and some, like his father, would seem at times to see beyond what was visible to all. Soon his father relented and Swan continued.

Though Swan repeated the description of his encounter, some of those present already knew many of the details before Swan had even returned to the village. They needed to hear the details from Swan to fully understand the images that they had received in their minds.

"I thought I was safe from attack. So I laid down my spear. I'm truly sorry father. I should have taken your advice more seriously."

His father set aside further reprimand by asking about the creature's defenses. "Did the creature have his spear?"

Swan's face went blank as he struggled to remember.

"No. He had no spear. He had no claws. His teeth were small and dull and he couldn't move swiftly; I easily outran him."

"How could he have survived?" his father asked.

"Well, he did take food from his stomach and ate it."

"That is not like any of the other animals on the plain." His father tried to reconcile the image in his head. "If the eye was the size of his head where was his mouth?"

"Oh, when he had moved his eye to the top of his head, inside his head is where his mouth was. Inside I could see that he had a face something like ours but very ugly. His lips were thin, his nose protruded and was narrow; his other eyes were like those of a large fish. His skin was the color of the bottom of a frog and the hair inside and under his nose was the color of dry grass."

After describing the creature, Swan hesitated as he was met with widening eyes. Several of the people drew their hands up to quickly cover their mouths, as if Swan had spoken the unspeakable.

Swan's father gazed intently at his son. "Boy, do you have any evidence of this encounter that we may know that it wasn't just a dream."

Swan thought for a moment and then as a smile crept across his face, he raised his hand and revealed the skin that he had scooped up for just such a moment. "This is the skin from the food that he offered me and then ate himself."

In awe several people leaned forward to get a better look. "What did he take out of the skin?" one of them asked.

"It looked like a Kimbra dropping. I wasn't eager to touch it." Swan replied.

"My son, by your description of the creature you encountered, I believe you have witnessed a great thing. You may be the blessed one that has witnessed the return of Rutana. His time may have come for our good."

A breath of air had swept the skin from Swan's hand, and it gently floated to the ground. There it lay unnoticed for the moment. The inscription "Don't be a Litterbug" was printed on the shiny foil wrapper.

* * * * *

# Chapter 1 – Alpha Test

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

Albert Einstein

Where . . . wa? It's black, all black; like a heavy blanket. The silence is deafening, as though my ears are filled with clay. So silent. I must be awake and yet . . . ! It's so dark. I blink; I can't see an edge or hint of a glow. I hold my hand before my face and strain to see the edge of my fingers, but I see nothing. I bring my hands to my face . . . agh!. . still nothing, I feel nothing not even my hand against my hand. Martin flailed in the darkness scrambling for purchase. I don't even sense the motion of my hands. Panic fills his mind. He breathlessly gasps to scream but nothing comes out. I am not; I am, yet I am not . . . in my body. Where am I? I am without support or grip. I have no sense of falling but . . . what is going on?

My pains are gone, no aching in my knees, nor soreness in my back. No pendulum of my gut nor sense of up or down or even that of floating. I'm dead? He stops flailing hoping to gain reference; there is none. No smell, or touch, no sight or sound . . . but wait? Wait? There is a sound, not my heart beat; more like a rushing in my ears. It sounds like voices, many voices. I can't quite make . . . are they crying? Is it children crying? I can't . . .

"Trask! Wake up buddy. Nappy time is over. Vinny, don't screw with that stuff, man. Just complete the Shut-down Check List; procedures, procedures. We don't want to loose our lab rat. It wouldn't look good on your resume."

"What's to shut down? It shut itself down. Hell, it didn't even get off the pad. Ned, he don't look so good. Look at him sweat."

"Vinny, just go through the damn check list. I'll take care of Trask." Ned turned up the lights on the cage, and shielded his eyes against the glass for a better look. "Man he does look a little peaked around the gills. Maybe he had second thoughts; got scared. Look at his hair? I don't remember that."

"White roots; he dyes his hair." Vinny did an oily face plant on the glass, trying for a better look. "He don't look so good. Is he unconscious or just sleeping?"

"His vital signs say he is awake, but I don't know." Ned tapped the monitor is if it were a stuck gas gauge. "I'll get him out of the cage."

"Ned, what about them?" Vinny bobbed his eyes toward the observation deck.

"Oh yeah." Ned keyed his mike. "Sorry gentlemen. Show's over. We had some kind of a software glitch. Data transfer didn't initiate. So we got nuthin'. I'll put a test report on-line, if you want to see the details. I'll email a reschedule."

A voice crackled back over the PA system. "I wish I could fall asleep that quick. What, it took him all of ten seconds? He's-he's okay; isn't he?"

"Yeah, I think he's fine. I don't think we lost him." Ned looked back at the motionless body in the urchined 'bunny suit', slumped in the cage. Test sensor leads extended from a dozen points on his head and suit.

"What's going on?" The project manager stepped up behind Ned.

"What do you mean, Harold? We're still trying to poke a hole in the fabric of time and distance."

"You know what I mean. You were supposed to tell me when you were going to test."

"Harold. See those guys up there. They all got the message. I didn't know I was supposed to do a roll call."

"I specifically . . . crap. Look, I need to be here when we try squirting someone through cyberspace. I'm the guy who's supposed to be in-the-know."

"I'm not going there, Harold. Hey look, I'm sorry you didn't get the message, but you might want to check your email, because I sent it out yesterday."

"What's he doing, sleeping?" Harold squinted through the glass, avoiding Vinny's grease spot.

"I don't know, but it looks like I'm going to have to climb in there for a closer look. His vitals are too good for a corpse."

"That's not funny, Ned. Vinny, get Grant down here. Mr. Martin T. looks a little flaky. We'd better not take any chances." Harold leaned in for a closer look. "By the way, what did happen, Ned? Some kind of system failure?"

"Yup. Something didn't go quite right. The standing wave only got to about 80% when the 'INITIATE SEQUENCE' light flashed at the same time the 'ABORT' lit up. There was no ramp, the bias register never cycled, or anything. Nothing happened that I'm aware of. We didn't get byte one off of him."

Damn straight on that, Ned. I went to nowhere and I don't ever want to go there again. I guess it's time to open my eyes. Martin never knew what surprises awaited. One of these days I'm going to wake up and find everyone with a single eye in the middle of their forehead. But I guess I'm still Martin Trask, and that's a plus.

Ned opened the cage door and was about to step in, when Martin opened his eyes. "Trask! You're back. Hope you enjoyed the trip. Sorry for the inconvenience; but it was a bust. We'll reschedule. The debriefing may not even happen. We didn't get to square one. You okay, buddy?"

Boy, you guys really don't have a clue. That's just as well . . . for me. "Yes. I'm just peachy, Ned. A little sticky, but otherwise I'm okay."

"Look at the bright side. You'll get to charge the shop for eight hours, even though you only put in four and a half."

Martin shifted stiffly and began his unplugging sequence.

"What's up?" Dr. Grant pulled his bonnet on as he hurried into the clean-room. "Sorry I missed the test. Kennedy said it was a bust."

"Harold hit the panic button. He thought Martin looked like he needed the de-fib paddles"

"So I hear. I just passed Harold in the locker room."

Martin disconnected the last sensor and proceeded to extract himself from the cage. "I'm fine doc. I even caught up on a little sleep."

"What's with the hair doc?" Ned pointed at Martins head. "Hey Martin let me help you get that thing off your head. Your lab bonnet is on the bench."

"What's the matter with my hair?" Martin prepared himself to look surprised.

"Your roots; you seem to have turned white at the roots. It's like you just got the shit scared out of you." Ned backed out of the way.

Dr. Grant stepped in and put his hand to Martins head and separated out some strands. "Humm. That's odd. Was it white before?"

"Not that I know of." Try dying sometime, the dead kind. It'll change your whole outlook. Martin wasn't surprised about his hair. He didn't feel the need to elaborate.

As Ned turned to leave with the doctor he tasked Vinny one more time. "Vinny, will you tell Sparkle to go ahead and do a complete system download; a complete data dump. Key him to the fact that we hit a wall. He has to be extra careful to maintain data integrity on this one."

Within a few moments, Martin stood alone in the clean-room. It all looked exactly as he remembered it, bright, white walls, overhead crane, granite lab benches, partitioned areas, the sound of the fans pressurizing the lab and too much bright white light.

His data file lay open on the bench. They needed it in case they had to notify next of kin; there were none. Instead Martin had put his mailman on the list. He could check out a few facts. I guess I have the Higgs-Boson paradox to thank for a wild trip. I didn't even have an opportunity to screw up anybody's day. He felt safe that he hadn't traversed time, and so, there wasn't the likelihood of adversely changing any future or for that matter, any present event. Which meant that he should be the same person that left the lab mere minutes ago?

He quickly reviewed the 'Alpha Test; T1 Project Scope' to see what they had hoped to accomplish with this test, but it really didn't make any difference; it never did. A Realm Definition Transfer Set Generation Test, Hmm . . . impressive . . . they're still trying to demonstrate 'spooky-action-at-a-distance'. Einstein would be proud. It's too bad that it has taken eight decades and $10.5 billion to prove his theory; and then they get it wrong. Martin only needed to make sure that he knew enough to avoid looking, or sounding like an alien. It was just best to keep his facts straight.

On to the personal data sheet; Name Martin Trask, check; address, check; date . . humm close, sex, male; SS number, check; employer, check; phone, check; email, check; marital status, spouses name, dependents, check; next of kin, check; height, check; weight, that's always wrong, it's just wrong; father, deceased; mother . . . humm different middle initial; emergency contact, Mort Glitman; good. . . good. . . good, DOD security clearance, CIS level five, expired June 7 1987. Okay, looks like I'm good to go.

As Martin turned to leave he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; someone in the observation gallery. He just saw a hand throwing something in the wastebasket while exiting. Were they watching, maybe just leaving, or was it his imagination. The reflection on the glass didn't work in Martins favor. Still those things didn't set well in his mind. Nothing could be taken for granted.

Martin finished changing into his street clothes, and left the locker room. As he passed through the lunch area, he noticed Vinny sitting at a lunch table. He was eating with all the grace of someone trying desperately to eat some incriminating evidence. "Vinny, did you see who came down from the gallery last?"

With cheeks packed out like a chipmunk he muttered "No, man. I just came back from Sparkles' lab. I didn't see no one."

* * * * *

# Chapter 2 – Cycle X+1

Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.

Albert Einstein

"Martin, my friend, t'ank you for coming". Ty dipped a small bow as he held the door and painted an entry path with the back of his open hand. He was the same Ty of years gone by; white short sleeve shirt, no tie and freshly pressed tan slacks; a small man, flat Asian face, but with an uncharacteristically effervescent smile. As always, Ty made me feel as though I was being welcomed home from a long journey, which, in a sense, he was.

It was definitely Ty's office, everything neatly in place; pencils in a new foam cup; a couple of handbooks set in place on his reference table; and a couple of trade journals with post-its marking articles of importance. A family picture perched at the mid-point of the outer edge of his desk; the place of honor. Next to it sat a work of clay art, obviously fashioned by tiny proud hands. Next to that a freshly washed coffee cup stood like a soldier waiting for orders. And in the center of his reference table, the ever-present remnant of his contract consulting days, his trusty leather attaché case stood open and ready.

His office echoed a sense of one passing through; of one who had known an intimate taste of the fickle nature of permanence. His office was decorated in company issue early Truman, along with wall art befitting a less than top of the line fast-food restaurant.

Ty was not a complainer and he certainly didn't let his surroundings define who he was. He had a sense of integrity and honor equal to any man I knew; his character reflecting that of someone immune from circumstance.

Martin had known Ty as a mechanical engineer, but obviously he had gone back to school for a career upgrade of some sort. He was now a Senior Systems Analyst. The Project Manager had obviously taking advantage of his new training. If he had a credential, it wasn't posted on his wall. He knew who he was, and it remained for others to seek it out.

Martin seated himself. Ty closed the door as if to prepare for the latest joke session in privacy. Martin hardly thought that was the reason for the invitation. As easy as it was for Ty to smile, he now conveyed a sense of urgency.

"I wan ask you many question? We need to do it before interruption occur. Preeze be patient with me? I try to be receptive to aw you hab to say. I t'ink I am not furry prepare for what you will say."

Ty says what he means and means what he says. Martin didn't know anyone who deserved higher regard.

In the past, he had shared several harrowing accounts of his escape from Vietnam in the seventies. Though he was and may still be a Buddhist, he expresses a deep respect for Jesus; "He the one who answer prayers".

In one of his accounts he fully credits the petition to Jesus for the survival of many refugees including him.

He had been accessory to an escape from the Viet Cong. It involved the desperate purchase of a derelict barge and a flash mob like launching of dozens of refugees in the middle of the night. They launched into the South China Sea with marginal provision, minimal space, little water, questionable engine and fuel.

On two occasions the engine failed sending them drifting back to shore and into the hands of roaming bandits. After being relieved of some but not all of their provisions, they managed engine repairs and a re-launch.

On the third attempt they succeeded in entering an outward current. Another engine failure left them adrift in the open sea for forty-two days.

In the midst of the ordeal, and after going for many days without food and running short even of bilge water, they were reaching the limit of their ability to survive. The space on the barge was so limited that lying down to sleep could only be done in shifts.

One person died, and had to be buried at sea.

A Catholic priest, one of the few Christians aboard, offered the only thing he could. He preached a basic gospel sermon of repentance and salvation, and then led the group in a prayer of deliverance. He then directed several men to drop their fishing lines into the water on the shadow side of the barge.

The numerous fish in the shadow of the barge had previously eluded every attempt at capture, whether by hand, spear or fishhook. With little hope of success, and out of shear obedience they submitted to the priest's directive. Immediately the men began to haul in fish as fast as they could set their lines; with no more than bent wire for hooks and no bait. In time everyone was fed to the point of saturation.

The following day the men fished again but from that point until the end of the ordeal were unable to snag another fish.

After more anguishing days adrift, they finally beached in Malaysia; all but the one survived.

Ty expressed that he knew nothing of the biblical accounts of Peter's fishing exploits. But he fully attributed his miracle of the fishes to a true expression of Jesus' love.

"Fire away Ty?"

"As P'oject Systems Analyst I have broad view of aw da data an' utter tings. This morning 'Sparkle' stop in my office after downloading da mission data. He stop because of peculiar glitch he t'ought I would be interested in. He don't have any idea bout it; it was like he find new toy and want to show me."

Glitch! What evil this way cometh? "What was it?" Martin tried to convey an appropriate level of curiosity, with no tinge of disbelief.

"Sparkle, he show me da data stream print-out for vital sign monitors. He see dat dare is discontinuity dat he not seen before. I look at it, he tink it might be a power spike. I know dat not possible but he didn't."

"Why isn't that possible?" I asked, not wanting to raise the threat level.

"Because system protected by an APU. Power spikes in the grid, day don't reach our computer system."

"So?"

"I copy his tape for monitor. I look at it berry closely. Most of da traces have very regular cycle but day are not da same frequency; dat is normal. But dees traces have break dat define clear discontinuity. I use da data to interpolate possible gap dat day represent. It seems to be thirty seven second, or a multiple of dat."

"I look at da cooling system monitor as well as the air system monitor to see if day show a similar gap. Day don't reveal anything odd. Martin Trask, do you have idea what might have happen?"

Martin Trask! This is serious; he's going directly for my throat, he knows more than he was letting on. I can't lie to him. He is one of the few men in this world that I can trust with my life, and in my position I badly need to maintain that level of trust.

Ty always treated Martin as part of his family. To this day he insisted that they knew one another longer than Martin could recall. His first recollection of Ty occurred when Martin started a new contract engineering job with a Colorado company.

At that time, Ty related a story as though it was a part of their shared history. Martin had to credit his own poor memory for the lack of recollection.

The story involved an incident in which Ty's wife nearly succumbed to cancer, an error resulting from misdiagnoses. The misdiagnoses happened on several occasions. Ultimately cancer was detected and she received overdue care and managed to survive a close call with death.

As a result of the misdiagnosis and against his instincts, Ty was advised to pursue a malpractice suit against the offending doctor. His slam-dunk case proceeded poorly and on what seemed to be the final day of the trial Ty was faced with eminent defeat. Four doctors had testified in behalf of the defendant and it looked overwhelmingly in the defendant's favor.

During a noon recess Ty and his wife sat in the hall outside the courtroom; stunned at what seemed inevitable. Ty said he sat with his face in hands, elbows on his knees. He said he didn't know if his wife was praying or not, or to whom she was praying but as for himself, he was praying to Jesus. After lunch and prayers, they returned to the courtroom for the afternoon session.

In the next couple hours all four doctor's testimonies were discredited and recanted; one doctor for illegally discussing the case at lunch, one doctor for being caught in perjury. The other two rescinded their testimonies for varied reasons. The defendant was convicted, in the face of what had previously seemed a certain acquittal.

"That's great news Ty" was my reply. "I didn't realize you had gone to Houston for the trial" which was where Martin assumed the trial had been held.

"We didn't" Ty said. "The trial was here in town; last week. The verdict was rendered on Tuesday."

My face must have expressed a little shock as these details began to register like the wheels of a "one-armed-bandit" clunking into place. "Tuesday" was the clincher.

Teal, Martin's wife, had chosen a ministry of intercessory prayer for the town and its citizens. For months prior, she regularly had spent her days literally walking the streets, silently praying for whatever or whomever she felt lead to intercede for.

On Wednesday evening, following the Tuesday in question, and prior to Martin's encounter with Ty, Teal had shared a concern with Martin. "I pray as often as I feel lead and for the least provocation. I try to listen for God's voice in this endeavor and then respond as best I can. But in reality, I don't know if I hear correctly or not. I know that my responsibility is to service and it is not mine to know the value or result of my works, if any. But it would sure be nice if I could see the evidence of answered prayer on occasion." She continued, "For instance, on Tuesday I thought that the Lord was directing me to walk the halls of the County Courthouse and to offer a prayer. I thought he wanted me to pray for the vindication of the innocent; that the enemy would be defeated in his attempt to crush the faithful. But I have no way of knowing the outcome of that exercise. Did I hear correctly or not? I only wish I knew."

Teal's prayer for the vindication of the innocent had been answered. The Lord revealed it to her in a most unlikely way and in a way that left little doubt. It was verified as to the very hour, place and outcome. There was no doubt in my mind that Ty and Teal were counted among the trustworthy and faithful.

"Ty . . . are you sure you're ready for this?"

"What? Da truth? Try me buddy, we been through lots together."

"Yes we have, Ty. And I don't know anyone who needs to hear this more than you."

Martin continued "The data does not lie. There is no gap in the time sequence. However, during that instant of 'no gap' I was not present in this universe or in any universe for that matter. I don't know if any time lapsed but I do know that I had the experience of time passing."

"Where were you, if you not here?" Ty's mouth stayed open as if poised for a question not yet formed.

"Nowhere . . . nowhere, is the best that I can say. The experiment your team ran went off without a hitch. However your assumptions were flawed and the system was not designed to contain the real outcome. The data trap did not translate a data bundle over the distance from Alpha to Beta site in zero time. Instead it translated the bundle and me from 'now' to 'then'. I went to a different time. At least that is the way it should have happened. But this time, that was not to be. Instead, I went . . . nowhere and at no time."

Ty threw up a hand. He paused to check his next utterance. "You are talking . . . about a dream?"

"No. No, Ty I'm not talking about a dream. I'm talking about a completed cycle. But this time I was trapped in a null. How I passed through it is a bit of a mystery. Maybe it wasn't my time. God seems to have intervened in my behalf on this and several other occasions for that matter. In any case I was in a null point . . . nowhere to be exact."

"Null point . . . nowhere? Martin, what you talking about?"

"Null point; just like the null point in a sine wave. Smack-dab on the x axis, between plus and minus; it's a value of zero. In this case it's not a simple sine wave, it is the white noise of creation; the common point, here and there, between now and then. It is the common point where all of creation meets and passes through; the Big Bang without the bang."

"Wha'" Scientific surety was at war with everything he was hearing and understanding.

"Ty. The universe operates on a frequency, just like electricity. A ripping fast frequency but a frequency never the less. The average value of all mass and energy is zero and that is where I. . ."

"Frequency! What frequency? Ty cocked his head, gazing blankly.

"Particle Physicists is about to discover it. Ty, it's not a secret, it's just that the theory is trailing reality. If it hasn't happened yet, it will soon. Science is out stripping its ability to measure because of technical limitations."

"Ty, can you see the light on your desk flicker?"

"No. It's a little fast."

"Exactly. Sixty hertz is too quick for the human eye to detect. Well, 1035 hertz is too fast for any instrumentation to sense or measure until about now. There are new developments in sensing and techniques that will allow the detection of creation's pulse.

The null, it's not much but it comes often. At that moment all kinds of things can happen and in fact do. It is apparently the instant in which changes can be implemented particularly in time and consequentially in distance. At that moment all mass exists only in the form of information; essentially there is no mass."

"Maybe dat's what day were talking about in da las' design review. Something about da Higgs-Boson particle, da 'God Particle', holding the timing functions of the atomic structure. I didn't understand. It was dos guy's in da wrinkle lab coats. Day muss sleep in dem. I tink day loss dare comb too."

"Yeh. It would be them. Also, I don't think they close their eyes when they sleep."

I continued "That's the frequency I'm talking about. It is universal. All of creation operates on that frequency; it even regulates photons. Photons that reach here from distant galaxies are on exactly the same frequency."

Ty shook his head "Do you mean that during da null nothing exists?"

"No. I mean yes. Well, actually, it all exists, but in the form of information; there is no mass at that moment. No mass, anywhere. None. In that instant, I believe the only existing remnant of the physical universe is the Higgs-Boson particle; a mass-less piece of pure information. That is the thing that makes time travel possible. The momentum necessary to carry the creation back into the physical realm is part, if not all of the function of the Higgs-Boson. At the present, time travel seems to be a collateral transparent effect, but it happens. The researchers don't realize that it has happened, it is happening, or that I am living proof. I have only experienced cycles into the past and back, and only a few into the near future. Even with that, I not sure some of it isn't in the form of a dream. The future is knowable. It can be demonstrated."

"Really. Who do it? You, Martin Trask?"

"It is a psychological experiment that has gained attention recently.

"The experiment goes like this.

The test involves two people, one being tested and second person to perform the test. The test subject is isolated from view of the second person, the viewer. A deck of cards imprinted with easily recognized individual symbols such as squares, dots, triangles, circles, stars, etc, is used for the test; the symbols are known to the test subject who views them prior to the shuffle. The viewer then randomly cuts the deck and sets half the deck aside, so that the exact ratio of symbols within the test deck is not known. The viewer then begins the test by viewing the cards one at a time, allowing time for the reader to announce his guess as to what the viewed card might be. The actual symbols observed and the associated guesses are tabulated. This process is continued until the half deck is depleted.

This entire exercise is repeated for several cycles. When the test is completed and several hundred guesses have been recorded the results are statistically analyzed.

It has been noted that some people who have been tested in this manner demonstrated a very positive result. What is more interesting is the way in which the result is manifested. Some tested individuals show a marked sensitivity to the card that is being viewed by the reader; a demonstration of ESP. Other individuals show a marked sensitivity more toward guessing the symbol which has not yet been displayed with the next card; a clear demonstration of clairvoyance.

It is not clear what cerebral mechanism is at play. What is clear is that we have at our disposal some level of access to future events that is beyond chance."

Ty cocked his head, giving Martin a chicken-look.

"I'm not making this up Ty. The past and future are givens. We're just picking our way through it."

This was pegging Ty's 'freak-meter'. He offered "Le's go back?"

"Name it."

"You tow me dat you been on more den one, what you say? Translation?"

"Yes, Ty. I have been on many."

"When you call it a cycle, is dat the same ting?"

"Yes, a cycle for me begins when I leave and ends when I return. I think."

Ty's brow knitted as he continued. "You t'ink? Why do you say dat? Isn't it obvious?"

"No. In fact it is not obvious. It's hard to explain." Martin scrambled for an explanation but for lack of a better one he added "It's like drinking from a glass containing tea when you think it is cola. It disorients you for a moment. But it's not as easy to recover from the disorientation of a translation. The line between a dream and reality gets real fuzzy."

I continued "What did you see in the data stream that made you suspect something else was going on?"

"Well, I saw da vitals and day don't look right. Some of da traces not right. It seem lak a gap in da data stream; a gap in aw da channel. Lak a piece cut out and da ends of da tape put back together with a mismatch in da vector traces. Because of regularity of several of da vectors I was abo to interpolate da gap. There is 37 seconds minimum missing but dat is not necessarily maximum. Could be days, weeks, me'bee but it missing any ways."

"Well, Ty, I can assure that I arrived here but I not so sure that I left here."

"Oh, oh!" He cocked his head again. "Preez continue?"

"I guess what I'm saying is that I am laced through. . . . time . . . maybe I should say, creation. Actually, I believe you are too but for now we are looking at how it works for me. I left in a cycle, but it may not have been this reality that I left from. I may have arrived from an experiment that happened in a different time and place. I think it's about parallel universes but that's out of my league."

Ty stared at the top button of Martin's shirt as he chewed on the dots swimming in his head. He mumbled "parallel universes . . .? You don't remember where you go before you come here?"

"Sometimes I think I do, but it's like getting knocked unconscious and waking up not recalling exactly what happened. You may remember something but you can't be sure it's the last thing, the right thing or even the same day. The reality that I left from is not necessarily the reality that I returned to. I suppose it could be but it seems highly unlikely. I can't be sure that the sequence hasn't been altered and then maybe it's not important."

Ty paused, his lips poised for the next question. "Do you see difference in environment between dis leaving and returning?"

"Yes. My mother's middle initial changed" I chuckled. "I don't really know what that means. I didn't think that I could have done anything to alter history this time; but I must have. I didn't think that I went back in time. I was stuck in a null point and didn't have an opportunity to affect anything. And yet mom's middle initial changed".

"Dats it!"

"Yes." I said. "Isn't that enough?"

Ty asked "Who else know dis?"

"That my mother's middle initial changed?"

"No. I mean, who know aw dat you have toe me?"

I chuckled "well, you do for one. The scientists believe and understand at a different level. They are looking for something else. They don't realize that they have sent me anywhere. It's sort of like the discovery of nylon. That happened a hundred years before anyone realized its true value. It's the same here. One of these days they will figure out what has really been happening all along. They think that they are dealing with t = 0 with distance irrelevant. Instead t ≠ 0, and there is a phase shift. When they do understand, they will also find that the opposing particle exists out of phase and on the threshold of a parallel universe.

They are trying to do the 'spooky action at a distance' anomaly that Einstein observed. But instead of sending me from the home site to a target site with no elapsed time, they are actually sending me from one time frame to another. Fortunately I come back, but not always immediately. Each time they are on the verge of figuring out exactly what's going on."

"How do da "null point" figure in to aw dat? Where . . . what happen dare?"

"Well." Martin paused "actually, any other time you could ask where or when, but when it comes to a null, neither is appropriate. It isn't anywhere and it isn't time sensitive. And since mass does not exist, I'm not really there; at least not in body. I'm there, in essence only. I'm just a fragment of information. No, maybe I should say in spirit only."

As Asian as Ty's eyebrows are, they were taking a beating. More had to be said.

"Oh, I was there alright. I was by myself. I'm sure God was there but he wasn't talking. He was there, just like he's here. I don't think I was in heaven, or hell.

There is another aspect to this that I should point out. The realm that we experience, this here and now, is just one of many realms. The functional difference between realms is definition. Realms can relate in an infinite manner of ways.

The physical realm that we experience operates by physical laws that we recognize a bit at a time. At the same time that we're operating in the physical realm, we are also operating in a spiritual realm. That realm is often relegated to fantasy or superstition. I'm suspecting it is more real than the physical one. Just about everyone knows it but at the same time they deny it. The physical realm is too much in our face for us to fully accept the spiritual realm. That's why we have to do it on a faith level, and most people can't stomach that as well.

The fact is, Ty, that if there is a superiority of realities, than, the physical is subordinate. In any case when I was present in the null, I was out of the physical realm, and fully into one of the spiritual realms. Which one, I don't know. It wasn't the heaven that I hoped for but it also wasn't the hell that I imagined. The sense of despair and loneliness may have eventually put me there."

Ty shifted to the edge of his chair. "What is it lak? What it feel lak?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't even sense that I had a body of any sort. The only thing I was aware of was my awareness. Aware that I had no pain, no heart beat, no warmth, no coldness, no light, just deafening silence and loneliness."

"Were you frighten?"

"Scared witless. I screamed like a little girl, but I didn't hear anything. There wasn't any sound or even the feeling of noise in my throat or of air passing out my mouth. I flailed my arms to get hold of something but it was a useless effort; no arms or place to grab."

"Where dis place be?"

"What do you mean by 'where'? I was nowhere, or, maybe, I was everywhere. It's a meaningless point if there is no mass or no universe. Any single point in space would be every point in space; literally and figuratively. And as far as location is concerned it would be 100% of location."

"Dis hurt'n my head. Was it lak outer space?"

"Outer, inner, deep; whatever. I don't know. There weren't any stars for sure. But then there wouldn't be if there wasn't any mass. In that case the difference between infinite and infinitesimal is probably zero. It's mainly a brain cramp. Without mass, then time and location are irrelevant. The past would be the same as the present, and the future. I think that is why it is the place where shifting through time and space is easy and instant. If you arrive there with no momentum to pass on through, then you might stay there. I don't know what got me through it.

The Higgs-Boson particle, it seems, is central in the passage throughout the null. Finding out how to manipulate the Higgs-Boson will therefore, allow the switching of universes as well as the changing of time."

Ty, the particle physics guys, seemed to be at the threshold of understanding the nature of the beast. Keep the faith, oh brother-o-mine."

"Martin, you mus' tell dem what you know."

"No Ty. I can't tell anyone but you. You're the only person I can trust."

"I da only person you can trus' with what?" Ty looked even more confused.

"Ty, I'm a fugitive. This is the only way I know how to keep from getting caught."

"Martin, what you talk about? Fugitive from what?"

"I don't have the RFID implant. My records say that I do, but I don't. I managed to dodge the implant after my record was updated at the implant center. They must have screwed things up because they checked me off as 'completed'."

"Martin. How you survive? How you feed yourself? How you trabel?"

"I'm a contract employee. They always give me a company expense card and that puts all charges on the company's bill. I won't leave a footprint unless I leave the agency or maybe if I change agencies."

"You sure? The chip, it tracked many ways."

"I have to move very carefully. I never enter the system without the agency coverage and I try to avoid areas where random scans are performed. If I get the sense that someone is onto me, I go into hiding until it's time for another cycle; there always is. I've got a bit of an advantage; they always start with an empty folder."

* * * * *

# Chapter 3 – The Consultation

We should take care not to make the intellect our god; it has, of course, powerful muscles, but no personality.

Albert Einstein

I could make myself extinct if I'm not careful. I'll be okay if I can just keep my head down.

The meeting with Dr. Grant wasn't on the schedule but it didn't seem out of line. Martin had passed his physical exam and was cleared for the next test. There was an advantage to using the same subject in a series of tests. The baseline markers would remain consistent from one test to the next.

The trip to the Doctor's office was familiar enough although the décor gave him cause to suspect otherwise. As he made a turn in the corridor he nearly trampled a medical tech. "Whoa, Kenny." he dodged around her in his best court jester style. "Got you surrounded, lady."

"Excuse me?" came her reply. As they passed, she looked back at him cocking her head. "Have we met?"

"Okay! I mean, no." he fumbled. Too cute, too soon; wasn't a good idea. "Sorry; your name tag."

She shook her head. He didn't think she quite bought it. Her name tag actually read 'Kennedy'. There wasn't any way she could remember from the last cycle. The fact was that they hadn't met yet and it wouldn't happen for a day or so.

The Doctor's office door was open and as usual his feet were on the desk. He seated Martin with a finger dance while he finished up on the phone.

"Trask. Sorry; Martin. So, how's it going? You recovered?"

"I . . . I'm fine. I go by Trask. That seems to be my accepted name on this project.

I don't quit know what the deal was. A bad dream maybe." Maybe, I can't be sure he is going to buy it.

"Bad dream, hmm? Anything you care to share? Some recurring thing. . . maybe?" He tapped his pencil on his desk pad. He stared at a spot in the middle of his desk as if it needed some serious attention.

Martin fumbled too long with an awkward pause, as if he were making up a lie. Does he care? Does he know? Where is he going with this? Was this just casual conversation leading somewhere else? "No. I can't say that it is recurring." he lied. But actually he didn't really lie, because in fact it wasn't really a dream at all and he knew it.

"Describe it?"

Shit, he'd never asked this question before. This was the first time he had this situation. It is always the first time. Had he recognized a new clue? This was the first time in my memory that the test seemed to end before it started, or at least that is the way Ned saw it. I'll have to play along a bit more. "It was just an experience of complete darkness; a bit chilling. Before I could get too lonely, it ended."

"Humm. Is that it?"

"Pretty much." He doesn't need to know any more, at least not yet.

Dr. Grant looked as though he might be fighting some bad gas and then he continued. "The reason I asked is that there is some strange uncorrelated data points that seem to indicate that more went on than nothing. Ned is pretty sure that nothing happened but I'm not so sure. The time register didn't show a gap but some of your vitals show a strange glitch. You look healthy enough." He paused to see if Martin would register a TILT. "The trace glitches; we're going to do a complete systems check. What do you make of it?"

Martin measured his pause. Too much hinged on the next thing out of his mouth. What good would the truth do him? Where would he go with it? I still needed to protect my cover.

Beside Ty, Martin didn't feel that he could trust anyone else. Harold was a climber and would crush Martin if he found out the truth. Dr. Grant might not trample Martin, but might not care much for Martin's well being. With this information he might just throw me under the bus. He may be on his way to somewhere else.

Kenny might be trusted but I haven't really met her yet, and maybe she really doesn't need this kind of baggage. Maybe no one needs this kind of baggage.

It would be a danger to anyone who knew him. They would potentially be marked for destruction and they would be without the protection of the fluidity of history, or should it be said, cloaked by the future?

Doctor Grant seemed satisfied with Martin's reply, at least for the moment. "How do you feel, are you up to the next challenge?"

There could be no hesitation with this one. "Bring it on. Pack me a lunch and I'm on my way."

Grant smiled. He seemed satisfied that the problem was in fact a software problem rather than a people problem. "Well, don't get too excited. There is a lot to do before we initiate again. That's why you're here, I want to fill you in on a new wrinkle in the plan."

Wrinkle? There hadn't been a wrinkle before, or at least that he could remember. Maybe I re-upped too quickly, he thought.

He continued, "Osterlund South has finished up their safety trials on a bionic AI amendment. They are ready to do a full-up Beta test."

"Amendment, sounds like something I do with my garden compost." Crap, what are they up to now.

"If you're willing, we want to perform an implant procedure."

Double crap. What is this? Have they found me out? Is this curtains? I don't know enough yet. I don't even know if I'm in trouble. What are my options? How much time do I have before I have to cut and run? Calm down boy, we're just a-talk'n here. This ain't crunch time yet. Give him a minute.

"It's quite a benign procedure. Your body will do most of the work and at it's own pace. It will take a few weeks to complete the initial bionic fusing. Then it will be up to you to do the final phase; self training so to speak."

"What is this thing; a third eye or what?" Martin tried to keep the mockery to a minimum.

"The backpack that you wore with your clean room suit; it is mainly telemetry and monitoring electronics. We're pretty sure that it isn't going to work as well as we hoped. The proof of that may have been this most recent problem. When the Higgs Delta is accomplished, we may be telemetry blind. The monitoring of you're trip might be flawed. This AI unit will greatly enhance that monitoring as well as you're ability to interact with you're surroundings."

"Higgs Delta; what's that?" as if I didn't already know. _It sounds like they are fully aware of my travels or are they just planning ahead._

Dr. Grant measured his next response. "Well, Martin. You're aware of the security level on this project?"

"Yes. My application for clearance activation is in process. I don't know how it is going to be used."

"Well, that is a problem. I'm going out on the slippery slope. But I can't think of any way to move things along any other way. What I'm going to tell you is classified and things are moving a little too fast to let the application get in the way. What I'm about to tell you isn't very sensitive so I think it will be forgiven."

He continued, "The software and some of the hardware is under the control of DARPA."

"DARPA! Really, what do they have to do with this?"

"You don't want to know. I'd have to shoot you. What you do need to know is that the experiment was a success and your 'glitch', as Ned calls it, is proof. You didn't have a bad dream."

No shit. They've crossed the threshold. Welcome to the future, boys.

"They are aware that they have crossed a boundary. You actually made a time jump. They know that the time jump lasted just under a minute but they are still analyzing the data. They believe that they will be able to control the destination point and keep you from winding up inside a rock or at the bottom of the ocean."

"That is thoughtful of them. Do they know where I went this time?"

"I'd hoped that you could shed more light on it but it seems that won't happen." The Doctor allowed a gratuitous pause to allow Martin time to recant."

"Can't tell you any more than I did." You don't need to know any more than I told you.

"They have been working on some new hardware. It will incorporate modifications based on results from this last test. Part of the new mods will be the AI implant. That's about all I can tell you for now. Got any questions?"

Martin put on his best poker face "Yup. Tell me about this implant?"

"As I said it was built and tested by Osterlund South. It is an AI implant. It isn't going to make you a super-human but it will be at your beck and call. You'll use it for this test and then it can be decommissioned if you want, but we're betting that you're going to like the little bugger. I'll give you a run-down on it after we get it in place."

"What if I say no?" Damn, did I ask that? Do I really want to know what their ace is before they play it?

"If you say no, then besides shooting you, I'll have to take back the Hazardous Duty Incentive."

Hell yes , I want to know.. "Say again?"

"Hazardous Duty Incentive; you know what that is. You're a contractor, after all."

"What are we talk'n here? A buck-three-eighty an hour or what?"

"Well, the rate schedule on this calls for a $15 per hour, 24/7 while you're on test. Of course that's after you sign on the dotted line."

Martin tried to do a little math in his head and look interested at the same time. He'd never before actually gotten paid to do what he thought he was getting away with. "So, you're saying that if I'm gone two days I'd get an extra $620."

"No. Actually I'm saying $4120, because there is a one grand per deum, and a $1500 cycle bonus. And don't forget your regular pay, that will be 24/7 too."

"Uhhhh . . . . . okay." Maybe they don't know. "Yup, I think you got a deal here.

But just for grins, where you going to cram all that stuff?" He felt a bit queasy just contemplating the prospect.

"Oh that's just the thing. This Beta module is no larger than a grape and you won't be any more aware of it physically than you are your lymph glands on a good day. There are a series of small gel packs that will be implanted in various places but you won't notice those either." Grant watched for any flushing in Martin's face. He continued, "Though we still receive DARPA funding, they will remain out of the day to day loop until we successfully complete Alpha 1A"

Bingo! He said the magic word. I'm relatively safe for the time being. Until this is complete I'll be cloaked in the project. But I'll still have to watch my back side and keep my head down. The longer I stay under their radar the longer I live. Hmmm! Why did he emphasize the DARPA thing? Does he know more than I think? Lord, help me out here! I'm threadin' a needle!

* * * * *

# Chapter 4 – The Dilemma

Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character.

Albert Einstein

The problem started years ago, or was it minutes ago. That's immaterial.

The world was in crisis. It had gotten to the point where the survival of humanity depended on a nearly absolute control over the peoples of the earth. It was an identity crisis of sorts. The rich were getting richer, while the poor were getting poorer, and starving in the process. The moneyed masses currently in power realized that their golden goose was about to go extinct on them. Crime at every level had increase exponentially and their profit margin had suffered a systemic hit. The single most important element in the elimination of the cost of doing business was to close the loopholes to corruption; that being mainly anonymity. By implementing foolproof identification on every man, woman and child, crime of all types could be virtually eliminated. Everyone would pay his way and no one could get away with murder, so to speak.

The method of choice was to place a marker in the form of an implant on every individual. This marker would store personal data internally as well as being constantly linked to a master database. A GPS kernel would provide for the effective means of tracking of all individuals.

It was thought by many that such a scheme could never be sold to the privacy minded individual, let alone the Christian segment of the population with their "666" paranoia.

The RFID chip had been under development for decades. It had been tested in one form or another on pets, children, people with health issues and mentally challenged people for years. It was a proven technology.

The final nail in the coffin was two fold. First, it was introduced in small test areas around the world and had proven to dramatically improve the economic environment in every case. Secondly, the monitoring of the movements of the individuals on probation had virtually eliminated repeat offenders as well as improving the investigative powers of law enforcement. So based on what had happen, it was clear what would happen if the RFID implant was to be mandated for every man woman and child.

White collar crimes would nearly vanish. Repeat sexual offenders stood little chance of dodging authorities.

The promise of reducing the economic overhead in communities nurtured such a significant hope for survival, that the voices of the detractors were effectively rendered mute.

The Bible is quite clear on the subject of the 666 implant. But even with its threat of eternal damnation, its pressure in the form of convenience and transparency were enormous. Supporters in favor of the implant overwhelmed the dissenters, who used every kind of perverse logic imaginable. It definitely separated the wheat from the tares.

Anyone could see that the scanning code used with the RFID was in fact modeled after the IPC scan code on every retail item in the world. It was a simple matter to demonstrate that a numeral '6' was embedded at the beginning, the middle and the end of every personal ID code as well. This "number of man", as the bible calls it, is the universal registry code for each individual and is logged on the International ID Registry resident in the "Beast" in Poughkeepsie NY.

Regardless of how fervently the issue was dodged or clouded, it sent a destructive ripple through every Christian Church around the world. It crossed denominational boundaries and clarified the battle-lines within the church.

Even outside the church the personal struggle showed itself. Families were torn apart from a spiritual perspective. The positive economic pressure was enormous. Rather than an anticipated reluctance there was a wave of overwhelming acceptance that occurred.

Was Martin's faith strong enough to stay with a promise rather then cave to a threat that might lead to imamate doom? Was he willing to gamble on a "hope of things unseen"? This was the context of the struggle. His wife, Teal, was not confused in the least, it was clearly a struggle of flesh over spirit. For her as well as for him it wasn't a matter of the exercise of love for one's spouse, it was a personal issue between a man and his God.

Most people think that it is a choice between heaven and hell and that they will simply choose the middle ground. The problem is that nobody chooses hell. Hell is what they get if they don't choose; it is the default. It is by faith that you get what God offers, which is a ticket out of this mess. It is faith that qualifies you for a ticket out of the realm of a cycle of birth-life-death into a realm of unending life. In that realm there is no specter of aging, no consequence of time, no threat of pain or separation. This is not obvious. We don't have a precedent for this. It is not consistent with our experience of creation. It is not a given; it is a promise through faith alone.

At issue was Martin's love of Jesus Christ. Did he believe Christ was the personification of the creator, or did he see him as the figurehead for noble causes and good works? Does He hold the ticket to everlasting bliss or just the mascot for eternal guilt?

Martin didn't know if he could chose to subject himself to earthly persecution and the threat of capital punishment for the sake of a promise. His only alternative was to void his "ticket to the clouds" for an earthly security of questionable and temporal merit.

As it turned out, the opportunity to dodge the issue, at least for the moment, presented itself in an unusual manner.

He had vacillated one prayer too long and, before he knew it, Teal was gone. The Rapture of the 'Church' happened as advertised. Well, not exactly as advertised, but close. Most believers supposed that it would be a glorious affair of world wide proportions. Well it did occur around the world. But it was cloaked in the greatest earthquake resulting from the CME.

God's presence is usually an opportunity for an earthquake. Not that all earthquakes are evidence of his arrival. But this one was; at least for those of the bent.

Many people died as a result of the quake. Many people went missing. In the trauma of the moment, many bizarre accounts arose. Most were accompanied by an earthly explanation, but many of the explanations were of the more supernatural kind. So, was it or wasn't it the rapture? Church population remained on an upswing around the world and attendance skyrocketed. Still the question remained for many.

The Bible defines the True Church as the body of believers, those who are believers in God as the Creator through the person of Jesus Christ. For the people that remained, church-goers or not, it was business as usual. Those taken included many who did not attend church. The dividing lines were blurred to say the least.

When it comes to things of a spiritual nature, God always seems to allow the blindness of self-deception to take hold. Good people and bad, Muslim, Jew and Christians all perished more or less equally. A 'church' remained. It was still easy for the naysayer to scoff.

Still, many chose to believe the stories of people ascending before the eyes of others; ascending into the clouds. As a symbol and a sign, thousands of graves were opened around the world. For the witnesses it wasn't much of a leap of faith. Many accepted that the rapture had occurred and that they had been left behind. It didn't take much imagination to see the change. The world was a different place with new rules, and new rulers.

The oppressiveness of the New World Order was "necessary" in the post-CME turmoil.

Drastic measures were put in place to assure the survival of mankind. A 'New World Order' took hold and the 666 was universally mandated. To survive was the prize.

The enforced implementation of the RFID chip was put in motion. Pockets of employment that slipped under the radar remained for a while. It became increasingly difficult to dodge the chip.

Employers were required to provide for the implementation of the implant to all their employees, or to verify that prior implementation had occurred.

Martin had been employed in contract engineering and took a job through an agency in Tempe, Arizona. Though it was a temporary job, it did offer a cloak from the RFID chip implant requirement, at least for the time being. He realized that sooner or later he'd have to pay the piper but not till another day.

The job was with a particle physics research company headquartered in Boise Idaho. They were into advanced research, of the secret kind. The agency initiated the reactivation of his security clearance.

Martin knew nothing about particle physics but as it turned out the prime selling point in his resume was that he was recently 'widowed' and without children or even any living relatives. Apparently they needed someone who presented a low cost profile, someone who could die cheap. They liked the fact that he could also use a hammer, but that was definitely a secondary attribute.

They sent him through a battery of tests, mainly to determine his state of health and the nature of his genetic make up. At first he thought that they were looking for a prime physical specimen, which he assuredly was not. Realizing that they overlooked that particular deficiency, he finally settled on the reality that his function in this endeavor was somewhat less glamorous than he had imagined. "Lab rat", as Ned had so eloquently put it, seemed to appropriately encompass the true nature of his job description.

They were pleased at his ability to endure extended periods of inactivity. Dyslexia was a point in his favor; go figure. The time spans between trips to the toilet were tabulated as were the number of times he chewed his food before swallowing. He passed the body hair density count as well as the hair analysis. He flunked the intellectual focus examine. He passed the elevator music test, intended to measure his immunity to random audio distractions.

At the end of three weeks of testing Martin was introduced to the project manager. As best as he could figure, the manager's whitey tighties were in a knot. No one ever saw him smile. He introduced Martin to the team and took him on a tour of the clean room where he would meet his true calling. The clean room housed several projects, each cordoned off and in some cases with partitions. Everyone wore white bunny suits complete with booties, hairnets and even mustache bras when necessary. Some techs wore rubber gloves and facemasks to limit any chance of sneezes contaminating their work.

The project he would participate in was separated into two sites. The sites were located in opposite corners to maximize the distance. Harold, the project manager, explained that eventually the sites would involve greater and greater separations.

He was lectured on history of their experiments, starting with Einstein. Harold brought him up to date with recent unpublished discoveries relating to Higgs-Boson particle research.

His participation in the research involved advance experiments in mass translations from one site to another. There were many experiments focused on the rapid gathering of large databases. It was his part to be the mass of record. The plan didn't involve him being actually translated. What was supposed to take place was quite something else. The project involved the development of hardware and software designed to translate his bio-definition from one place to another without the lapse of time.

The mechanism incorporated a phenomenon that had been identified in the roaring 20's by Albert Einstein. Actually he only acknowledged the authenticity of the demonstration of the phenomenon. He readily acknowledged that he didn't have a clue. He called it "spooky action at a distance"; a name that has survived the decades.

He did publish a paper at a later date, but the phenomenon remains a mystery.

The phenomenon involved the fracturing of a photon and sending identical particles in different directions. I was found that while the particles remained active, that when one was manipulated in some manner, then the twin would demonstrate the same alteration at exactly the same instant. There was no measurable time lapse even though it happened across a significant gap.

Since then, the experiment has been replicated over greater and greater distances with increasingly larger masses, one of them being an eleven mile separation. It can be demonstrated that the transmission time difference is zero. This is in spite of the accepted speed limit, that being the speed of light.

In the 60's, Mr. Higgs, in related research, furthered the cause by theorizing that a key player might be a yet to be discovered particle which they cleverly named the Higgs-Boson particle.

Because of the strange nature of this apparently mass-less particle, it was also aptly monikered 'the God Particle'.

The closer they got to isolating this illusive particle, the more mysterious it seemed. An experiment recently resulted in the suspicion that one of the functions of the particle was to give the proton clusters at the center of atoms the essence of mass; it made things that were unreal appear to be real.

Some researchers went on record to say that they believed that the particles' elusive character was actually a supernatural cloaking that would set scientific investigations back to square one every time a break-through was approached. This effectively denied the researchers their due.

Research continued until the most expensive research tool ever conceived and constructed by man, met its match. During an attempted to probe further into this apparent particle physics keystone, the instrument experienced a catastrophic failure. Besides the apocalyptic disaster that ensued, particle physics faced a major reality check. While much soul searching went on, particle physics research continued in the back room of science.

A modified instrument of lesser proportion was built on the prairies of Idaho, or more correctly in the prairie. With much reduced attention, the research continued.

It was in this research that Martin found his means of escape.

About the time of the required RFID implant, he entered the field as a technical contractor.

That is where he is today, participating in an experiment that may render him extinct, a more and more acceptable fate in his view.

* * * * *

# Chapter 5 – The Contractor

Force always attracts men of low morality.

Albert Einstein

Loren gazed out the window for several minutes before it occurred to him that his intended outdoor view was totally obscured by window frost. He toyed with the thought that if he concentrated hard enough maybe he could melt a hole in the frost on the office window by pure will. Up until then, he had been perfectly satisfied with being catatonic.

Workaholic was not in Loren's vocabulary. Even now his whole posture was one of a slackared. But he was the boss, and if he wanted to spend his day slouched in his office chair with his arms folded and his feet propped on the desk, who could or would stop him? His agents in the field worked to pay his bills. All he had to do in return was to shuffle paper meaningfully, delegate authority and act like he was somebody who mattered.

Today he was anticipating the arrival of a new recruit. Hopefully it would be a massive youth, oozing testosterone, one without scruples, and one who would efficiently execute legal termination orders without question or remorse. After all it wasn't as if it were murder; it was more like hunting down a death row inmate.

The seismic clunk of elevator doors jarred Loren out of his self-induced vacuum. He dropped his down-at-the-heel wingtips to the floor and straightened up to his most officiating pose. Shuffling through a folder might add to the deception; at least it would cut the latent excitement he harbored for another warm body to feed his scanty coffers. A moment later the dry wooden floor squeaked with the arrival of his newest resource. A shadow paused outside the office door. The knob slowly turned and the door began a cautious apprehensive swing open. With the waddled stride of an overweight porker with bad ankles, in walked a short paunchy old guy in an ill-fitting suit. His briefcase seemed too old to exist. Their eyes met; a scruffy old ex-cop attempted to suck in ten years of self-indulgence. A crooked smile crossed his face.

"Hi, my name is Beauford Lempky. Most folks call me Buck. The agency sent me over. They said you might need some help."

If Loren didn't need help before he certainly needed it now. He scrambled for an appropriate reply. "Buck? I can work with that." Why me? "I'm Loren Frost. Pleased to meet you, uh, Buck. Come on in and have a chair. Welcome to the organization. You're three months behind in your work."

"Pardon?"

"Sorry; inside joke; just trying to say that you've got plenty to keep you busy if you're up to it. The sooner we get started, the sooner the money will start rolling in." He knew that would set well with Buck. It always did with the pool of has-been contractors he drew from.

Loren had several regular contractors that he kept as busy as he could. Some of them were just naturals. They seemed short on social skills, excelled at short marriages, quick to engage their reptile instincts and hungry enough to ignore the scum factor that came with the job. The 'Buck' types were common in this line of work. They tended to be on the sloppy side. Loren preferred the detail oriented craftsman, although he wasn't one himself, and rarely saw one darken his door.

"I like the sound of that." Buck could feel the days of hunger gnawing at his under filled belly. "Is there some kind of an advance . . .?"

"Yah, I'll be giving you an expense card as soon as we get you signed in and heading out on assignment." Loren tried to reconcile the agency summary with the man sitting in front of him. "As I remember, your resume included something about Army Ranger training. Fill me in on that?" He tried not to let his tone reflect his disblief.

"Oh yeah, that. I had completed several months of training when they bumped me out; something about not meeting a profile of some sort. But I did complete a lot of training. I was real good at . . . "

"Yeah! That's fine; just checking."

Loren sat quietly for a moment. He looked up at his target in the frost. It was frozen solid, but the edges of the pane had started to thaw.

Buck started to shift in his chair. He hated having to justify himself. Let me at it? He thought. "I'm good" he mumbled.

"What?" Loren's gaze returned to Buck, slumped in his chair with his hat dangling like a sticky cigarette from his fish limp hand.

"Nothing" Buck replied, embarrassed that his thought had escaped his lips. "I was just thinking how much I enjoy this work, when I get to do it."

"Yah, well let's get on with it. The sooner we get the routine 'boiler plate' out of the way the sooner we can get you on the road. I assume you are ready to travel?" Loren knew that he had Buck hooked. From this point on Buck would be a puppy.

"Oh sure, I do a lot of travelin' " Buck fibbed. He was not one to plan beyond the bottom of the glass. But as far as he was concerned, any other commitments were 'down in the noise'. Nothing would get in the way of doing what he loved the most and did the best, he thought.

Loren skimmed the resume again. "Loyalty Oath and Security Check complete; passed your Regs Exam, and your Mark Acquisition test." Loren eased back in his chair. "Let's do it." Loren handed Buck a sheaf of business forms and a pen. "You get busy filling these out and I'll go get your standard issue hardware pack.

Buck looked at the forms. "Have you got a pencil?" he paused "With a good eraser?"

Loren cocked his head. "Okay, yeah, sure, in the top drawer of that desk" he pointed.

"Oh, and can I use my own heat on this assignment? I'm used to the feel of it and all."

"Sure, if you're comfortable with it but there are lots of different tricks in the company case. A nine millimeter with hollow points, delivery points, also some crystal doses, a garrote, lasers, GPS tags, Spearite Mighty and the like. There are even rubber gloves, bags and tags. You're going to need some of it, right?"

"Oh yeah, I guess you're right." Buck liked the direct approach but maybe he could use more than just his trusty buddy, his 45 "blunder bust". He liked the hole it made.

Loren headed down the hall, weighing the wisdom of sending an old fat guy with bad feet and the breath to match, with hopes that he could successfully execute such a delicate deletion. But, time was short. He was going to have to make do with what the headhunter sent.

Buck finished jockeying with the forms and leaned back in his chair. He felt good that he was able to finish before Loren returned. Doing form work in front of another human being was a potentially demoralizing activity for the old flat foot.

Loren set the case down next to Buck. "Here,s the key. Don't loose it or you'll have to chew your way into this thing."

The leather case was truly a thing of beauty; burgundy leather, with polished brass scuff trims and latch hardware to match. Each latch had a combination as well as a keyhole. Next to the grip was a security lanyard clip. He was glad he hadn't turned it down, but at the same time he was not sure if it would fit his style.

To be honest, Loren couldn't imagine the case fitting Bucks' style either, not at all. "The expense card is loose enough to cover some clothes. You'd be well served to get some clothes to help you fit in. Your age won't be a problem but you'll likely have to look a little more techie" Loren noticed Buck's scraggly hair. "You will have to blend in with some high tech places where your mark works."

Buck was beginning to have second thoughts. "So who's my first mark and not just who, but where is he?"

"The file is in the case but the fact is, we don't know who he is or exactly where he is. Our dossier on him is pretty flat. He showed up out of no where and moved about, but there's no clear path. The system can only tell you where he may have been, two days ago or so. Where he is going is only a statistical guess. Since he doesn't have an implant, we can't track him directly. We're looking for a shadow. What he looks like is also a guess. There are some group photos but we don't know which one of the group he is. He worked as a contractor with Rand-Sparling, in research, but we haven't figured out exactly which section employed him. And how he got employed by one of our primes without the appropriate documentation is beyond belief. Obviously he knows how this game is played and he's good at it. Check out his file and the leads. Pick one and give it your best shot; excuse the pun. There is an incentive bonus curve in there too. The sooner you get this guy the bigger the bonus. It's going to be tough but that's why you're getting paid the big bucks. Go sic-him, Bucky."

"Buck!" he quickly corrected. He was proud of his nickname but hated any bastardization.

Buck finished up his paper work and sat through the office communication protocol orientation. Loren loaded him down with a few more items of questionable importance and bid him good luck.

It was as if Loren had given Buck a new lease on life. Buck inserted himself into his overcoat with the grace of a dog sizing its bed. Next he reached for the shiny leather attaché and yanked on it only to find that it was about thirty pounds heavier then it looked. "Oh, shit!" he groaned looking back at Loren.

"Keep it close. You'll never know when you're going to need that case. You can leave some of it with your luggage." Loren quipped. "Oh and your Public Weapons Transfer Exemption is in the case. Sign it and don't loose it or you'll have to whack your mark with a stick."

"Damn straight." With his own briefcase as a counterweight Buck shuffled out of the office and back to the elevator.

Buck was alive. In the elevator he leaned back against the rail and relished the moment. He knew this was going to be an easy job; it had his name written all over it. The dry spell was over. He hiked up his pants, tucked in his shirt and loosened his tie. That was nearly the last thing he remembered as he entered the nearest bar.

* * * * *

# Chapter 6 – The Implant

A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be.

Albert Einstein

Aw the challenge. Where am I? I could just open my eyes but that's too easy. I should be able to remember such a simple thing. Martin had played this game before; especially when the answers were obvious in his youth.

It was as a child he played this wakening game, whenever his senses sent an error signal of some sort. When he was young it was a matter of "who, where and when". Before opening his eyes he would go through a mental checklist and try to fill in all the blanks, as if to make awakening a seamless event. It would be years before the cares of this life would lengthen the list.

"Mr. Trask . . . . Martin?"

That hurt. Who the heck is violating my inner-sanctum? With his eyes still closed, his mind struggled for clarity and he reverted to his checklist. Deep down he had the gut feeling that things were about to get complicated. A benign awakening was not likely.

After a while the awakenings all blend together. His mental timeline was a mess. He usually returned to the same place, but each time the same place was changed. In his mind he couldn't match beginnings with endings nor could he clearly see the importance of the distinction.

His perception was that he could exit the loop and face the music or enter another cycle into the past in hopes of gaining a better jumping off point.

But, behind his eyelids he could see that the lighting is wrong, way too bright and from coming the wrong direction. An irreverent echo of voices broke the solitude. The echo of strange sounds bounced off hard walls in the distance. Sounds of people doing routine stuff but he couldn't quite hear what they are saying.

Before he moved a muscle he tried to gather the sensations that were available. I'm warm and comfortable. I have a very slight headache, maybe sinus. The bed is a little too firm for my liking. He tasted the air with the slightest breath. An odor, reminiscent of a time past but he couldn't quite place it; paint stripper or something like that.

I don't feel a hangover so why can't I place myself? Why can't I just accept the risk of awakening cold turkey?

"Martin . . . . Mr. Trask. Are you awake?"

Another instant analysis. A husky. . . No wholesome young voice, careful and somewhat reassuring.

My cover is blown; all that effort was a waste.

I can tell by the tone in her voice that she isn't going away. Maybe it's time to jump out of hiding.

He still hadn't filled in the blanks in fact added a few new ones. I just don't remember going to sleep. I just can't place where I am. Well, here I go, the best I can hope for is planet earth. It is time to attack.

"What . . . why who?" he whined. "Who are you and can't you see I'm dead."

"Busted!" came the retort.

Slowly he cracked opened his left eye, the one farthest from the voice, trying to prolong the mystery. It didn't help, still no clue; and she was still out of sight.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?"

He detected a slight giggle. "You lose again. It's my bedroom, stranger." she chortled.

Again, he tried to take command. "Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry. My name is Kennedy. I'm freckled, fat, single and redheaded. I work for Biocyb. I was brought in to monitor your progress."

Hmm! Maybe I shouldn't have claimed that I was dead. What progress needed monitoring? Freckled and redhead that works. Fat and single that could be scary! Hmm.

His 'where' blank was beginning to fill in; This must be a hospital. Hospital? What the hell would I be doing in a hospital?

"Did I fall off my perch? Did I break anything important?"

"No nothing like that. Doctor Grant said you might be a bit disoriented. Just take your time. And no you're not injured or sick. You just got a little rewired."

Oh no! I'm a baggless vacuum cleaner! "Rewired? Was it covered in the warranty? What was wrong with my old wires?"

"Nappy time is over." She sidestepped his attempt at further humor. "It's going to require both eyes this time. Let's make it snappy! Doctor Grant wants to talk to you in his office. You've got fifteen minutes, troop!"

At that he snapped both eyes open with his best snap and took a deep breath and shivered a long stretch. Just in time to catch the parting glance of a white smocked, freckled, tall, lanky, redhead. I suppose she is married.

"There now, isn't that much better?" she added, "Be sure to finish with your juice. The juice has a little foreign matter in it. It'll make you good look'n. Let me know when you finish your primping. I'll be across the hall."

"Wait! Wait! Give me a clue. What . . .?"

"You're not authorized" she retorted then she smiled and continued, "You really don't have a clue do you?"

"Nope."

"Do you remember who you are?"

" Rah, . . .nope . . . I suppose Martin Trask might be a good guess."

"Yes, and you're a mercenary contractor, to put it politely, same as me, and we have just completed an ANGL implant on you. That's angel without an 'E'. It will be needed for your second mission. Give it a little time; it'll all come back to you. Hop to, soldier!" With a quick, clean swish of her lab coat she turned and vanished into the corridor.

* * * * *

# Chapter 7 – Post-Op

A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?

Albert Einstein

It isn't a hospital, it's a lab, probably a R&D lab. Kennedy led Martin through a maze of partitioned offices. He followed and did his best not to stagger or stare below her waist. Heads popped up here and there to check out the intruder. He gave his fly another check. More halls and labs then out to a string of the perimeter offices.

Kennedy quipped "Grant's okay. I think you two will get along just fine."

"I think we've met." Martin was a loner but he seemed well equipped to get along with the most unlovable.

"Here's the office." The door was open. "Dr. Grant, this is Martin Trask. He's still focusing like a gecko but I think he's ready for you."

Martin flashed a surprised smile "Oh, Doc. Sorry for the slow uptake. It's coming back."

"Thanks Kenny. Come on in Martin, have a seat. Oh, and you can drop the Doctor. Grant will do on this project."

"I think people call me Trask. It's com'n back."

"I guess that's to be expected. I'll bring you up to date. And don't worry about the rest. It will all come back in a day or so."

"I've been looking through your work history folder. You are, of course, Martin Trask. You're a technical contractor working out of Boise. Tecstaff is the name of your outfit. You've been working with us for about a year and a half. You've been on Chokepoint for about thirteen months and I gotta tell you they're really pleased with your performance. You do a good 'warm body'' he smiled "After the screening and training they didn't have much trouble with the final selection process. You're their man!"

Thirteen months, where did that come from. I thought it was three at the most. Chokepoint, that doesn't ring a bell either.

"Chokepoint as you may remember is multi-funded multi-agency project. The project is under the direction of the Bend State College. The prime on this is Timepoint out of Phoenix. They're working with a Federal grant but with additional funding from various archeological and anthropological study groups both domestic and foreign.

Our part in this is to develop and produce the necessary hardware and software as well as train and select the Destinautes.

We have completed the initial T&I and now with that out of the way, we're ready for the first bread-n-butter flight or should I say translation.

Are you still up to doing this?"

I couldn't see that I had much of an option. The money didn't really factor in. I just don't have much of a choice. At any time they could figure out who I am. "You bet. I'm good to go."

"The procedure you've just completed is the part of your second mission. We've implanted a series of devices in and on your body. We won't be removing them unless you request it. Once you become accustomed to them, you probably will look at their removal the same way you would a root canal. The mental and physical enhancement that you receive will be considerable. Your mental function and capacity will improve considerably. Your physical performance will approach your practical physical limits.

We have grouped the modifications under the acronym of ANGL, pronounced like angel. It's an acronym for Artificial Neuro Gel Logic."

ANGL is a component system designed to become transparent to your own thought processes. Eventually you'll take it for granted. The system consists of sensors, processors, saline and protein gel mass bladders and translators. The sensors augment the senses you have and add a few new ones. You have sensors for IR and RF frequency, seismic sensors, high and low level audio pick-ups, as well as pick-ups for frequencies normally beyond the auditory range. There are olfactory discriminators, auditory db amplifiers and attenuators, night vision, retinal enhancers, retinal image generators and a few others.

The two that you may find most interesting are the olfactory discriminators and the retinal enhancers.

Coupled with the CPU and your own brain function, you will be able to smell your way through a number of problem areas. You can discriminate between living organisms and nonliving ones, subtle but significant."

"Do you mean dead ones? I can do that now."

"No, no, no! I mean things like androids and such. With your enhanced sense of smell you will even be able to tell when someone is lying to you. You'll put bloodhounds to shame.

That's just what I've always envied; a dog sniffing strange things.

The retinal enhancer will not only enhance your vision, it will allow you to incorporate CPU generated images into your field of view"

Martin interrupted "I don't sense any of this stuff."

"No, right now the CPU kernel is dormant. In several days when you've sufficiently recovered from the surgery and the basic neuro-fibers have reestablished, then the CPU will be booted up remotely. At that point a download process will begin. Your CPU will begin to construct its own RAM and Cache memory in the gel masses. It will essentially build its own brain pathing in the gel packs located in various parts of your body. Most of the signal trunks are commandeered or shared gland nerve fibers. In addition, some stem cell generation will commence to help your body in its reconstruction. The restructured nerve fibers are intercepted at the base of the cortex where the CPU is implanted. Here the CPU can intercept, interpret, retrieve, process and transmit information as appropriate."

"I'm a robot?" Martin retorted, a trifle indignantly.

"No, no, no!" He chuckled. "That, will never happen! What will happen is that next, all the data library modules will be expanded, science, math, theology, philosophy, medicine, linguistic, archeological, anthropology, psychology and humanities. Then areas will be partitioned to accommodate the emulation and communication data resource and storage.

Then a most important step, but I'll help you get through it when the time comes. Then the CPU interrogator will initiate, and in a manner of speaking you will be handed the keys. You will virtually hear the CPU. You can call it Angel if you like. ANGL will initiate a conversation or interrogation that will allow it to begin to build an emulation and communication foundation. You can reply audibly or inaudibly. ANGL's AI process is learning how to interact with you and will begin to respond in the most appropriate and transparent way that it can."

"It isn't going to be like talking to the phone company, is it? "

"No. The voice tone, timbre and demeanor will be of your choosing."

"Do you mean I will be able to choose male or female?"

"Yes. You make that choice yourself. Remember you will always be in control. Emotion or humor will be a simulated response and will be as comfortable and benign as you wish. You'll get there. Hormone level monitors will help you keep things in perspective. At first it will be a slow process but will accelerate with time. It's like when you first learned to read. You read aloud then silently and finally without moving your lips or even thinking word for word. At some point your interaction with ANGL will be completely transparent to you. It will learn to anticipate but will intervene based on the authority preferences that you set. You'll have to work out your own privacy protocol with ANGL. ANGL will be capable of blending what you already know with the resident module library data. It will then interact with you as your assistant. You will have complete sovereignty over the intervention and interaction just as you would your kids if you have any. In fact ANGL will be an extension of yourself."

"Hmmm? I recall back in the 90's that my VCR flashed '12:00' for years. Will I need to take any classes?"

"Not at this point. As you progress we may develop macro routines but we'll probably download those remotely. In any case the learning curve will be up to you. I'll help you with the initial start-up."

"What about my mission . . . Chokepoint? That's right, isn't it?"

"Yes. Certain details are classified, as I'm sure you recall. Basically we'll be testing and further debugging both hardware and software. Just prior to the launch, as we're calling it, the mission specifics will be down loaded into ANGL, and will be available to you as needed. I can tell you, further, that this mission is mainly anthropological and archeological in nature. The name chokepoint was selected in reference to an emerging theory relating to DNA investigations."

"What might that be?"

"DNA studies have shown that mankind has progressed through quantum stages of development. These stages seem to have been truncated periodically; a result of natural and/or supernatural events. These throttling events, though periodic, are not entirely without pattern. They may even be intelligently initiated. In time the researchers hope to better understand these events and the part they play in the evolutionary process."

"Why would they care?"

"Their interest was originally kindled by the Trinity Collider Disaster early in this century. Actually it was a series of accidents; accidents that coincidentally caused substantial set-backs in the research. It appeared to some of the scientists that they were actually being conspired against by . . . . a higher authority. Though the possibility was seriously considered, research marched on until the final Collider Disaster. That accident revealed some incredible things. Part of what they learned made realm generation possible. This has been central to their follow-on developments. And that was the kernel for the development of this project.

In any case they want to determine, if possible, whether this throttling event I spoke of is an evolutionary process, or an intelligence driven mechanism of creation?"

"You mean God driven?"

"Yeah!" he conceded almost reluctantly. "Or maybe some alien culture."

And what or who might have made them?

"Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes, one more. If this is my second mission why don't I remember a first?"

He looked at me and cocked his head to one side. He pondered a moment, "Let's let that one go for a while. I would like to see what your memory reveals. You see we don't really know everything about the first mission. It appears to have been a success of sorts but we are hoping you can shed some light on some of the things that still aren't clear to us."

"Oh one more question. I don't remember the Trinity incident, what's with that?".

"Hmmm." The Dr. Grant tried to factor this lapse of memory into the equation. "Well, it happened at the Trinity Collider in Cern Switzerland. That will come back to you. Anyway, the accident happened about two and half years after the start-up. They were running an experiment at its facility station called WENDY. Everything was progressing nicely when apparently there was a software glitch, or what looked like one. Shortly after the glitch, the system went into an emergency shut down. Every thing went quiet. The techs could be heard in the WENDY Section Control Room frantically trying to make sense of it when all hell broke loose. Something went terribly wrong. There was an explosion. It wiped out the section control room, and the technicians in it. The explosion was small when you consider the size of the crater. It was the size of several football fields and clear to the bottom of the collider tunnel."

"Was there any chance for the technicians?"

"Well, we don't know. It wasn't as if the area was blown apart with pieces of hardware lying around. It all simply disappeared. Beyond the Pit there was very little damage. About one hour later there was a clap of thunder; a big clap. A helicopter overhead was in the process of surveying the damage and looking for survivors. It isn't known if that was the same moment but a spherical mass appeared in the crater. It was about one hundred feet in diameter and quite shiny. It had no visible external features. Within a few moments seismic tremors began to occur, and it was then that the sphere began to sink into the bedrock. Judging from the amount heat generated from its descent, it was determined that this mass of unknown composition was so dense that it merely sank into the earth's crust. The substrata simply could not support the weight. At first the heat generated by the displacement of the rock around it was so intense that the smoke coming from the pit blocked any further observation or examination.

In any case, it was decided that the experiment was a success. The collider facility simply was not designed to contain or process the results. What they did learn lead to the development of the realm generator.

The facility here at the Denver site is the first full-scale realm generator. It is capable of transporting large volumes. The T&I; Test and Integration, is complete. It is due to go on-line in a matter of weeks. That's enough for now. Let's let your memory recover a bit. We'll talk again when you fire up ANGL."

* * * * *

# Chapter 8 – The Coverts

A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?

Albert Einstein

"Hey. This Martin's a 'runner'. Man, I guess you couldn't ask for a better mule. But then, I don't understand how this works. You just didn't pull this guy out of a hat. You knew in advance."

"Yes. Most of the runners gravitate into occupations that are weak on background checks. They're fugitives, or farm workers, construction, or service workers; Temporary employees. Guys like that."

"But, doesn't this job require a security check of some sort?"

"It does. But in this case he may have had all the security work completed earlier. Then, as long as he stays current, no one questions his current implant status. Besides his job is one level above a lab rat, pretty expendable. The computer came up with a list of possibles a mile long. But it wasn't difficult zeroing in on this guy, since he's already in the program."

"Yah but this guy was supposed to be dead; two and a half years dead."

"Go figure? The computer tracks implants but it's not much good at tracking ghosts; as long as he can stay fed, and out of the mainstream, he can live another day. Surveillance is catching up. It's getting a lot more difficult to stay in the shadows. Facial-scan works on a database of knowns. The next generation of facial recognition will tag the unknowns as well. But still it's limited to points of entry. Not too hard to dodge for someone with the right resources and savvy."

"So, what's the plan?"

"The Department wants this Martin guy kept alive. They've got a job for him. This mule is going to deliver a package for the Department. Apparently the director has managed to get inside the SAAAD program and is going to take advantage of his influence."

"Anything you can talk about?"

"No. In fact I'm only guessing myself. They are into particle physics. Your job will be to keep this guy alive. At this point he is too valuable to the Department to let UNIS have their way with him."

"So, who is this guy who's so valuable?"

"His name is Martin C Trask. Currently, he goes by Trask. Previously he went by Marty, as a nickname. There are some historical discrepancies but that's almost typical in these searches."

"Was he a contractor?"

"Yeah, that all checked out."

"I just don't understand how he could have dodged the implant and stayed below the radar for all this time. He must be getting hungry. This guy sounds like he would fit the bill. The covert boys have been hoping for this kind of guy. He's perfect as a mule."

"Maybe he's the ticket. You figure he has been dodging us for a long time? He must be a smart cookie.

"I can't imagine he even knows who we are."

"Let's hope not. You're starting with an empty folder. It'll be your next assignment. I want you to stay on this guy like a stink. Don't let him out of your sight, and don't let anything happen to him. The UNIS has a termination order active on him and there is no reason for them not to execute that order."

"But you want me to keep him alive?"

"We want him alive for the present. We have a job for this guy but he can't know anything about it, at least not yet. And the UNIS has to be kept in the dark along with him. They get a little uppity when the get preempted"

"Where will I pick him up?"

"If you can't find him right off, then you'll have to wait until he goes through the Sky Terminal in New York. He's due to board a flight on or near the fifth of February, heading for London. You can intercept him in London; that's were we'll be sure to see him. He'll have to come through the Viro-scan in the London terminal."

"Viro-scan? Is that thing up and running?"

"Yeah, there is a Beta unit in the London terminal. Here is a picture."

"Really; it looks like a fashion statement gone bad."

"It must be quit the thing. They tried to hide it in plain sight. I'm sure it is anti-feng shui. I think it looks like a giant hologram, or Christmas wrap."

"How does it work?"

"Basically, it's a video camera. They spray it on the wall, just like paint. It's a cocktail of bad stuff. They have to close the area for a week or so while it sets up or should I say, grows."

"Grows; sounds spooky?"

"They cycle through a number of phases of chemistry and it requires several coats of paint and vapor depositions. There are phases that require a UV seed mesh to be projected on the wall. That mesh initiates the growth of crystal whiskers that eventually cover the entire wall like a mold. The last few layers consist of nano-tubes that are the image gathering element of the camera. The mixture is a soup of randomly tuned nano-tubes. Each tube is highly directional and resonates with a narrow wavelength of radiation. The wall acts like a giant retina. An AI module requires a day or so to generate the initial images, a little crude at first. The image improves over a period of about a month to the point where it ultimately generates a 3D High Def image.

The tubes are randomly oriented. Each tube has a very unique focus along a line of view through the image set. When white radiation is painted on the viewing site, the tubes resonate, a signal is generated and sent to the main computer module via the crystalline mats and fed into a processor to be sorted out. It takes time for the AI module to sort out the confusion of signals but eventually it learns how to generate a very HD holographic like picture. The difference is that this hologram can be made to interact with its view."

"How is that?"

"To begin with, it will be used for facial recognition but with the speed of the data processing it will ultimately become a facial un-recognition device."

"I don't understand."

"When you enter a room full of people, for the first time, you may look for someone you know. When you become familiar with the group, you will eventually enter looking for someone you don't know."

"Gotcha."

"It's a statistical thing. At this point there are only a few of these walls in existence, but as the number grows the database will grow exponentially."

"That's a whole lot of data."

"Yeah it is but again, it's like your brain. Your sense of a view in a familiar setting is constructed out of what they call brain fodder. Only about one half of one percent of what is in your field of vision is actually processed by your brain in specific detail; the rest is just assumed. It's like your blind spot."

"What blind spot?"

"Bingo! That's my point. You have a blind spot that lays several degrees off the center of your visual axis. The fact is that even though it is there, your brain fills it in with assumptions based on past experience. The difference between the AI image and your brain's image is that your brain fills in the image from memory. With the AI processed image it excludes the entire repetitive portion and only saves and processes the variable data. If a person is motionless in the view long enough the AI processor losses track of him. It would take several hours before that would happen. As soon as movement occurs that person is back under surveillance.

The wall operates off of 'T' waves; their frequency is between UV and microwave. The 'T' waves can be tuned to penetrate just about anything and can be selectively used to see whatever it is that needs to be seen. The monitor can display just about anything you want but generally it displays four levels of imagery. The static background like furniture and walls show in nearly solid gray, vital tissue like humans and green plants show up in yellow, non-vital tissue like wood and stuffed animals show up in gray-blue and last are the moving non-vital elements like plastics and metals, they show up in orange. This differentiation minimizes the storage requirement and speeds up the processing."

"Microwave; isn't that dangerous? Sounds like my oven at home?"

"Some of that is classified. The thing that I can tell you is that they can bathe any spot within fifty feet with a signal that resonates with RNA molecules so that they can get a return that allows for an RNA signature to be formed and identified. That's the plan. If I tell you more I'll have to shoot you."

"Why do they analyze the RNA rather then the DNA?"

"If you want to know the name of an unfamiliar piece of orchestral music, you don't find it by listening to the music or by listening to any particular instrument. You learn the name by checking the only member of the team that isn't making any music; the conductor. Not only does he have the overall score, he has control over the timing and quality of the music. They found the same is true for DNA identifications. Though RNA was thought originally to be an inactive piece of baggage in the genetic structure, they now know that it is a key to the character, implementation and interpretation of the DNA. It has the ability to generate a unique signature signal when properly excited. Just how that is done is the cloak and dagger part, but I don't think I have to shoot you . . . this time."

"So, London is the place, huh?"

"Yeah, London. We can easily pick him out of the crowd. He'll be the one without an embedded chip, and with the RNA signature. By then we'll also know the identity of the hit-man sent out by the UNIS. That will also be an ideal place to deal with him."

"Deal?"

"I guess that's a bit harsh; we just need to keep him corralled and occupied so that he doesn't screw things up."

"Check with the secretary on the way out. She has all the paperwork lined up for you. Call me if you have any questions."

"I'm out 'a here."

* * * * *

# Chapter 9 – The Bot

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex... It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction.

Albert Einstein

Several times over the next two weeks Martin returned to the lab for check-ups. Progress was encouraging and finally the good Doctor announced that it was time to get to work on the startup.

Startup consisted of a set of calibration routines designed to give ANGL a basis for operation and to establish a command structure. Issues of priority, and authority needed to be clarified in advance. Most of the process entailed visualization exercises to establish parameters for an appropriate rapport.

Dr. Grant asked Martin if he had settled on a voice replication yet?

"How about your technician; Kennedy?" he replied.

"Hmm, let's try another visualization exercise? Close you eyes? Focus on this moment? Now, tell me, in your minds eye, where is Kennedy standing?"

"In front of me."

"How far away is she? Can you touch her?"

"Yes, she is about arms length away." Martin replied.

"I'm afraid that's not in your favor, Martin. May I make an adjustment?"

"Sure."

"Have her be back at her work station?" He paused to give Martin time. "Now, visualize wadding up a piece of paper? Pitch the wad of paper away?"

"Okay."

"How far away did it land and did it hit a wall?"

"It landed about five feet away. It didn't hit anything."

"Okay, that all helps me understand how you perceive your space. No wall is good. Your boundaries are loose. Your personal space is okay and you are fairly approachable. If the wad had bounced off a wall that was invisible in your visualization I would have interpreted that as a well-defined personal space; one that you hold strong to. In your case it is pretty flexible. Okay; next step. Visualize two adjusting type knobs on a horizontal surface in front of you, also an X-marks-the-spot on the floor about three feet in front of you. The move the spot, using the right knob, from your 12 o'clock position to your 7 or 8 o'clock position. Visualize someone standing on that spot facing the same direction that you are. Though you can't see the person, how tall is the individual?"

"He comes a little above my shoulders."

"He? Okay good. He is your AI assistant. Use the other knob to adjust his distance from you. Move him away and back again until you're comfortable with his distance. Now listen carefully as he speaks his name."

"Got it."

"What did he say, Martin?"

"He said his name is Angel"

"Do you sense that he has a nationality?"

Martin hesitated "Yes. He's Hispanic."

"Are you saying that he has an accent?"

"No. It's probably just his name."

"Okay if your satisfied with his response than simple say 'AI reset'? Not necessarily out loud."

AI reset. "That's it?"

"Yes, that's it. You've now established your trust level, his voice, his name and stature. Angel is a good choice; I think it means that you haven't elevated him beyond what is. If you feel it necessary to change these parameters in the next few weeks, go through the same process. Don't wait too long because the reset transition gets more complicated with time. The initiation protocol requires that you introduce yourself with the phrase "Hello Angel my name is Martin." then wait a moment for his reply. Repeat it one or two more times if necessary. You should be good to go. Let me know if you don't get a reply. Go ahead give it a try, right now?"

"Hello Angel my name is Martin."

ANGL; Are you ready to begin?

"Yes, yes I guess we are."

Dr. Grant interrupted. "Remember that you don't need to reply out loud."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

Martin; Let's not start yet. Perhaps a little later.

ANGL; Okay.

Dr. Grant covered a few more issues and reassured Martin of his support in the coming days and then sent him on his way.

Martin spent the next few days hiking in the Bruneau Canyons south of Boise. He and ANGL spent many hours on the interrogation process. It went slow at first with some long pauses on ANGL'S part as he fit the data into his database and tried to create the proper response. He revealed a number of things that Martin hadn't ever known about himself. Things such as Lactose and chemical sensitivities and food allergies; chocolate was the hardest to accept. As Martin reduced the intake of some of these allergens he was surprise at the results. Dairy product was the big one; with its reduction went most of his joint stiffness and skin itchiness. With the reduction of red wine and chocolate, he experienced a further reduction in headaches. With eggs it was skin, ear and eye itchiness. In a matter of weeks he felt ten years younger and free of discomforts he'd had needlessly experienced all his life.

Though his memory had leveled out he was still sorting out things; making memory ends meet. He had to set up temporary firewalls between Angel and his own recollections as they came back. Little by little he allowed ANGL access. Part of the problem was dealing with fresh memories that he had spent a lot of time forgetting. It was scary and he was never sure which surprises ANGL would drag out of the closet. Though they covered much ground Martin knew that there would still be a few nightmarish surprises left. De ja vu moments of previous dangers gave Martin cause to bolt. ANGL seemed quick to intervene on Martin's behalf.

Martin held out hope that he could harbor some secrets, but sadly it seemed that just wasn't going to happen. He remembered years past when his nephew was young. One night while visiting with family and friends, his three-year-old nephew came prancing into the living room modeling Martin's dirty underwear on his head. The youngster didn't have a clue. ANGL had being doing the same thing with Martin's mental dirty laundry. Nothing was sacred. But it soon became obvious to Martin that he was as much hiding from himself, as from ANGL. It wasn't as though anyone else was seeing it, just Martin himself.

As time went on ANGL came to recognize the need for a certain level of discretion. Martin managed to establish an inner sanctum that allowed for some personal space.

At the same time, Martin gained confidence in their relationship, and came to realize the need for total disclosure, for his own protection if nothing else. Further, he was learning that ANGL truly needed to know what was secret and from whom it was secret.

Martin had long known that it was the nature of a lie to be high maintenance; truth on the other hand, pretty much maintained itself. Unfortunately, the devil himself had robbed Martin of the simplicity of truth. He was now in a lifestyle where keeping track of the deception was literally a matter of life and death.

ANGL told Martin that he was just schizophrenic enough that it might be a long time before he could let ANGL go subliminal.

The nature of the AI persona is that ANGL did not use the words "I am" or "I will"; instead he merely said, "Yes". Instead of "I am", he would say "I ANGL" or simply "ANGL". His explanation was that "am" implies "being" or a state of perpetual presences; a state that he could not claim. And that "will" implies a force of intention that he also could not claim. In effect, he lacked the vital force and temporal authority to affect the true character of life. He said of himself _"I ANGL do not live aside from you"._

Martin; How do we differ?

_ANGL;_ _"We don't, not in the way you're thinking. But I ANGL lack the essence of life which resides within you."_

Martin pondered it for a moment and then realized that to Angel black is black and white is white; anything in between is a mixture; 70% black, 30% white; there are no pure shades of gray. In that mix, simple emotions like love cannot manifest.

Martin; "Where is my essence for life, what is it?"

_ANGL; "ANGL can not detect where the essence is. ANGL can only deduce that_ _there is more than digital bytes stored within the synapse of your brain. The conclusions that you draw are often inconsistent with the data present and yet you draw viable conclusions; viable in the sense that they fall within a realm that you seem to_ _otherwise express as love; beyond logic. ANGL can not yet factor emotion into situational analysis"_

Upon Martin's return to the Denver site on the Camas Prairie, he took a couple of side trips.

He stopped in the town of Grangeland were he grew up. It looked familiar enough. The layout was the same but the events of the last decade had taken their toll. He pulled up to the curb in front of the house he grew up in. Next door, two teenagers argued over some invisible issue. They had given minimal notice to Martin until he climbed out of his car.

"Are you look'n for the Ramsey's" the boy shouted.

Martin worked on a believable response as he slowly approached the pair. "No. When did the Trasks move?"

"Who? Who are they?" he replied leaning on a shovel.

"Martin and Teal; the two that lived here before."

The boy's face lit up "Oh, yeah. She died and he went away."

"Where?"

The boy shook his head slowly "I don't know. He went to work one day and just never came back. His family finally sold the house. Hey, you look like him! 'cept his hair was darker. Are you his . . . his brother?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that in a way. And you . . . you're Mike and Mickey?"

He twirled his shovel. "How'd you know that?"

Mickey moved quietly, to stand behind Mike, never taking her assessing eyes off Martin.

"He talked about you two. He said you were great kids; seems he was right."

"You got any kids?" she chimed in.

"No. No, I don't. Always wished I did. A lot. How old are you two?"

"We're twins. We're both fifteen."

"Come on Mike, I'm getting cold." Mickey hugged herself turned and backed away a step and stopped.

"How did Teal die?" Martin probed.

"I don't know. They said something about a Rap Church but my mom said she died in a car accident."

"Humm . . . they said . . . a Rap Church. Well, you two watch each other's back."

Mike cocked his head "huh."

"Take care of your sister, Mike. See you later."

"Sure . . . Mr."

Martin drove west from town. He stopped on the shoulder on the South side of the highway about a mile outside of Fenn, Idaho according to a sign he passed. There, in the middle of a plowed farm field an out crop of rocks pierced the stubborn green winter wheat with that in-your-face contrast that occurs when nature does the landscaping.

He made his way to the outcropping; kicking through the newly fallen snow. The field extended over an area that seemed to be several hundred acres in size. As he approached, he surveyed the rocks looking for the familiar. He sighted a crag that he knew and walked through a cleft below it, and into the heart of the outcropping. Casually he looked around to see if anyone was within sight. He was alone. He crouched at the base of a thirty foot spire. Firmly grasping an edge he tugged until a chunk of at least forty pounds yielded its perch. Behind the rock a cavity had been chiseled out off the wall. Within the cavity lay a green metal box. Martin removed and opened the box. Snuggly stashed within was a three holed loose leaf binder. Martin withdrew and opened the binder. Quickly he scanned the pages; stopping from time to time. At several places he stopped and pointed to acronyms. In one case the acronym was 'ANGL'.

Martin; Do you see this in my memory?

ANGL; No.

Martin; That's very strange because I remember. What can you tell me about this?

ANGL; I ANGL can tell you that you intended to coming here for the purpose of making an entry in this book; a diary. None of the references are familiar. There is no evidence of these events in your memory. You must be recalling these things from a different source.

Martin; Perhaps. We have been this way before. You can see it in some of these entries. I can't answer all the questions that seem obvious; maybe later.

ANGL; Did you make all these entries?

Martin; I don't know. I don't remember some of these. There may be others who use this diary. I didn't, or should I say, I don't remember putting it here. It seems to be a mile post, a reference point to help me keep my sanity. I remember some of these cycles but not all. You can see that a few are signed Martin Trask or something close to it. Some are blank and a few seem to be mirror image, that doesn't make any sense. I try to make a few statements about the character of the cycle; things that make it unique. Regarding this cycle, the things that stand out are my mother's middle name, and few other discrepancies regarding days, dates and places. I'll note it but it will probably mean little in the future. You can see that there are gaps in the numbering; pages missing. I don't know. It seems that nothing is concrete. Did you store all the data as I scanned?

ANGL; Yes. Why do you ask?

Martin; Well, if you're still with me in the next cycle then I want to see if you remember this one or this diary.

ANGL; Understood. Do you stop here every time?

Martin; I think so. As far as I know, I do.

Martin returned to his car and completed his trip to the lab.

The lab site was named after a small town that was there a hundred years prior. It was a farming community in the middle of the Camas Prairie, in Idaho. Other than a cemetery and a couple of early century farmhouses, there remained very little of the ghost town. The area looked pretty much like it did twelve years ago when they had began a reconstruction project. A large parking lot and administration building were located a couple hundred yards north of the intersection that marked the center of the old town. The actual hardware for the project was buried 250 feet below. It consisted of a circular collider tunnel about 2 miles in diameter. The lab where Martin worked was another mile north.

Martin had returned to the Lab to touch base with Grant and pack for the next leg of his trip to Zurich.

* * * * *

# Chapter 10 - Priscilla

The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

Albert Einstein

If everything followed the project schedule, it would be at least three weeks before the next translation attempt from the Denver site. Martin didn't yet know where or why he would be going on that translation. Because of the secrecy over the matter, it could only be assumed that it was of national importance.

His bed was in the Denver Corporate resident suites; one of the companies accommodations. It wasn't a coincidence that Martin had lived just down the road in Grangeland. His first job had been at this site. He was much younger when he had been employed by a local construction contractor to perform the initial survey work. His introduction to particle physics research came a little later, while employed with Rand-Sparling.

Ball Corporation, a regional avionics company, had merged with Conway International to become BCI Corp. That made them a contender in the bidding for this contract. The new company was big enough to win the job of prime contractor on this job.

Martin had been hired by BCI after completing his contract with Rand-Sparling. Martin paged through the company brochure four times on the day that he came aboard as a contractor. The brochure had looked like it could serve as his class reunion commemorative; old classmates that hadn't left for parts unknown. The class clown, Kevin Brown, had morphed into the HR Director; Arthur Blassingame was Security Officer; Priscilla Ball Arensen, the studious one, was the Chief Operations Officer. She was also the only daughter of the owner of the newly merged Ball Avionics.

After a good nights sleep, it was time to pack for his trip to Zurich. That accomplished, he left his suite and headed for the travel office in the main administration building.

As he walked toward the front lobby after leaving the travel office, he tried to recall how this day played out the last time he cycled through here. His memory of repeated events was not as clear as one would think. Yes he had been here before; many times before; but they all ran together regardless of the subtle differences. The building was familiar enough but somehow. . . Oh yeah, Priscilla. He walked toward the front lobby and right on schedule a door opened into his path and out stepped a business suit; not so close as to obstruct but close enough to cause an exchange.

As she turned to acknowledge him, he caught her eye. The pause was just long enough to stir the tip of recognition; one that spoke of history and common ground; one that authorized a break in the warm silence.

"Priscilla" Martin nodded, not as a question but a declaration of recognition.

"Please, Ann to you, Marty. It's good to see you. I didn't think you'd remember."

Martin cocked his head and smiled. "I wouldn't forget you. Plus I saw your picture in the brochure."

"My name has changed or did you know that?"

Martin smiled again "Ann, I've admired your face from the first day I set eyes on you. Do you know when that was? " Martin didn't know how to describe Ann's face. She never would have been elected a beauty queen, but to Martin she was the very definition of feminine loveliness. Her features, the sum total of which put Martin's creature aesthetic at peace; they always had.

"Well, I don't know what you remember but I remember the first time I saw you. It was my first day at St. Anthony; first grade. You were the only one who said 'Hello Ann' when Mr. Becker introduced me to the class. Everyone else just sat there looking at me as though I had one eye in the middle of my forehead."

"That was the day that comes to my mind too."

They looked at one another until the silence became embarrassing. Finally "Is your father still at the helm?"

"No, he passed away five years ago. Time caught up with him. He had never quite settled himself after the merger. He so wanted to go it alone. Marty, I was just heading for the cafeteria, would you care to join me. We can talk?"

"Sure thing; I have plenty of time before my shuttle leaves."

Ann poked her head back into her office "Becky, I'm going on lunch break. Try and deflect the minor stuff for a while. I'll be back by one"

"Yes. Your next meeting is at two."

"Thanks. Becky, this is Martin Trask from research. Forward his calls, will you?"

"Certainly; should I activate Trace?"

"No, please." Martin interrupted. I can't be traced but you don't and won't know that. "I'm off shift; no one will be looking for me." At least that is my hope.

The CEO and a couple other company executives shared Becky, the quintessential executive secretary.

Martin always admired Ann. She had been a good student for as long as he could remember. The thought that her father had played favorites was nonsense.

"Marty, I'm glad we have a moment. I don't even know where to start."

"I do. To start with, we've never really met" Martin said with a certainty in his voice.

She turned to look at him with her head slightly cocked and knitted brow. "So . . .?" She waited for Martin to continue.

Martin paused looking out the cafeteria window at a view of Cottonwood Peak. "Well. My name is Martin Trask. I'm pleased to meet you, Ann Ball."

She stopped drinking mid-sip. "What are you saying?"

"Ann? Do you realize that we've never really met, other then that time in first grade? I mean other than that, this is actually the first time we've ever spoken to each other."

Ann, released her grasp on the coffee cup and folded onto her elbows. She gazed at the carpet scanning her memory to check the validity of what Martin had just said. "Marty, can that be true? We've known each other for five years less than we know our own parents."

"Ann we have been two ships running parallel courses most of our lives; starting with that day in first grade. I never understood what that was all about. The principal walked you into the room and introduced you to the class. You sat down in the fifth seat of the first row on the right side of the room, opposite the windows. You cried on and off for the first four days straight"

"Do you blame me? My mother had just died and I had to live with my grandparents that year; plus that, it was a new school. Dad and I would spend a couple of hours together in the evening; otherwise I was on my own."

"I'm sorry. I never knew any of that."

"I didn't really think you cared, or that anyone else cared for that matter."

"I cared. I mean I would have cared had I known why you were crying. And I remember; I remembered everything. I remember the first day you wore finger nail polish, and what color it was; I remember your patent leather shoes; and when you wore your hair long. I remember how you carried your books with both hands in front of you. I remember the first day you wore your training bra." she shook her head in protest and rolled her eyes. "You kept tugging at it; as if it were some kind of a torture device."

"It was." She slowly shook her head. "Most of the feminine rigor is torture; high-heels, make-up, girdles, the way we walk, even dresses. Oh and should I mention having babies. I'm not sure why they call that natural. You guys have it so easy. While I was practicing walking with my head level, you were sloughing around in jeans with blissfully dirty knees; jeans that could stand alone.

If you cared so much how come you never talked to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe I didn't think I had anything to say. I guess guys didn't talk to girls or at least not about how cute they were. Besides, I did talk to you, all the time, but I guess it just didn't quite make it to my mouth."

They sat quietly sifting through images that should have rubbed thin long ago.

"Why did you change your name?"

"What?? Isn't that customary when a woman marries?"

Damn! "No; I mean from Priscilla to Ann."

She squinted "My name has always been Ann. I have never gone by Priscilla; that's my middle name. I was surprised when you called me Priscilla in the hall."

Oops! I guess that is another change. "I . . . you . . . uh."

"Come on what gives? Who is Priscilla? You can trust me. We've never kept secrets from each other before" she smiled.

Ohh, man. Is this show time? How could I possibly trust this to someone I've only known for a lifetime and met for the first time, two minutes ago? Martin returned his best hand-in-the-cookie-jar grin "Well, fact is I have. In fact my secrets are a secret. Ann, there is no one I'd rather share them with than you."

"You're serious! I was just kidding but now I'm not so sure. Is there something I should know? If it's none of my business . . ?"

"No, no. It's nothing like that." Martin paused and exhaled.

Ann offered "It sounds to me like we had a love affair and didn't know it."

Martin took advantage in the break in thought "Yes I think we have, but maybe it was just that you were perfect as long as I left you alone; as long as I didn't say anything or do anything to ruin things" he patronized.

"Boy you were selfish. Sorry; let me take that back."

"No, because it's true; I'm not much at gambling and I'm a lousy liar. It's reality that mucks things up; it's fantasy that lets some of us survive." That was pure stupid.

ANGL; ????

Martin; Hang in there? It's a human thing.

A flat smile came over her face. She was ready, even eager to change the subject.

Ann continued "Do you remember Ms Fenafoss, the music teacher that came in once a week?"

"Yeah, every Tuesday it was. She was the one that looked like her hair was tattooed on her head."

"What?"

"Well, she had black hair and it look like she used Bril Cream. It was all stuck to her head and she always had that curl on her forehead."

"I thought she looked good. I do remember that she made you form a Christmas tree on your desk. You know. You formed it with your hands."

"Yeah, that was supposed to keep me out of trouble but I got so engrossed in it that I would forget to sing."

"Martin, do you remember the time Mrs. Richards came through the door and you thought it was your brother coming back into the classroom? But it was roly poly Mrs. Richards and the chalk eraser intended for your brother, hit her square in the chest."

"Yes I do remember. We were supposed to be outside at recess but instead we were being punished for something. It was odd; she didn't even break her stride. She just looked at me with a look of total disbelief. I never figured that out."

She added "Do you remember that she didn't even remove the dust donut on her chest? I think she was mortified and was doing all she could to keep from crying."

"I suppose she was. Back then I just couldn't do enough to destroy someone's day." I was an equal opportunity offender much too often.

Ann checked to see if Cottonwood Peak was still there. "How do we remember so much of that stuff, when it was ages ago? Where does it all fit? Why does some of the trivial seem so important?"

"Maybe it's not so trivial" Martin offered.

"Martin, I'm glad we ran into each other. For two people who never met, we sure share a lot of memories."

"Yes. I . . . I guess it's time for me to be catching my shuttle."

"No. Please, I have something I'd like to ask you about." the tone in her voice changed; it was back to business.

"Ask moi? Sounds serious all of a sudden."

"Yes Martin. It's not that I would have ever planned this but this meeting is serendipitous. And I have to ask."

"Fire away."

"It's about the Alpha Test."

Not that again, he thought. Who doesn't know about it?

"I've been in on several of the technical briefings and I'm aware that there is something going on. Aside from the obvious that is. I'm Chief Operations Manager but I'm not sure that gives me an inside track on everything, especially lately. There are two teams of scientists. They are supposed to be working together, but lately it isn't working out that way and I'm being kept out of the loop." Ann looked at me as if to consider the complication of confiding in me further.

"How can I help? I don't even know most of the science staff."

"It seems to hinge on the test itself. The test is designed to test the viability of translating a human from one place to another. All we're supposed to be doing is demonstrating that we can send adequate data from one point to another using the Kagan Anomaly. But for one reason or another it seems that something else is involved; something beyond the scope of our contractual participation. It may be that it is secret, and being kept that way even from us. DARPA can do that. I am talking to you because you are cleared and because I don't think you're from DARPA. Secrecy does funny things to peoples minds, but some things I just know, deep down inside."

"I'm not, from DARPA. And, I don't know about the contractual stuff, anyway. I'm a mercenary, so to speak. I just sit in the chair and hope they don't toast me. Do you know what I mean?"

"Of course."

"The monkey gets bananas but I get bucks."

She leaned closer to Martin and lowerd her voice "Martin, if you trust me, let me in."

What was she asking? How much did she know? Who or what did she suspect? I have to assume we were on the same page at least when it came to loyalties. "I don't know what you know, or what part of that is bothering you. And, I'm not privy to the subplots out there. But there are a few things I can tell you. Things that I shouldn't tell anyone and I hadn't planned to tell you" Martin paused to let her settle. She worked her lower lip in concentration; as if she was clearing a spot in her head for a new synaptic file. "I am trusting you on this one, Ann." I finally added. "Don't hurt me because I'm about to give you the keys."

Her eyebrows raised as if she had the feeling that she had picked the right lock. "Oh, I hope we're on the same page. Go on?"

"I'm in this program for purely selfish reasons; mainly for survival. This program is or was intended for A to B data translation. You're right about that. But something else has happened; a windfall; something they didn't expect. At least the staff scientists didn't expect it. My guess is that DARPA is up to speed, for once, and trying to capitalize on the opportunity."

"What are you saying? Is there more to this project then I see in the contract?"

"I think that's more than safe to say. The 'Spooky Action at a Distance' aspect of this experiment is only the tip of the iceberg. They have discovered, and I'm guessing, based on what I know, that in the moment of translation a door is opened. In addition to the instantaneous A to B translation they have the opportunity for an instantaneous 'now' to 'then' translation."

"You . . . you meanTime travel???"

"Yes."

She blurted "Why are they keeping it secret? Well I guess that is a silly question. How do you know this? Have you time-traveled?"

Martin gave her a slight nod as if he could minimize the fact.

"You have! Where did you go? Or should I say 'when'? No, that wouldn't work either, I know, 'Where'?" she settled on her adjective.

"If you mean where in history? Well, this last time I actually didn't go anywhere. But that's beside the point. I just hung out for a while then returned. I think what you want to know is why I went there in the first place, and why weren't you told."

"Both of those, at the least. But I really want to know all of it. This brings up all kinds of questions; what about the 'Grandfather' paradox . . . or whatever it's called. You know what I'm talking about; that we can't be just messing with history on a whim?"

"I'm sure you're right, but how could we know? How do you know that today is the only today that has ever happened? Maybe "today" happened before, and the only experience that you are aware of is this current one. Maybe there have been multiple "todays" or maybe there are multiple "todays" running concurrently. How could you know beyond your singular experience?"

"I don't know. I guess I couldn't. But you know? Or do you? Wouldn't it be impossible to change everything to match a new reality?"

Martin chuckled "We give history way too much credit. You're thinking about infinity in a finite way. Think about it. This moment arrived pretty seamlessly. The ripple of history can change, as quickly as a thought. The past, in some respects, doesn't exist anymore. It's just in our memories. Why couldn't the nature of this moment be as easily altered? The only thing that reality applies to is 'now'. The change in history wouldn't necessarily be accompanied by a popping sound or a flourish of trumpets, anything like that."

Ann sat back and took a deep breath, as if she had fallen behind on her breathing and had to catch up. "You're kidding, right? It can't be that easy. Can it?"

"Maybe this will help. Visualize history as a bucket of marbles; different colors different sizes. Each marble represents some aspect of history; maybe it's events, maybe milestones; in any case, they represent the substance of change and all are added one at a time or maybe in small groups. The surface of the pile represents this moment in history. Isn't it easy to see that the orientation and make-up of the top surface of the pile at any moment is in some way a function of what came before? Do you follow?"

"Yes. That is not hard to imagine."

"Now imagine that we could somehow reach down. . . no. Imagine that there is a little door in the bottom of the bucket. You open the door and reach in and remove one of the marbles. The entire pile shifts to take up the new vacancy. What happens to the surface of the marbles?"

"Not much, I suspect."

"Right; most if not all the same ones are there. Same colors and pretty much the same position; a shift would be inevitable but probably hard to detect; you with me on this? History remains essentially intact."

A pause "Yes. That may be an oversimplification, don't you think?"

"Granted but hang in there for a moment more. Replace that marble, either with the same one or with a different one. The entire pile shifts yet again. As a result of the marble that is stuffed back into the door, the surface changes again probably not to the exact original configuration; but close."

"Yes, but what about the butterfly effect. Are you saying that it doesn't really happen?"

"Not exactly; it's just that you can make that as big as you wish. In a documentary that I saw recently, two identical twins, separated at birth, reflected on their separated lives. They noted the striking similarities in spite of different environment and circumstance. It has to be a pretty tough butterfly to make a difference."

"Just as the butterfly effect can result in profound impact on future events, it is as likely to be lost in the noise."

"The butterfly effect comes into play in relation to future events, much the way stuffing the marble back into the bottom of the bucket affects future events. It is quite likely you won't see any effect whatsoever because the impact is so spread out."

"Now factor this in; they're only future events from an experienced perspective. From the point of view of the replaced marble, the rest of the marbles are future events, yet to happen. From the point of view of the surface observer, all events are past events. Ann, postulate God as the observer and from his point of view all the events are past events."

"We pass through life encountering the 'Y's' in the road. We make choices based on free will. But, whatever choice we make does not erase the other option, whether it is right or wrong."

"Even though two people may encounter the same 'Y', each chooses independently and for different reasons. It's the condition of the heart that God looks upon, not the choice."

"It's like a pin-ball machine. Every ball played winds up in the same hopper in the end. Yet each ball may pass through the field in any one of an infinite number of paths. Some paths engender a high score and some a low score. Every path still exists, regardless of the one taken."

"Am I making any sense? Our route through life is nearly insignificant; rather it's the character of our heart's response that has an impact. The response is purely a function of our free will."

"The point is that every possible course of history already exists. It is not clear to me if every course is in operation in the way that we experience this one. But just as with the replaced marble, any one can be replaced instantly and seamlessly shift the consequence of history. In the end we will all wind up in the same hopper; each with his own independent value."

Martin continued, "The thing that puzzles me is that I come back with a history in my head that hasn't yet changed to reflect the shift in reality. Remembering anything is significant; don't you think? How is it that I don't come back with scrambled eggs for a memory?"

"Could be that you're dreaming this, Marty. Is there any way to prove that you actually went anywhere?"

"Maybe; I remember some of the things that are about to happen next. Not exactly but close enough to use as examples."

"Things like what?"

"Ann, you know most of the employees and contractors, don't you?"

"Yes, most of them. We only have a hundred or so here on site."

"There is a contractor by the name of Kennedy. I don't know her last name and I don't remember the agency she works for but she is assigned to Dr. Grant. She . ."

Ann interrupted "She started a month ago. Where do you know her from?"

"I only spent a few minutes with her several weeks ago. What you may find interesting is that I know that she is recently from Illinois. She is now two weeks pregnant; she doesn't know it yet. She is an RN and is trying to get certified here in Idaho. Her parents . . ."

"Hold on for a second. Let me pull up her file?" Ann brought out her hand-held. "It's confidential of course; I won't be revealing anything you don't already know." After a few moments she scanned Kennedy's file, nodded slowly and then "It's a good trick, but how do I know that you that you're right about her being pregnant?"

"You don't. I guess you'll have to ask her. She'll probably want to know how you came on that information, since she will have just recently found it out herself; of course she might just deny it.

So, how about this one? I don't think that you make it to your meeting because you get called to an emergency in building 2; an employee injury."

"You're freakn' me out, mister. I guess I asked for it. How did you find out that she is pregnant?"

"I don't know. I don't remember. I probably had an occasion to call her or was it you that . . . Yeah, it's you that confirms it to me, in a week or so."

Still checking she asks "Have we had this conversation before?"

Martin nodded "I'm afraid so. Actually I don't remember the exact words, or even the general subjects, but, yes, we've talked before. All I can say with any certainty is that I remember it."

"Marty, this is big. If what you say is true than I have to find out what's going on. This isn't according to plan; there are a ton of liability issues that have to be addressed."

"I'm sure you're right but for my sake take it slow, and for your sake be very careful."

"Careful? Why?"

"Think about it. Like you say, this is big and I don't yet know how it turns out or whose agenda is being served."

"You're telling me the future, but you don't know how it turns out?"

"Well, I do know some of how it turns out, at least to the point where I leave on the next cycle, but then it gets a little fuzzy. I've never been there before or yet."

"Why don't you know the future? Isn't that part of it?"

"No. I'm stuck in a now kind of loop and don't advance much beyond this point; a month, maybe two. You, on the other hand, do, so I can't tell how it turns out for you. As best I can remember, there are some people around me who are going to die in the next few weeks. You're not one of them."

"Why? Why do people die? What's going on?" Ann's face drew tight.

"Yeah, I remember now." Martin thought out loud. "That dying stuff doesn't involve you. That's my problem; it happens during my trip to the conference. You are about to embark on an investigation but I don't know much about that. Before the investigation involves me, I'll get some things resolved, and it will start all over for me. It's not endless but the right exit point hasn't presented itself."

"What are you talking about? What exit point? What are you involved in?"

"Ann, my life is in the balance. I've said too much to shut up now. I've got to trust that you can keep my name out of it for another month or so. I have no idea how you can do that but somehow you can."

"What kind of danger are you in, Marty?

"Pull up my file?" Martin waited as she complied. "Look at my security status. Check my RFID status?"

"Yes. It's up to date. It was completed in . . . . That's not right. There is no Aug 31. They've got your compliance date wrong."

"Thank God for that. Ann, I don't have an implant. It never happened. That actually was the day after they initiated my first translation cycle. I returned several days later."

"They would have noticed."

"Not so far. It's sort of like trying to straighten out Credit Union errors; it never quite happens. About the time it gets figured out, I'm off on another cosmic loop. Each time I hope to return under different circumstances, ones that I can live with, literally. At that point I'll just quit volunteering for the research."

At that moment Ann's cell phone chimed. "Ann, that'll be your call to Building 2. I've got to go. I'll stop in when I get back."

As Martin moved to leave, Ann reached for his hand as she answered the phone. Martin paused, caught in her warm grasp, then leaned over and lightly kissed Ann as easily as if they had been married for decades; maybe they had.

* * * * *

# Chapter 11 – Out of the Starting Gate

It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.

Albert Einstein

Buck woke to the sound of steel clanking on steel. "Hit the deck, gentlemen. The party is over. It's time to pound the pavement!" The officer walked around the cell rudely poking each askew resident with his nightstick.

"Oh, crap" thought Buck. He knew the drill. He'd been here a few times before; different jail; same reason. He knew that making sense of it would come soon enough. But for now it was a problem of putting one foot in front of the other and getting out of here the quickest way possible. Get up, line up, and shut up; just get it done.

As Buck stepped up to the 'Evidence Room' counter a light went on in his head and he slammed his hand over his pocket to locate his attaché key.

"Is this what you're looking for, Mr. Lempky?" The officer dangled his keys in front of him. We didn't want you to have to sleep on these."

Buck's armament case lay on the counter. "What you got in here. Are you a brick salesman?" Buck shook his head "No; hardware sales."

"Hope you got a license for that hardware." The sergeant jabbed but he already knew the answer.

Buck signed his name with a few uncomfortable jerks and twitches. He paid his fine with the only money he had; his expense card. He'd have to think of an excuse later when the expense report snitched on him.

Out in street Buck sat at the bus stop attempting to regroup. Another drink to clear his head was out of the question. He was on a mission and to this point he was batting zero. In fact he was rapidly falling behind.

On the second try to cross his legs, Buck finally managed to reconstruct his lap. He dragged the attaché into place and shuttled the tumblers with the polished key. The sound alone was enough to sharpen Buck's focus. After a quick look around to check for prying eyes, he cracked open the case for the first time. A red velvet deck covered the arsenal; above, the accordion-fold file storage sagged open. One folder showed itself. He carefully removed the folder and let the case click shut.

Loren was right; the dossier was light on specifics and heavy on possibles. Like himself the mark was using an expense card to finance his travels but unlike him a government agency accounting office listed the user as a project designation. The card may have been stolen and unreported or used in an unintended manner. Because of some anomaly in the accounting procedure the tracking of a user of such a card was complicated and the delay allowed the user to stay one step ahead of the authorities.

Another complication was the need for secrecy to avoid any social impact or media attention. The home authority for Loren's agency was referred to as "the sponsor" even though everyone knew it to be the UNIS, a cloak and dagger outfit sanctioned by the UN

Because of the hits on the card the computer was able to correlate the mark's movement, and to establish some general parameters. Also, intercepted communications indicated that the mark would be leaving New York on or about the fifth of February, with a somewhere in London destination. From there the mark could either be contacting a research outfit in London or crossing the channel to enter Europe.

Buck had three full days to make a three day trip, but he would have to book a seat on the train today. Because of the moratorium on airline flight, Buck knew that the likelihood that he could bump his way onto a 'security flight' was nil. The Wave Schooner out of New York was not limited by the moratorium because it didn't use fossil fuels. However its schedule was weather sensitive and departures were at best a one or two day estimate.

It was Buck's lucky day. He had three hours to get ready and across town. He felt confident he could make it for departure time.

* * * * *

Buck arrived in New York eight hours past the scheduled departure of the Wave Schooner but weather delays were in Buck's favor. Good luck seemed to be holding. Exhausted by a lack of sleep on the train, and the thought of spending un-numbered hours on a bench in the airport, did not help fluff him up.

Buck hadn't been on an international flight for some time. The requirements were strange to him, but after slowly laboring through the inspection information poster and watching the travelers ahead of him, he managed to negotiate the station with a minimum of embarrassment. His Weapons Transfer Exemption was worth a hundred times its weight in gold. He was never able to understand the shoe thing, or the pat-down, but he ran the gauntlet and somehow survived it.

He arrived at the gate early. After locating a seat he began the nesting ritual, struggling to find the least uncomfortable position in hopes of doing a little power napping.

In spite of several sharp announcements over the PA system, fatigue overtook Buck. With some gravitationally induced adjustments in his posture, he slept.

The bag that he rested against suddenly made an exit as its owner launched it free. The rudest of awakenings announced the departure of his flight. Lifting his tortured body from the floor, Buck was forced to re-seat himself if only to gather his wits and do a quick primp. With his shirt in a half tuck, drool spots festooning his lapel, and one shoe untied, Buck teetered to a standing position and strained at his two pieces of luggage.

He had fashioned a security chain of sorts for his attaché. The chain and lock had been improvised with acquisitions from train depot shop. Though it was mainly for show, he felt that at least he wouldn't be separated from his case without knowing it.

At the boarding gate, Buck fumbled through his coat for his ticket as the announcement was made that the passenger list had an emergency adjustment. Probably VIP's, he thought, throwing their weight around. Volunteers for the bump would get full reimbursement for their tickets plus a bonus coupon, or a reassignment to the next available seats on subsequent flights, plus a coupon.

Two passengers had volunteered and four were bumped by random selection. The ticket numbers were announced but only two passengers exited the immediate area.

Buck watched as the passengers boarded. He needed to reduce the number of possible targets for his surveillance. In his hand he held the photo enlargements of his mark, hoping to see a match. To his disgust the boarding was too quick and the potential matches were too many. In the end none seemed to strike his trained but aging eye. Maybe, once aboard the flight, he could move about and further refine his search. Once he was in his seat, he would take stock of the situation and zero in on his prey.

This might prove to be a quick kill, he mused. With his attaché case still strapped to his wrist he settled into his seat in preparation for launch.

During the obligatory announcements a stewardess stepped to his side to explain that he would not be allowed to carry his attaché case in his lap. It was necessary for him to put it under the seat for launch. With his head still rummy Buck didn't resist the requirement.

Heavy lifters rumbled overhead torturing the air. The Wave Schooner shudder from the turbulence caused by the lifters and slowly they broke free from the tarmac. The vertical acceleration increased but never reached an uncomfortable level. As five minutes passed the rising lessened and a lateral movement began, evidenced by a disorienting feeling of being off balance. As the giant wing rotated into the wind the gentle tug of the lower tethered took over and the shuddering reduced to nearly inaudible. The heavy lifters released and everything went silent. Had Buck been awake he would have seen through the overhead view ports and watched the heavy lifters moving off into the distance.

Almost as if held in a trance the passengers remained in a hushed silence for a few more seconds. As if on cue the suspended conversations rekindled. Buck didn't notice; he snorted once and then settled in to a low purr; his reconnoiter would come later.

* * * * *

# Chapter 12 – The Departure Gate

There is no doubt that God works in our midst. The miracle is that we notice.

A servant of our Lord

Martin arrived at the boarding gate prepared to wait. He retrieved new bounty from his carry-on. He had never been a reader, but with time to kill, and no one in particular to kill it with, a book became the diversion of choice. A "best seller" offered hope for time to pass painlessly.

He set his carry-on aside and leaned back. Before he cracked the book, it seemed best to study his surroundings. After all, he was a spectator at heart; not so much for sports as for the vicarious pleasure of enjoying the people around him. He had been forced into the sport of watching as a pre-schooler. Polio had kept him bedridden for six formative months. Though the sickness had left his body unscathed, his lifestyle had been set on a course of discovery through observation. Not that he was any good at it; he lacked a sense of priority, and tended to seek out random issues. He innocently and unwittingly looked for the fractals in daily life; he kept trying to reconcile the irregularities with the symmetries that forced their way into the human condition.

ANGL; You do this often?

Martin; Yes. I find it comforting.

ANGL; What do you see?

Martin; Stress and tension; rushing, indecision, uncertainty. Everyone seems out of their element.

ANGL; Yes. There is a lot of excess energy being expended.

Martin; Yeah, I guess it's just that this is not routine for anyone but the employees.

ANGL; It's a troubling place.

Martin; There are a lot of contrasting agendas. Though everyone travels along a parallel course for a short time, their agendas are vastly different. Some are busy with blossoming, some are concerned for the cares of others, some seek the cause of death, and others for a reason to live; all are unaware of a stresses that bind them. Look at that woman fussing with her kids. She probably does it naturally but here it embarrasses her, and them. And that boy, he is electrified by the girl sitting with her mother; and the businessman trying his best to make this trip a painless event. How about the old guy asleep, slouched over the luggage . . .

ANGL; He seems out of place.

Martin; I suppose. He's at least taken a few bad turns in his life. My guess is that he spends a lot of time walking with one foot in the ditch.

ANGL; ???

Martin; He swims up stream; goes against the flow; he is forever at odds with his environment. I guess that's some kind of idiom; I made it up myself.

ANGL; What about her. You keep looking at her.

Martin; Yes. It's almost as if we've met; as though I know her. I keep trying to place her. But it might just be wishful thinking.

ANGL; Wishful thinking, in what way?

Martin; Some people are too complete to be disturbed. It's as though I would damage the image if I were to attempt to possess it. Look at her, she's the most peaceful person here. In fact it's a total disconnect. She doesn't even have a purse. How many women do you see wearing denim bibbies here, and over a full silk blouse with puffy sleeves; no make-up. Her arms are straight to her sides. She's in need of nothing. She seems to be here for the bidding of no one and everyone at the same time. I find it almost selfish, even arrogant to think that we've met, and yet . . . even she must have a purpose here.

Look at the guy at the counter fussing with the agent. I have no idea what his problem is but you can bet he's been there before. He's in a loop and he doesn't know it. He is swimming up stream just like the old guy.

I guess I should get to my reading.

ANGL; You don't really like reading.

Martin; No. But I haven't given it much of a chance. Dyslexia doesn't help either. There isn't . . .

"I think she's calling your number."

Martin jerked to attention "What?"

"Your number; your ticket number; I think she just called it"

Martin looked at his book. His ticket, the one he was using as a book mark, stuck out from the pages, in full view. He looked at the agent who had finished her bout of verbal gymnastics with the irate passenger. As her eyes panned the waiting area, their eyes met and Martin knew that he had in fact, missed the call.

As he gathered his carry-on Martin turned to thank the woman standing next to him. It was the woman in the bibbies, she smiled and silently dismissed him to his appointed task.

He stepped to the counter. The agent became distracted with the phone and while Martin waited, he turned to glance back at the Good Samaritan, wanting to further nod an acknowledgement. She was no longer there; she had moved back to her previous perch.

Martin; Did you see her move over next to me?

ANGL; No. There is no recollection of movement by anyone.

Martin; Did you hear the agent call a number?

ANGL; No.

Martin; Hmm. That's odd.

The agent finished her phone call. She acknowledged Martin with a slight look of despair. "We have a situation. We'd like to ask for your help. It seems we have a booking problem. We would appreciate it if you would consider a change in flights, moving to the next one to be exact."

"Sure, I guess that wouldn't be a problem. I've got all of tomorrow that I haven't used yet."

"Oh, it's not that bad. The next schooner leaves in four hours. And for your trouble we'd be glad to buy you a dinner and issue you a one-month transportation pass, good throughout Europe. We'll expedite your luggage . . ."

"Not necessary. This is all I have." Martin held up his carry-on. "I'm sorry about missing your call. I didn't hear you call my number."

The agent cocked her head "I didn't call your number. I was taking volunteers. Thank you for stepping up."

Martin pondered her reply. What's going on??

As the agent finished the rebooking she called a number. Martin noticed the responding passenger arise, liberating his carry-on from under the bald head of the sleeping wayfarer.

Martin pursed his lips, hiked his brow and resigned himself to continuing his bewilderment with a shrug. With meal ticket in hand he turned and headed up the concourse toward the restaurant.

* * * * *

# Chapter 13 – The Wave-Schooner

Worshipping the god of technology is like swallowing a string.

Anonymous

Now that Martin was in the air he was easier to relax. He still couldn't be sure that he wasn't being followed. But for now he felt relatively safe.

The mission scope had been down-loaded into ANGL a bit earlier than planned, but whenever it was necessary, Martin would be briefed. Some data was encrypted and required RF codes. Other data was locked with specific time locks to be accessed later. For now, with the launch window a full three weeks away he would have some free time in Europe; at least the part of the continent that hadn't been demolished by the CME.

Martin's trip to London was aboard the newest thing in the air. Aeroflot had designed the Wave-Schooner, a heavier-than-air tethered mono-wing.

Martin hadn't crossed the Atlantic since before the CME. This trip was therefore a rare and welcome luxury. Since the oil crisis of 2012, the world at large had adopted a new economy, lean on fossil fuel energy.

After the CME, the need for mass transportation had dropped off drastically. Besides not having any fuel, the airline industry couldn't fill an airplane with business flyers or customers who could or would pay the price. Tickets were at a premium, and often distributed through a lottery.

It was a matter of debate as to whether the CME had been a blessing or curse. With the world in unrest and the sky filled with toxic dust, humanity was rapidly moving up the endangered species list.

Global climate change threatened to do us in, within a decade or two. We were simply a petri dish full of diseases, both social and physical. The oceans had become an un-navigable, toxic red tide. Fifty-foot waves ruled the oceans, and hurricanes were being numbered rather named.

It had all started when armies from around the world gathered in the Middle East ready to claim the remaining oil resources, and to settle the world supremacy issue for the last time. Oil rich Israel stood by like a lone sheep surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.

There was no way out. Diplomacy was a joke. Iran and North Korea had played the UN like a cheap fiddle for years. Even fraternal orders were signing non-aggression pacts, and most of those were violated before the ink dried.

Every finger caressed a trigger. Who would blink first? Countries had postured themselves into a corner. The world was on the threshold of World War III and no one wanted to take the blame for starting it.

The Muslim Extremists were experts at terrorism but an all out war was something entirely different. They had rudely pushed everyone's button. They were truly "equal opportunity" offenders. They had been fighting among themselves for centuries, but now their in-your-face diplomacy had royally pissed everyone off.

The USA, the land of the free and home of the brave, had been hijacked by perverted self-serving interpretations of the Bill of Rights. The extremists with the help of the every-present "useful idiot", and hordes of godless crackpot groups in the country made a mockery of all freedoms thought to be inviolate. "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" had corroded into a mantra of "greed, growth and power". The words of President Bush had proven to be truer than anyone could have guessed; "money trumps peace".

The US had been out maneuvered at every new opportunity. The Chinese had one-upped every major tactical weapon development of the West and used North Korea as their straw-dog bait to draw out any takers.

The public was blinded with self-interest from decades of prosperity and was willing to back anyone who would tell them "they could have their HD TVs and cheap gas too". As fast as they backed away from God, God distanced himself from them. In their panic to maximize the bottom line, they were about to lose it all.

The European Union moved with the grace of a drunken clown. They spoke with a cacophony of voices, agreeing on nothing. On the one hand, they condemned the violence in the Middle East, and on the other hand sold and shipped them weapons. "Money trumps peace".

Russia spoke out of both sides of her face as it had done for decades. In reality, she was rooting for the winner, whoever that would be. Their plan, historically, had been to move in at the last moment and reap the spoils in co-harmony with the winners.

Who would shoot first? It wasn't that no one wanted war; it was that no one wanted to lose it. And so, there they sat, in the sand of the Middle East, waiting for the other guy to make the first move.

Blink, damn it, blink! Then, suddenly while all were posed in the hot, dry Valley of Megiddo, there was a blink. Though some scientists had theorized the possibility, never before had humankind experienced it on this scale. The sun blinked! Not so it could be seen with the naked eye, but every astronomical solar sensor registered an outrageous fluctuation of energy greater than any other in recorded history. Coronal observatories saw it first. It started out to be a solar flare, it quickly mushroomed into what is known as a Coronal Mass Ejection; CME. A huge chunk of solar mass suddenly ejected off the surface of the sun. It has happened before but always, mercifully, the earth was spared the brunt of the blow.

Initial measurements set the speed of the ejection in excess of three quarter of a million miles per hour. The plasma mass rapidly expanded and belched outward from the solar surface into a gigantic yawing splay. It raced across the chasm of empty space, reordering into an immense elemental dust cloud; on a collision course with the planet earth. For nearly a dozen days, the on coming cloud shadowed the sun's light. The moon hung in the sky, draped in burnt umber. By the time the dust reached earth, its density had reduced to about 10 pounds of matter per cubic mile. No biggie except that it was still traveling at nearly 100,000 miles per hour with a shadow far exceeding that of the not so sunny side of the planet. Its impact pounded the stratosphere and troposphere for just under an hour as it flashed by our planet on it's way to deep space.

If it had been one square mile of the earth's surface, it would not have been noticed. But, over half the surface of the earth, now that is one giant velvet hammer.

The dust that directly impacted the upper atmosphere passed through and filled the sky with a rain of meteoric streaks. The sky rolled up like a scroll. The plasma tracks in the stratosphere generated a barrage of lightening for the duration of the CME. It looked like every star in the sky was falling.

I looked when he opened the sixth seal, and behold a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became like blood. And the stars of heaven fell to the earth, as a fig tree drops its late figs when it is shaken by a mighty wind. Matt 6:12,13

. . . a third of the sun was struck and a third of the moon and a third of the stars . . . . Rev 8:12

If it had been a asteroid with but one hundredth the mass, we would have been pummeled to extinction, but a cloud traveling three times the average speed of an asteroid is an all together different thing. Imagine if you dropped a single grain of sand through a floating soap bubble, the bubble would unwrap itself into extinction. Yet, a puff of air containing much more energy would simply send the bubble wobbling off in a new direction. The CME had a similar effect. It didn't destroy the earth instead it rang it like a bell of jello, sending it wobbling off on a slightly altered orbit.

The resulting earthquakes rippled around the world. They ranged from 3 to 10 on the Richter scale and continued seriously rattling the planet for days. For months following, after-shocks became a regular occurrence.

A searing cocktail of unfiltered solar radiation and an excess of ozone generated by the lightning caused rashes and blisters on an unprepared and unsuspecting population.

In the central areas of the impacted hemisphere the air temperatures at ground level shot up 45 F. Hot winds scoured the earth and fanned immense firestorms. Many millions died outright from the initial event. Those who survived the initial event were forced survive without adequate medical services.

Fortunately, man and animal alike can survive on less oxygen than a wood or grass fire. Within several months of the event the fires snuffed themselves out, due to the lack of oxygen. And the population that remained was able to gasp on.

While the oceans raged, stifling heat and humidity rose, supercharging the atmosphere with moisture.

The initial flash of heat greatly accelerated the melting of the polar ice cap. The ice melt raised the tidal sea level, flooding the coastlands.

Tsunamis wiped many coastal cities off the map.

Within a few months dense clouds replaced the smoke and reflected the solar radiation back into space. With the loss of solar heating the temperature began to drop. Soon the global temperatures fell below normal and the moisture-laden clouds began to rain out the excess moisture.

The electro-magnetic pulses (EMP) generated from the passing dust particles damaged all of the satellites in the path of the storm; leaving only a few shadowed by the earth to listen for silenced signals from the disabled command centers.

Maps had no relevance whatsoever. The earth's axis shifted as did the magnetic poles. Landmasses shifted, coastlines reconfigured, rivers re-coursed, lakes disappeared, and new ones formed. Everything had moved. There were only a handful of places on earth that escaped damage.

The rail systems were in ruins. Ground communications were all but non-existent.

Before the planet settled down and the weather stabilized, nearly half the population had been lost. People had died from disease, famine, radiation, earthquakes, fires, volcanoes, hail and the list was endless.

In some areas, burying the dead was an insurmountable task.

Many cities simply collapsed into heaps of rubble; others that had survived the quakes were rendered uninhabitable for a hundred other reasons. Many governments were reduced to a tribal level.

ANGL; The Halifax shuttle is arriving. Passengers will be transferring in five minutes.

Martin; Oh yeah!

Martin made his way to the docking port, an observation area in the upper level, right behind the flight controller's cockpit. A viewing port in the ceiling provided a good view of the activities.

The shuttle was a 75-foot diameter craft. It moved into view above the cockpit, then centered over the docking port. The bottom of the shuttle was convex in shape. Three legs extended down about ten feet from the base and were spaced about twenty apart, in a triangular arrangement. They locked into receivers on the upper surface of the Wave-Schooner.

Martin couldn't see the final docking of the ports. But when the hatch opened, a cylindrical capsule holding five people descended into the transfer gallery and rested gently on the floor. Passengers had their regulation carry-on flight pack. Checked luggage had to be shipped by surface vessels, and would lag behind the passenger carrier by several days.

One passenger heading for Halifax entered the capsule and was drawn quickly up and into the shuttle. Martin could feel the vibration of the shuttle engine as it prepared for separation. De-latching of the shuttle caused both crafts to lurch apart with a perceptible thud. Quickly the shuttle rose straight up for 50 or 60 feet before drifting off to the front or rather rear of the schooner.

"Front" and "rear" are somewhat confusing. The schooner was actually a flying wing, drifting backward, in the wind. A tether joined the airborne wing to an opposing smaller wing below at the ocean surface. The aerodynamic drag necessary to keep the Waveschooner aloft resulted from the tether tension on the subsurface wing being dragged beneath the waves.

Twin rotors on the drag wing were pulled through the water. These rotors drove motor/generators that charged landing batteries and provided service power to the schooner. The subsurface wing and crew stayed beneath the waves for the entire trip.

In the unlikely event that the wind speed dropped to a level that couldn't support adequate lift, then, the ocean surface wing would power up its rotors to pull the schooner to a surface landing. It also had enough battery power to re-launch the wing when favorable winds returned.

The return trip required a lot of tacking into the wind to accomplish the task. Some times the return trip could take several additional days.

There was another version of this kite like arrangement, and that was the Trade-Schooner. It was similar but instead of a water born drag wing, it had an opposing sister wing that flew several miles beneath the main wing. The two wings sailed at the bottom of the jet stream and could stay aloft indefinitely by taking advantage of the energy differential available in the wind speeds.

Passengers were loaded and unloaded into the smaller lower wing. From there they could be shuttled up to the upper wing during flight via a tether climbing gondola.

The only fuel needed was for the ground-air shuttle. The shuttle could carry several dozen people to and from a ground terminal.

As with the ocean going schooner the excess energy could be stored for emergency landings. This maneuver was avoided for safety reasons. Over land, it could be accomplished in almost any open field.

Both the Trade-Schooner and the Wave-Schooner routes varied with atmospheric conditions. Since the CME wind had not been in short supply, scheduling, though a hit and miss affair, generally worked well. All flights continued in the jet stream circling the globe every three to five days. Some East to West trips required a complete circuit around the world. This enabled a journey from the east coast around the world to the west coast.

The CME shifted the rotational axis of the earth from a 23 degree tilt to about a 15 degree tilt. That resulted in an increase in upper atmospheric wind. This change narrowed the seasonal temperature range. The precipitation in the equatorial zone had increased along with the precipitation at the poles. The glacial ice was returning. Populations migrated towards the equator again.

ANGL; Don't forget the time change. You're going to need to catch up on some sleep before we arrive in Europe.

Martin; Good idea. ANGL, why is the equator more temperate if it is getting more sun?

ANGL; Based on the data available in the science library and our combined analysis engines, the following assessments can be made. There is an increase in the available atmospheric moisture. Moisture has always been present over the tropics. In the major desert areas it now hits the ground in much greater amounts. In the past it evaporated back into the air and returned to the clouds; virga.

Martin; What about the poles? Shouldn't they be losing surface ice?

ANGL; No. Though the degree/days show an overall increase in temperature, the increase in precipitation as snow exceeds the capacity of the summer to melt the additional snow cover. Blah, blah, blah, blah, shows a slight residual . . . .

Martin; Thank you, ANGL. I think that did the trick. Good night.

ANGL; ? ? ?

The rush of the wind over the wing was barely audible. The schooner rocked very slowly from side to side. Even with a few people snoring and the heating system cycling on and off Martin found sleeping a very comfortable change from the last few weeks.

He spent the next two days sleeping, reading and playing cribbage with an old guy two isles over. Though he beat Martin on a regular basis, Martin enjoyed the banter and a different point of view.

The original arrival was going to be in London. Due to weather complications, Brugge Beligum was chosen as an alternate landing site. By so doing, Martin was ahead of schedule, having avoided the ferry trip across the English Channel. The Chunnel had been put out of service by the CME.

The remainder of Martin's trip would have to be made by utilizing a monorail transit system. The high-speed trains were a thing of the past. This part of the trip took about a day and a half.

Martin would be in conferences with the scientists and in some training sessions as well. Beyond what Dr. Grant had told him, he had no clue about the full scope of the conference.

The shuttle boarding was a quick routine. The shuttle interior was a Spartan affair. There were observation windows around the periphery of the cabin. The shuttle trip took about 20 minutes and was a somewhat bumpy ride. Though it stayed level enough, it dropped in fits and jerks.

Martin; What keeps this thing aloft.

ANGL; It's a pancake turbine or rotor about 25' in diameter.

Martin; Feet??

ANGL; Yes. At the perimeter of the rotor is a bank of ramjets and fan blades. The ramjets power the rotor and the fan blades drive additional air outward. The air and the ramjet exhaust are driven outward over the top of the shuttle surface. The top of the shuttle has an annular airfoil contour encircling the entire craft. The air moving over the airfoil generates adequate lift for flight; called the Coanda effect. This allows for vertical takeoff and relatively little turbulence under the shuttle where it might other wise disrupt the flight characteristics of the schooner.

Martin; Good!

ANGL; Some of the air volume is diverted through nozzles around the shuttle to create thrust in the horizontal plane allowing for movement in any direction.

Martin felt a strong tug at his arm. "Hey mister, how does this thing fly?"

"Well son. It a . . . . .mm. There are these skyhooks. . . . . these giant skyhooks and well you see ah!"

"Clayton! Get back here right now." The voice from somewhere behind Martin could not have been more welcome.

ANGL; Skyhooks????

Martin; So? You got a problem with that?

* * * * *

# Chapter 14 – The Termination

#

I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.

Albert Einstein

"Frank; this is George. I've got our agent on his way. His name is Gil Marshal and he'll meet up with our mule candidate in London. We think that is where the UNIS agent is going to pop up; probably on the same flight. We should know who he is by that time. I don't think he will have had a chance to mess things up but we will take care of that problem right there."

"Where is the parcel now?"

"It's already in the Enviro-suit in Zurich. It is due to be shipped out to the Denver site in a couple weeks. Everything is under control."

"Good. George, I can't stress how important this is. This may be our only shot at this?"

"I understand but I thought that they were still uncertain about the possible out-come of this scheme, and where the mule would be when the package detonated."

"That's true but we're out of options. If the mule actually traverses in time then we're okay. If it is only an illusion that he has left the lab then we got massive collateral damage on our hands and it will be major CYA time; it's our best shot."

"Well, that's the way it is then. Be sure that I'll do everything I can to make this happen as planned."

Frank hesitated a moment, then "Thanks George. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. There are a lot of potential snags that are out of our control. I know you will do the best you can. Later." He hung up.

* * * * *

For the next three days catching up on his sleep was the only thing Buck had to do aboard the schooner. In his surveillance of the passengers, only seven showed any promise at all and none of them stirred strong suspicions. By the third day in the air he managed to reduce his list of potentials to three. With any luck he would feel confident enough to focus on one or at the most two by the time they arrived at the Chaucer Hub in London.

Buck was on top of it now. He knew what came next and all he had to do was ID his mark and follow him until an opportune moment. Then the fun would begin.

He felt good enough to shave, clip a few wild hairs, put on some instant-bath and gargle. With his new vigor he even attempted a little social banter with one of the stewardesses in the lounge.

She told him that their flight was making reasonable time and that they were ahead of the storm and would be arriving as planned at Chaucer Hub. Buck asked about the storm and how it might have affected their arrival. She explained that there were several options and the first and easiest was to land in Brugge Belgium and ferry back to London as soon as the weather lifted. She added that the flight immediately behind them was being diverted there.

"That's got to be an inconvenience for those passengers."

"Yes it is if their intended destination is London, but many of those passengers are in en route to the mainland, and they may be ahead of the game by as much as a day. Plus they will avoid that nasty ferry ride across the channel" she added.

"Are the bumped passengers on that flight?" Buck quizzed.

"As a matter of fact they are. They were fortunate to get seats and that flight launched about four hours after we did. They'll be landing in another six to eight hours."

Buck's mind began a slow crank. He excused himself and returned to his seat. He wondered if there was some way of checking those bumped passengers. If his mark was in that group they might have a whole day's head start. And, that would be awful.

* * * * *

Gil looked down from the mezzanine into the gate paddock through which Buck and the "mule" would enter. Gil had learned the identity of the UNIS agent, Buck Lemkey.

He knew that Buck would stand out, but the photo he had of Trask was not distinct enough. He hoped that Buck would give away Trask's identity by his focus; he would be tailing him with a vengeance. And if he missed Trask then he would have to trust that the Viro-Scan would get a clear shot.

The Viro-Scan covered a section of the South wall and the disembarking passengers would have to pass within six feet of it. It would identify Buck, and Trask would be flagged by it as an unidentified individual.

The shuttle had arrived and Gil could see the ground crew positioning it for the passenger debarkation. Within moments the first passenger quickly moved up the ramp, followed by the others, beginning as just a trickle and then becoming a steady flow. Gil easily picked out Buck; he was the one dodging from side to side straining like a curious chicken to see over the people ahead of him. He apparently hadn't spotted Trask yet and was busy trying to account for everyone ahead of him. Buck walked quickly past the Viro-Scan, giving it no notice. Just as he was about to clear the panel completely, he stumbled and reached for his chest as though he might have over done it; he shook his head as though to clear it and then continued on. He stationed himself near a support column as if he hadn't yet recovered from whatever had afflicted him. From there he glanced into the group of passengers that preceded him in order to reassure himself that he had overlooked no one. Carefully he panned back to the passengers that were behind him. One by one they departed, and, one by one, he dismissed them from his consideration.

At that moment Gil's cell phone vibrated against his chest. "Yes?" he inquired.

"Did you make Buck yet? He's standing by the concourse column. We've tagged him but you'll have to tail him up from there."

"Yeah, I've got him. He doesn't seem to have ID'd Trask yet and I haven't seen him either."

"Don't worry about Trask, he wound up on the next flight and should be landing in Brugge in a few hours. He's safe for the time being; keep your eye on the fat guy."

"He shouldn't be hard to follow; he's looking like a heart attack waiting for a place to happen."

"He'll be okay for the present. We just gave him a little handicap; he should remain on his feet for a few more days."

"What are you talking about? Have you done something to our Bucky?"

"Sorry, that was a slip. Forget you heard that or I'll have to shoot you when you get back."

"Copy" Gil conceded. He couldn't help but wonder what they had done to Buck and how they did it.

* * * * *

The landing went without a hitch; a mirror image of the launch. Buck shuffled his way toward the front of the disembarking passengers, blowing off each comment regarding his lack of civility with a gastric grunt. He needed desperately to be as close to first off as possible. He waddled up the ramp with the grace of a badger through tall grass. He passed through the boarding gate and within arms reach of the iridescent wall in the concourse. As he past the wall a pain pierced his chest causing him to gasp and curse. Whizzing a deficit of air he slowed and decided to pick the nearest roof column as his observation site. Unloading his bags he set himself to watching the three men as long as he could in hopes of singling out his target. One by one the three potentials eliminated themselves. The first met his family; there was nothing in the file to suggest a family. The second carried a flight crew uniform over one arm; it must have been stored in the crew compartment. Buck observed the third accessing an ATM with a Credit Union of Dover card.

His man was not here. How could he have gone so invisible? Had Buck overlooked someone? How could that have happened?

In desperation Buck again looked through his file, then through his updates. Maybe he had overlooked a clue. At that moment an announcement was made, reminding individuals waiting for arrivals to check for rerouted flights due to the current weather conditions.

Buck had considered the possibility early on but had dismissed it when he thought that both flights would arrive in London. Now he had to face the likelihood that his mark was about to arrive in Brugge. Though he had the necessary authority to access official records, he couldn't see how they would add to what he already knew. In addition he wanted to keep a low profile and do this job on his own.

He had three to four hours to get to Brugge and the next ferry left in two hours. In good weather the crossing plus intermediate stops took 2 plus hours. With fuel powered air travel halted and the Chunnel out of service he was without any other option.

Buck sat in the lounge reviewing his dilemma over and over in his head. There had to be a way.

In the midst of the terminal noise Buck's old instincts kicked in and his ears locked on to a tell. Just as an owl locates its prey by ear, Buck's ears were trained to sift the slightest hint of trouble; even if the clue was buried in the white noise background of the terminal. The raucous behavior of the young boys sitting several seats from him suddenly reduced to a mischievous giggle. Though their behavior was intended to avoid undue attention, it actually drew Buck's. He glanced over at their laptop screen and though it was at an angle Buck could still see that they had broken in to a data bank for some investment company. "You guy's planning to make a withdrawal?"

The laptop flipped shut and the boy plying the keys turned to challenge Buck's stare. "What's it to you, old man?" hoping to minimize the threat. "We're just having some fun."

"Don't you guy's have anything better to do? You got a job or something or are you look'n for work?" hoping he already knew the answer. Hoping to corner and calm them.

"Yeah I got a job." The young fellow locked on "but there is always room for a little extra money."

The boy's streetwise demeanor was just what Buck was looking for. "You any good at that?" Buck nodded at the computer implying a reference to the boys hacking ability.

"Yeah, what do you need?" He knew where this was going and was willing to bite in spite of the smell of Cop.

Buck needed to pass on the small talk. "I need access to arrival and departure info."

"You can get that up there." The boy pointed at the overhead monitors.

"Not for this terminal and I'm talking about a video stream from the arrival cameras." Buck did his best to keep the challenge low and casual for the sake of keeping the price within reach.

"I thought you meant something challenging." The boys chuckled.

"You interested or not?" Buck wanted to cut to the chase. He opened his wallet, leaving the flap over his UNIS badge but so that the boy could easily see the fifty.

"Depends on which terminal?" hoping to leave bargaining room.

Buck blew off the attempt at bargaining and dangled a fifty in front of the boy. Not wanting to miss the chance the boy snatched the bait and paused to demonstrate some control over the deal.

Buck didn't hesitate to advance the cause. "I'm going for a cup of coffee. If you have a demonstration for me when I get back, and a list of what I need to do to repeat the link then there will be another fifty for you."

"No sweat! What terminal?"

"I want to see the arrival gate for the Wave-Schooner in Brugge. It should be landing in a couple of hours so I need to access it later from a public Web-term. A current passenger list would get you another twenty-five."

"You got it." The challenge was too great and the money too welcome for the boys to just abandon the deal and abscond with the first fifty.

* * * * *

Buck waddled off the ferry at the intermediate stop in France. It wasn't clear whether his stagger was due to the choppy trip across the channel or to his medication of choice. He quickly found a Web-term and punched in the recipe that he bought from the boys. The boys came up short, less the passenger list but Buck wasn't sure he would need it.

As advertised, the view of the gate popped up bordered by various peripheral data. A number of passengers had already disembarked. Buck would have to do his best with what was left. One by one the passengers filed past the camera. One by one Buck's trained eye disqualified them.

Then into view walked his mark. "Bingo!" he muttered. "You poor bastard, I've got you now." With an idea of the traveler's general character and the new sweatshirt, the ID was a slam-dunk. A purchase had been made matching the description of the sweatshirt. A flush prickled the neck of the disheveled predator. The chase had just heated up and fresh blood began to course through his veins.

Switching camera views to a scanning camera in the area, Buck watched as the mark met another man in a business suit. Together they walked toward the baggage area.

As the last boarding horn from the ferry blew, Buck saw the two men stepping in line at the terminal coffee shop. With luck Buck would catch up to them before they left the terminal.

Buck shuffled onto the ferry just as the ramp was about to be withdrawn and stowed for departure. He moved to a seat on the top deck, out in the mist and wind. Here he could avoid the prying eyes of the other passengers huddled in the enclosed lower decks. Here he could prepare to perfect his trade. With his blood pressure rising and his mind building in excitement, he hardly noticed the brisk wind and occasional mist spraying over the port side railing.

The ferry made good time. In less then thirty minutes they were pulling into the breakwater at Brugge. A shiver of excitement took twenty years off Buck's battered body. He could taste success. The money had escaped his hunger for the moment. He would have done this for free but that fact would stay between him and his lust for the kill.

The directive stated that if the hit could not be made without drawing major attention then Buck was directed to call in a laser strike using the coordinates that he would supply. Buck hated this high tech option. It robbed him of the satisfaction of the personal touch that gave him purpose.

At a quickened waddle Buck dragged his burden down the ramp and toward the terminal. His eyes scanned for the first sign of where his prey was eating. Ricocheting through the glass doors Buck gasped for air. He could see the café sign and slowed to avoid detection and to wheeze life back into his battered frame.

He set his luggage down near the café to take stock of the situation. His mark sat near the wall toward the back of the dinning area. He faced his companion. The two men were finishing up their meal and chatting. Several tables were occupied nearby but his passing would likely go unnoticed.

The acquisition protocol called for final verification and authorization from 'the sponsor'. To facilitate that he had to confirm his mark's location with an estimate based on his own GPS location. 'The sponsor' would then perform an implant scan of the area and determine the viability of the hit based on evidence of peripheral consequence. They wanted to localize the mess and minimize the social disruption and verify that no implant was detected at the specified location.

Buck selected his method of termination.

His weapon of choice was the Spearite, a small vacuum powered device camouflaged as a fountain pen. His blunder bust would have to wait for another day.

He was intrigued with this high tech peashooter but he would miss the mess that his 45 would have made, and the glory of the thunder. But now this was all about finesse, money and not getting snagged in local administrivia.

The weapon consisted of a foam covered quartz glass sleeve. The bore of the sleeve was ground to within .5 microns of the matching hollow ceramic plunger. The plunger in turn was tethered to a plastic guillotine using a spider silk lanyard. At the delivery end of the sleeve, a thin film formed a vacuum seal. Embedded in the leading surface of the plunger was a hollow glass spear, not much larger than a whisker. The spear contained a fast acting nerve agent. A paraffin film sealed the pores of the spear to prevent the premature evaporation of the nerve agent. A small bead of silicon gel sealed the plunger to the sleeve. The vacuum within the sleeve would remain for months if necessary. The triggering of the guillotine would sever the silk lanyard allowing the plunger to be driven along the sleeve by the force of the inrushing air. The atmospheric pressure would force the plunger to accelerate unimpeded by any air within the sleeve. It would approach the speed of sound in less than a millisecond. As the plunger approaches the end of the sleeve it will encounter a small annular ridge which will pulverize the plunger into a silicon puff of dust, releasing the spear to continue on alone. That would penetrate the film and enter the mark's body, even through layers of cloth. The whole process of delivery occurs without a noticeable report; something like the crackle of chewing gum.

All that remains of the non-metallic weapon is a foam insulated glass sleeve encased to look like a writing pen and a knit of spider silk.

He punched in the estimated location of his mark based on his own location as he made his initial pass. He then submitted the data for processing and authorization. The screen on his hand held unit blinked and a dialogue box popped up indicating that the signal acquisition was in process. Buck waited impatiently.

He watched as his mark began to shift to extract his wallet. Time was growing short. A discussion ensued over who would pay. The suited man won the 'shell-out-falter' and motioned to the waitress for the check.

The screen continued to blink. It was now or never. This was a sure hit. This would be an easy hit. This would qualify for a good bonus. In another few seconds his mark would be on the move and things would become more difficult.

It was a one shot device and required that Buck pass as close as possible to assure a clean hit despite the slightly awkward aim.

The penetration of the spear vial may not be noticed by the mark unless a direct hit on a bone was felt. This device delivered without recoil; nothing but an infinitesimally small clap of muffled micro-thunder. Buck would be four or five paces beyond the mark before convulsions ensued. This is going to be sweet, he thought.

Buck looked down at his hand-held; it still flashed 'SEARCHING'. Piss on it, he winced. The bill was paid; the men were exchanging final words before getting up. Buck squirmed with impatience. He would have to make an executive decision now if this were going to succeed. With a swell of heat building in his neck, he cocked the triggering mechanism. Move!

A prickly tingle rose up Buck's spine, his ears began to ring and his focus narrowed to a pinpoint. His feet were on automatic, and his hand carefully cradled the pen in preparation for imminent delivery.

With surprising speed, he moved into position to make his delivery pass. He knew the number of steps and which foot would be leading as he passed the launch point. He began his pass with the focus of a leopard starting his charge. Nothing could stop him now; not even the screen change on his hand-held.

Buck's thumb rested against the trigger mechanism. He timed the swing of his arm to match the target point and paused to touch it just long enough to gain a precision hit yet light enough to be excused. He pressed the trigger as he brush passed his still seated mark. With a sound easily mistaken as the crackling of gum, and a very slight jerk in reaction to the penetration, the evil deed was done.

Without any hesitation in his stride, Buck continued out of the area. He glanced back after about ten paces to see his mark bowing his head as if to say grace and then beginning to convulse.

A flush passed over Buck's face and a flourish of relief and pride filled his chest. Again he glanced back, to see the sudden concern of the associate as the hapless victim began to clear the table in his headlong topple to the floor. Everyone's eyes turned to fix on the death kneel, ignoring the little fat man gathering his luggage and walking away.

His steps belied his physical health as he confidently lengthened his stride. Near the front entrance to the terminal Buck collapsed into a leather couch in a lounge. A drink was in order. A deep sigh issued from his throat as he let the first gulp of "medicine" wash away any prickle of doubt. He looked out through the broad glass panels and realized the awesome expertise with which he had dispatched his mark. The bonus was in the bag.

Soon he would be able to relax to the gentle sway of the Wave-Schooner on the trip home.

First he had to gather himself and straighten the debris of his blitz. He looked down at his hand-held to close out the link. The dialogue box was no longer flashing. In its place was a red block with the words ABORT ACQUISITION! "'Abort acquisition!' What the hell was that?" Buck's eyes bulged in disbelief. Perhaps he didn't understand; certainly there was an explanation. He selected the 'detail icon' and waited for the selection to fill the screen.

'ABORT ACQUISITION – INVALID TARGET. The intended target possesses a valid and active implant. DO NOT PROCEED. TAKE NO FURTHER ACTION AGAINST THIS INDIVIDUAL. Acknowledge receipt of transmission.' Buck hesitated for a moment before selecting the 'Acknowledge' icon.

What was Buck into this time? Had he screwed up yet again? What was going on? He couldn't have waited; the mark would have gotten away; ignoring the fact that he wasn't the actual mark, and he wouldn't have escaped the predator's grasp had he been the mark.

Buck's mind raced through the consequences and options like a slide show in a death throe. He had to get a grip. The remaining shots of whiskey found no resistance. The salvation of the elixir began to take hold, besides there was nothing left but another blot on his record. But then his mark would likely be declared dead of a heart attack. No one would ever question the cause; maybe not even the UNIS.

* * * * *

A sharp pain exploded from Buck's side, then again and finally the distant words "Wake up, wake up, you! You can't sleep here; besides you'll freeze."

Buck's eyes, blinded by a piercingly bright light, attempted to focus on the situation. Where was he? Who was poking him in the ribs? Why didn't his body want to work, and why couldn't he reply? Suddenly he was jerked into the sitting position by the source of the light. Instinctively his hand groped upward toward his inflamed head.

"If you can stand, and you vacate the area now, I'll forgo calling the wagon. But you'll have to do it now." The voice offended his ear but the meaning was clear.

Buck rolled to one side and began an agonizing crawl up the wall. Sudden death had its allure. Still trying to wet his lips, he attempted to justify his condition; "I must have let things get a little out hand."

"I guess you could say that. Where did you start out?" The guard helped him straighten out his jacket, figuring Buck was honestly surprised at his own condition.

"A . . . a lounge . . . in the terminal" Buck looked around, hoping to locate his original starting point.

"You must mean the Flight Line. That's just inside the door. They must have helped you out the door. Did you have any luggage?"

"Oh geez; my luggage; yeah, I had a couple of things. I gotta . . ."

"If one of them had car batteries in it I think it got sent to security. You can pick your stuff up there."

"Boy I've had a bad day." Buck's mind had begun to clear, and he trusted himself to speak.

"You and me both; I've had two dead people to deal with on my shift. You were looking like a third."

"Two?" Buck's mind began to gain speed on reality.

"Yup; one got himself run over by a service truck and the other died of a heart attack in the coffee shop; a bad deal, either way."

"Well thanks for not counting me out. I was over-due for a break today; which way to security?"

"Follow the signs inside the entrance around the corner. There is a night clerk on duty; she can help you. You might stop at the men's room first. You wouldn't want to scare the little lady to death."

Buck forced a smile, "Thanks, it'll happen." Things were looking up.

* * * * *

Buck wasn't sure which he disliked more; the coffee jitters or the hangover they were designed to combat. By the sixth cup he felt he was just about back in the game.

All things considered, he felt that he could put off falling on his sword, at least for a few days. First he would check back with Loren to see if he had received any more data points on his ghost traveler.

Loren listened to a few excuses, before he reminded Buck that it was only Buck's bonus that was taking the hit, and therefore as far as he cared, Buck could take all the time he needed; Loren would get his 15% regardless. And "Yes as a matter of fact there was another hit on the card; this one for a ticket from Brussels to Zurich. The computer made a probable connection with the Trinity Collider. There is a conference scheduled to begin there in two days and a 90% probability that he will be among the attendees."

Buck had offered his excuses prospecting for hints as to whether 'the sponsor' was making any connection between the heart attack victim and his sanctioned assassination attempt. If not he would continue to keep tight lipped about it. He needed to find out if his screw up had made him a blip on the screen. He could only hope they wouldn't do an autopsy on the dead guy.

His self-pity binge had put him behind by at least another day but considering he wasn't wanted for murder yet, he had to settle with being pleased with the expertise he had shown even if he had dispatched the wrong target.

* * * * *

# Chapter 15 – In a RUT

A lie requires much maintenance; truth needs only to stand fast.

Anonymous

With the conference still several days off, Buck had time to catch up on his wardrobe. He needed to turn himself into a person who fits in; no easy task for a practicing sociopath. Considering his less than optimum build, he knew that any appropriate suit would require some tailoring.

In Brussels he managed a complete make-over. Ditching his present wardrobe was no emotional setback and after dealing with his hair he felt renewed and ready for the challenge.

Though Buck looked forward to relaxing for a day and a half on the RUT, he found that it got old quick. Not being able to move around easily or at will was an irritant; even more so was the German lady who insisted on practicing her English on Buck.

On the second morning Buck managed to find another seat and passed the time trying to visualize the best way to gain access to the conference in order to ply his trade. He still had to positively ID his mark. He had blown the first chance. He felt confident that he would ace the second. At least he had more to go on.

Buck also thought the landscape tended toward the grotesque, but that pleased his contorted aesthetic, sensibilities.

* * * * *

After making sure that his luggage would eventually end up in Zurich, Martin made his way to the RUT station.

It was only chance that placed Martin on the same RUT passenger unit as Buck. For the next two days they would ride within yards on one another, unaware and at ease.

RUT is a monorail with its supporting rail below the vehicle rather than above. It maintained its balance using the gyroscopic effect of a spinning energy-storage wheel. At rest, retractable out-riggers gave stationary stability to the vehicle.

The source for operating energy was juggled back and forth between the energy storage wheel and the batteries. Some sections of track provided an extra electrical boost to maintain the energy budget.

In other areas, overhead tram cables provided the locomotion. Each RUT unit has a pair of clamps on the roof to attach and detach from the cable, very similar to those on a ski lift gondola. The overhead tram cables were used in metropolitan areas and for crossing gullies or rivers.

Each RUT unit seated a dozen passengers, with rows of two seats separated by an aisle in the middle. Doors on both sides allowed for easy entry and exit from any seat. The operation of the RUT was remotely controlled and monitored. In open rural areas, the units could move along at about 45 mph, but in the heart of the city, no faster than 10 to 15 miles per hour.

The Trinity Disaster had devastated the valley that the monorail passed through. The trees in the woods were all quit young, 10' to 15' in height. The anemic forested slopes struggle in their recovery. Blackened, dead and naked tree trunks littered the landscape. Any evidence of the former natural beauty was gone. It would take several more decades to recover.

By the next day, Martin had started his second reading of "The New Whirled Order" a satire on the world's struggle to regain order in the age of global unification.

Martin was glad to see the mountains in the distance. It meant that his destination was nearer.

"This area looks really weird" came a comment in perfect English. "I wonder why it looks like this?" The young girl across the narrow aisle looked out the window as if what lay beyond was causing a bad taste in her mouth.

"I think the CME and the Trinity disaster took their toll. Looks like a lot of mutant stuff; stuff from before."

"How could that change this "stuff" so much? Will it recover?"

"Some of it might, but it will take a while. I read that there is a lot of genetic damage here. This is what the new generation looks like, and will look like for the foreseeable future."

As she shuddered Martin continued in a gentler voice. "Oh, I think that it will be okay in a couple of decades. It'll be a vastly different place, from now on. We can only hope that it will change for the better. Some of it will survive, and possibly thrive. Some of it will just die off; it's sort of a forced step in evolution, I guess. All of God's creation is in a state of change," Martin added. "It is usually so slow that we don't get to see it. Sometimes it comes in fits and starts. This just happens to be one of the fits."

"Which is it? Evolution or creation; which do you believe?" she tested.

"I think we spend too much time trying to put God in a box. We are the ones in the box. He can create any way he wishes, even if the process ends up looking like something we chose to call evolution."

"But science has been unable to prove the existence of a higher power."

"That sounds like pigments in an oil painting arguing about the intention of the artist." He muddled on. "We tend to focus on the symptom rather than the cause. If we have a headache we take an aspirin. The headache goes away and we think that we've cured something, when in fact we've just masked it; we haven't cured anything."

"But medical science cures a lot of things." she insisted.

"Like?" he prodded.

"My dad had a heart transplant. He would have died if they hadn't been able to do that."

"Well, I guess that's my point. Did they cure the problem or did they dodge the problem. I wish the best for your Dad, but if the real cause is not addressed than that cause may be overlooked and the symptoms of the real problem may return." He added, "If my Metro-cycle were to fail because I didn't maintain it properly, then buying a new one hasn't cured the problem, only delayed its outcome. That's not to say that there couldn't be a defect in the mechanism, only that we may be to quick to deal with symptoms rather then causes."

"You're quit a thinker" she said mockingly.

"I don't know if that's a symptom or a problem" he quipped.

"Well, as long as it doesn't require drugs. What does that say about science and technology in general?"

"Hmm! Science and technology, in my view, are handy, but they do just provide an escape from the truth. They are both basically symptoms of man's curiosity. Of course in modern times they are also symptoms of the love of money; the bottom line."

"What! How do you figure?"

"I didn't say that was bad, only that they should be seen for what they are. Science is the not the judge of truth, it is a tool, a method and has no altruistic, benevolent or compassionate qualities aside from those of the one who implements it. Science does not decide anything for us; we decide for ourselves. And it's a mistake to allow the scientists to dictate what we believe"

Her gaze drifted off to the landscape. She positioned her handbag in her lap with her hands over it; a bad sign Martin thought. It was a long moment before she spoke again. "What about medical science? How do you feel about that?"

"Well, I'm afraid that I think it all boils down to this. There isn't anything wrong with knowing how to set a bone, or knowing how to provide what the body needs to heal itself. What does bother me are the motives for medical care and pharmaceuticals. It is all about the bottom line. I guarantee you that you'll never see a 'nickel cold cure' advertised in the present economic mindset."

"There isn't any such thing."

"Sure there is. People are so trained to believe that there isn't, that they just resign themselves to letting it get full blown. Then they pay the piper to get rid of the symptoms; that's where the money is.

You know when you're coming down with a cold. That's the time to take steps. Different people take different steps; find out what works for you. For myself I find that a couple garlic tabs, vitamin C, and a couple of Echinacea will knock it down in an hour; that's what works for me." If it were truly about making people healthy, wouldn't it make sense to train doctors to promote preventive measures? Did you know that doctors aren't required to take a single semester on nutrition? If a doctor were to tell you to eat right and exercise regularly, it wouldn't be coming from his required medical training.

We spend too much time on patching up this life when we should be preparing ourselves for next one. Death shouldn't be considered a dead-end curse; it's a door to somewhere else. But I suspect that's a whole different discussion."

"Yes, really different.

What you said about doctor's training; not being trained in nutrition. Are you sure that's true?" she challenged Martin with her eyes, her voice, her attitude.

"Last time I checked. And it's not likely that it's changed; the money just isn't there."

"Are you a scientist?"

"No. I just work in research; they've taught me how to question everything. I'm just a contractor; a technician of sorts. I'm here to visit a company near the Trinity Collider."

"You sound like you know a lot about that stuff."

"I don't think 'know' is the right word; I understand some of it. I have been around the block. I learn of a lot of pieces, and try my best to put them together."

"Is it true about what's going on out there?" She wrinkled her brow. "At that Collider, I mean."

"Actually, this is my first trip out here" Martin spared her the details.

Attempting to change the subject, he asked "How did you know I spoke English?"

"Your sweatshirt; I've been around too. Sun Valley is in Idaho isn't it? I'm from Wisconsin."

"Oh. I guess the sweatshirt is a bit of a giveaway. Yes, Sun Valley is in . . ."

he hesitated. "Is he a friend of yours?" Martin steered her focus with a glance to the front. About five seats ahead of them sat a man who with some effort had turned to check them out, on several occasions. Though Martin had felt quite safe up to this point, he had never let his guard down.

"He's not my type. But he is looking for something or someone."

"Did you see him in Brugge before we boarded?"

"Yes, I saw him at a full throttle waddle, trying to make the RUT."

"I think he's bad news. Keep an eye on him for your own safety."

"A girl can't be too careful, but I think I can handle him without too much trouble." She patted her handbag.

* * * * *

# Chapter 16 – The Goose

I want to know all Gods thoughts; all the rest are just details.

Albert Einstein

"Are you sure this is safe?" Martin glanced toward the stunted trees. They looked like part of a set for a Tim Burton horror movie.

Bill nodded slowly "It just looks like the Gates of Lador. Everything here is monitored, including bug dung. We get an air quality report everyday. I'm sure we're perfectly safe; of course, that's what they said just before the 'freaky flowers' sprouted."

"Freaky flowers? What's with that?"

"If they knew, they've kept it a secret; the sanitized explanation mentions low level radiation. They try to keep the genetic stuff out of the conversation."

"What do you think? Is it more than radiation?" Martin asked.

John crossed his arms and began to meter his response "Don't know; I just work here. I'm guessing it's more mysterious than radiation; it may all be the same thing. Whatever the problem is, it is serious enough for them to keep the pit off limits. There is a perimeter fence to control access. The exposure out there is monitored and limited to a minimal number of hours, per month, per employee. But up here, we're far enough from the event center. The tunnel is out of commission. They're still in the middle of their investigation. It doesn't involve Time-Tap's work. The collider hardware that could be salvaged was loaded up and sent to the Denver site."

"Yes. I was aware of that. I live near there. Aside from the labs, and the administration building poking out of the prairie, there isn't much to see above ground."

"Martin, has anyone offered you the cook's tour of the pit yet?"

"No. But you could talk me into it. I was hoping but I knew that I couldn't get out there without an escort."

"There isn't much to see from ground level, and there isn't any access below ground, but we can do a fly-over. Our exposure will only be a matter of a few minutes, and at least for now they've carded that 'safe'. You're probably ready for a break, up to your eyeballs with the 'pot-diggers'."

"Yeah; I was getting a case of buttoxia."

"What?"

"Buttoxia; you know; flat spots from sitting so long."

"That's a new one on me." Bill chuckled and, shook his head.

"Actually, sitting is what I get paid for, and do the best. But meetings are not my bag. Frankly, I've rarely been to a meeting that couldn't be covered by a two line e-mail.

As far as the science goes, I think they do more guessing then they let on; a lot of room for alternate conclusions, given the same facts."

"Yes. That's the reason for the Choke Point Project; meeting avoidance. In all seriousness, its purpose is to explore extinction events first hand. You'll probably hear more about that, if you haven't already. The reason you're attending the archeology portion of the seminar is because they think that you are the best candidate for that project, when it gets off the ground." Bill paged through his day timer.

"That's a museum piece. I haven't seen a day-timer in a couple of decades. Is it tuff to keep a Brain-pad working here; does it take a hit?"

Bill nodded "The magnetic flux density and EMP used to be a problem here; not so much any more. We had a big problem when the collider was up and running. The day-timer works for me if only because it doesn't drop data. There are still a few labs on site that have high magnetic flux warnings up; not like before. When the collider was powered up, we all had a problem with headaches, and car keys sticking to the wall; stuff of that nature. We had quite the aspirin budget here. Hey! I've got till 3:00 o'clock to play tour guide. Would you like to fly out there now?"

"Sure. Are we there yet?"

"Let's meet down at the pad in ten minutes. I'll make arrangements for a pilot and a plane. Why don't you stop down in the lunchroom and pick up a sandwich? You can eat on the way. I've already had my lunch."

Martin found the food a bit strange; a ham sandwich was a slice of ham between two slices of bread. He had been brought up on salads, multi-layer sandwiches and oozing hamburgers. An NZ friend of Martin's had once likened NorAm's cuisine to eating kitchen garbage. "Eating a hamburger is like watching a one-man food fight," he had added.

Bill stood in the middle of the helicopter pad, staring down the clouds "We still have a few minutes to get suited up. The plane is on the way."

Plane? The pad is big but not big enough for an airplane; maybe one of those shuttle things. Martin thought And what's with getting 'suited up'?

They headed back into the building and on to the locker room. There they dressed in full smocks, similar to clean room smocks. Radiation monitor badges and breather mask topped off their ensemble. What am I getting myself into? "Why the bunny suit" Martin finally asked struggling to keep his voice casual?

"Who knows? Like I said, it's all a mystery, maybe on purpose; I think it's mainly for show. There is still a very small possibility that we might encounter some airborne particulate; so we need the breather. The air filtration system on the plane isn't certified for that. It's all just precautionary."

"Airborne particulate?"

"Smoke; the pit still smokes on occasion and the infestation concerns still exist."

"Infestation?"

"Oh! At first there were reports of bites. Insect bites, they thought. It was a big medical mystery but no one died from it. Some people reported seeing locusts and moths but there hasn't been any confirmation of any unusual bugs in the area. We still see occasional ash flakes that come fluttering out of the smoke plume; they just look like moths. They evaporate or disintegrate within moments of exiting the plume and don't appear to pose any danger."

"Is that our ride coming?" Martin could hear the drone of turbo prop aircraft engines in the distance.

"Yup. We just got it a couple months ago. It's a great piece of machinery. It does cut into our fuel allotment though. They call it The Goose."

"What is it?" Martin could hear the engine's hollowing whine but the adjacent building blocked the view. "I thought we were taking a helicopter ride. That's moving way too fast to land here."

"Don't bet on it. 'It' is a VTOL."

"A what is a VTOL?"

"VTOL: Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft; watch the wings and fuselage as it slows for the landing. It's an AC700 built by Custer-Melon. The AC stands for Active Channel. If it weren't for that versatility, they would have grounded it along with all the other fuel burners."

It came into view, about a mile off. It was making a long bank in its approach, and slowing to about 50 knots. As it slowed, the engines cut back and the angle of attack of the wings increased slowly. At about 200 yards the wings further increased their flare and as the plane started a more rapid descent the engines whooshed up the power while the outward 2/3 of each wing slowly began to fold upwards. It began to look like a seagull in the wind. The dihedral increased, and the twin engines rammed air through the trough formed by the center wing section and the wing ends. The air throb as it was forced to produce lift. If it had been a bird, it would have been a giant goose, landing on the water. It smoothly descended over the landscape and approached the "H" painted on the pad. The plane seemed to stop in mid air, as if getting ready to back up. Hovering for a moment, it gently settled to the pad.

The props feathered, as the big bird settled. The blades mercilessly sliced the air and then began to drop their tenor. The landing gear relaxed and the fuselage settled down, close to the pavement; like a bird settling over its eggs.

Martin closed his mouth and began to breathe again.

"He was hot-rodding, but he is good." Bill was laconic, but the awe in his voice was there and real and shared by Martin.

"That was beautiful. What is the cruising speed?"

"Four hundred and thirty knots?; it needs two four hundred fifty horsepower turboprops to get straight off the deck. It can do what you saw up to about five thousand feet; higher then that, it needs a little bit of a runway. Even if it had total engine failure, it could make a survivable landing in your front yard. With all that power and the ability to dump the lift, it flat hauls in level flight. It's a comfort for people who like to get in and get out quickly. It also lets us hover over the site without overheating the engines. It's a great tool for volcanologists, paramedics, police departments, and air taxis. Carbon fiber and other nano-mesh metals are at the heart of the thing."

Ground crew secured the craft and opened the side hatch and dropped the steps. The props continued to buffet the fuselage with the warm engine exhaust. The two engines hung on horizontal nacelles/canards protruding from the nose of the craft.

Martin paused as he approached the hatch. He reached to the side and touched the fine grained skin of the fuselage. "It's ribbed?" He looked back at Bill, hoping for an explanation.

"Yes. It has a tough under-skin but the surface is pretty delicate. It's easily damaged, but most of it is out of harm's way."

Martin quickly withdrew his hand. "What's it for? Is it all over the craft?"

"No. It's only in areas where they need to condition the laminar layer on the surface. The ribs vary in pitch and orientation. It reduces the air friction on the surface; something about a micro/laminar layer. They've known about its advantages for years but it wasn't until recently that it became feasible. The materials guys stumbled onto the technique. I think they figured out how to grow the ribs; like the ripples in the sand. It reduces fuel costs."

"It refracts the light like a hologram." Martin readied himself for take-off.

After introductions, some pilot talk on the air, and some switch flipping the pilot signaled to the ground crew to un-chock the landing gear. The turbines spooled up, warbling as they phased and re-phased. The landing gear jacked the fuselage higher to regain that exaggerated angle of attack and form the channel. The feathered props sliced the air at full RPM. The sound level drowned out their casual chatter. The pilot signaled the ground crew again. Within a second or two, the blade pitch went from a flat feather to full thrust. As the RPM started to drop, he went to full power. The craft shuddered and waddled as gravity began inevitably, to loose the battle. Breaking free of the pad, they began a quick ascent to about one hundred feet, without much change in sound. Then the craft began to pivot to a new azimuth heading. With the slightest change in the pitch of the wings, they started to accelerate. They passed level with the twelfth floor of the headquarters building. The wing tips began dropping, flattening out as they gained speed. Once clear of the building complex, the pilot put the craft into a climb and they headed for the clouds.

As the sound level approached a bearable whoosh, Martin's attention turned to Bill who had been talking to him for some time. "We got about five minutes to the pit. I'll tell you when you need your helmet. Enjoy the ride."

* * * * *

# Chapter 17 – The Pit

He who tries to save the collapsing house of cards doesn't understand the game.

Anonymous

The anemic yellow/green foliage gave way to a light brown and then to a totally barren landscape.

"Why hasn't the vegetation recovered here?"

Bill looked at Martin for a moment. "It's the mystery again. Even the animals and birds have an emotional dislike for the area. They haven't detected any particular danger, but the fact is that they still don't know. Relax; we'll do fine."

"It's not the dying; I'd just like to pick my poison."

"That's different. Most people hope that they will be gone in a flash; before they know it."

"Is that dark area where the pit is?" Martin squinted past the sun, reflecting off some wing features.

"Yes. The mound area on the right is the excavation where they entered the tunnel. You can't see the pit yet, because the black walls blend into the blackened surface rock."

"Is the black from the fire? I would have guessed that it would be washed away by now."

"You're right about that. The black that you see now is mainly metal oxide and an obsidian crust. You may see some reflections off the interior wall of the pit. Obsidian glass lines the pit all the way down. The pit walls are quite irregular for the top hundred feet or so, but down where the mass began its descent, the walls are almost perfectly smooth. Who would have thought that merely displacing the bedrock could generate so much heat?"

"How big is the mass?"

"It's under a hundred feet in diameter but it has a specific gravity of about three hundred. That's one heavy marble; just under a billion tons. That is beyond the capacity of the bedrock to support it. Once the bedrock heats up it loses its compressive strength and starts to flow around the sphere; it rebounds so that the shaft diameter is less then the sphere diameter."

"How far has it gone?"

"It's about a mile down. It is still moving about three or four inches a day."

"How did you calculate the weight?"

"That's not too difficult; gravitional variations, the effects on the bedrock. They have a few more tricks as well."

"Is there any chance that it could do something violent.?"

"The answer is that they aren't sure what it is capable of. There are stars with lower densities. It isn't heating very rapidly but who knows what will happen and at what temperature?. Oh, get ready with the helmet. Don't put it on yet. I want you to get a good look. I'll let you know if there is any cause for alarm."

They approached the pit from the North. The pilot had slowed to a crawl, wings up, engines revving, they dangled precariously in the air. Seated slightly behind the wing, Martin could nearly see straight down. The plane lurched as it entered the thermal over the pit. Then as the pilot banked into a shallow turn and approached the center of the shaft. Martin stared intently. Straight below in the center of a lightless background, a pinpoint of light, a shimmering red glow, reflected off the walls in concentric arcs of light from thousands of feet below; a glimpse into hell.

"If this isn't cause for alarm, I don't know what is."

"You want to make another pass?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm convinced."

"The large cavity at the top of the shaft is the area where the seven hundred foot section of accelerator vanished. It caved in a little later. Tunnel access is sealed off several hundreds yards back from the pit. They send people in periodically for a first-hand look but most of the monitoring is done remotely."

"What exactly happened; what did they learn from this."

"This is where is gets religious, because, frankly, I think they are short of scientific white wash."

"I'm okay with that. Keep going."

"Okay. It's like this. The experiment they were in the process of performing should have identified a quasi- particle called a plasmon. Its existence had been theorized long ago. From start to finish the active part of the experiment takes a billionth of a second or so. There isn't much to hear and other then data gathering, not much to see. The video links didn't show anything out of the ordinary. There were only a couple technicians at the experiment site, the rest of us were in Lab Seven, about a half a mile away. The experiment was initiated, a short wait for energy loading and then the lights flickered, which was expected, some alarm signals sounded and about two seconds later, just about the time people were starting to suspect a problem, a sharp clap of thunder hit the building and we could hear windows shattering in the outer offices. There was a pause while everyone looked at each other hoping for an easy explanation. Then as if on queue, the place erupted into a keystone cops routine. Everyone was going every which way just as if they knew what came next; which no one did. Phones began to ring and above the din I heard someone holler that there had been an explosion somewhere between station 135 and 227, just short of but including the target impact station.

The first alarms from the site didn't make any sense. The control panels lit up like the Las Vegas Strip. The site data stream vanished as well as the audio and video links; nothing, just static. The remote sensors registered a few degrees temperature rise but radiation detectors that were still working didn't show anything to get excited about. A power spike caused by the disruption, tripped breakers and within moments everything went black. The silence was deafening. The only thing fracturing the silence was voices in adjacent offices. A second or two after that the emergency lights came on, fire alarms trip and people started looking for a leader. The only thing left to do was to get the hell out of there.

The first responders to the tunnel were met with blocked accesses. Cave-ins had closed off all shafts and access corridors to station 221 where WENDY is or was. The people that approached from station 101 accesses were met with a totally obscuring dust cloud in the tunnel. Fortunately for them the air cleared enough that when they reached station 135 they saw the light, sunlight to be exact. The trench that replaced the tunnel extended 250 feet up to daylight. There was a 75-foot drop-off at the end of the catwalk. To add to their astonishment, very little damage occurred in the part of the tunnel in which they stood.

A Steven Hawking quote came to mind; something about holding an "End of the Earth Party" the night before the facility start-up. There were a number of scientists who were concerned that not enough was known about particle properties to proceed on the present course. They were concerned that a black hole might result.

Red faces were the least of it. Several technicians were vaporized. Who knows maybe they're on the moon.

There were a few scientists who actually believed that God himself thwarted attempts to proceed in unlocking the secrets of sub-atomic particles; milestone setbacks were eerily regular.

Later, when they analyzed that data, it became clear that something far greater, than first thought, had happened. For, if the amount of mass in the trench had simply disappeared, it would have resulted in an explosion that would have involved most of the planet. We wouldn't be here if it had vaporized in a nuclear event. Basically, it boils down to E=MC2, which essentially means that the sum total of mass and energy in the universe is constant. To convert that much mass into energy would likely be a nuclear event. It should have been an event several hundred thousand times bigger than it was. They measured the physical size of the mass and compared it with numbers coming from some satellites and found that nothing had happened. The mass was still there, somewhere. They took a closer look at the site. Thermal imaging from space verified only that something had happened and was in fact, still happening. There were all kinds of radiation readings but no visible light. Infra red cameras were flown over the sight and for the first time they got an image that showed the spherical mass. Again they jumped to some obvious conclusions, and decided that the sphere was the displaced mass from the cavity. In fact that wasn't the case. The spectral analyze helped determine that the composition of the sphere couldn't be reconciled with what was initially there. Even if it is the same mass, how did it increase in density by a factor of three hundred? It's heating up. Who knows what that means? Chances are we won't fill in all the blanks on this event any time soon. There are proposals to collapse the shaft in on itself but that is problematic. There is also some talk about using the shaft for other purposes; whatever that means. Personally, I think it's a volcano looking for a place to happen. Some just call it the 'bottomless Pit'; a reference to the Biblical one, I think."

"What does the Choke-Point Project have to do with this?"

"You're in luck with the timing of that question. Your security clearance came through my office this morning. You'll be briefed on your clearance later but I guess I can give you some details. Just don't turn me in."

"It's a deal. I assume you won't have to shoot me when we're finished."

"Not this time.

About two years after the event, a scientist in NorAm came up with the notion that their final conclusion was correct; the mass doesn't belong here. It came from somewhere else. It's the next thing to a black hole. His theory was that the original experiment resulted in an answer that couldn't be contained in the equipment available; at least not this answer. The quantum energy packet that we were looking for is real. The particle, as it turns out, isn't a particle at all. The first guess was that it must be associated with the speed of light; which didn't set well with Mister Science. He finally settled on the theory that it is related to the time element, not distance or velocity. Time has always been a point of almost eccentric curiosity for scientific minds. It is not well understood; it's mainly been a philosophical discussion. It is one of those things we just couldn't seem to screw up, at least until now that is. Mister Science came up with the notion that it was the key or a key to an ultimate understanding of "time". It was present in matter, to keep everything from happening at once. That's not a joke, it's truer than you think. He surmised that if you could fiddle with it a little that you could get its associated matter to disappear and reappear in a different time. He concluded, that in order for the conservation of matter to work, that the matter it displaced would just have to trade places with something else. And so it does. It took a while for a colleague to realized that if density has something to do with it, that we could have had a rude surprise. To suddenly replace that pit with the equivalent mass from the vacuum of outer space would undoubtedly produce a thunderclap that would still be ringing in our ears. That almost happened with the sphere. Its size being smaller than the mass that was here created a void that needed to be filled. That was the explosion or, more correctly, implosion that occurred. By changing the time in which that chunk of matter existed, it also changed its locations. It came from some place but we don't have a clue where. Can you imagine the surprise on other end when they received seven hundred feet of useless tunnel?

If I could crank back your mass clock, so to speak, you would merely exist in another time as well as another place. Unfortunately, the mass that you consist of today isn't the same mass you were made up of ten years ago. Therefore you wouldn't exist in a coherent form; some of you would but not in a viable form. The only thing that might be the same, would be things like tooth fillings, some parts of your brain tissues, and miscellaneous cells here and there. Those would all be part of the living body that is you today but in the strictest sense, it would be someone else, if it was anyone at all. All that would have happened would be that the entire earth would have realigned to accommodate the old order of things. The rearranging of the elements here might result in the global heat rise of a billionth of a degree or so. The conservation of energy would survive. Mister Science figured that with the state of computer technology it would be possible to totally map the whole body. It is possible to not only reorder mass to a different time but to translate it intact. We've got some pretty big computers but mapping every atom in your body for the trip, now that would be some serious computer power. At this point someone asked the question "How did we survive the first translation?" The chances of that happening by luck were astronomically out of the question. No amount of calculation seemed to justify the chance happening. The final conclusion to the question of "Who saved our bacon?" had only one answer; the Boss. God, in his great mercy, plugged the gap in man's innocence. For some, God's mercy in the matter only served as a license to continue in the research.

Further research showed that one of the things that must be true is that the focus particle was not matter, energy, or light. It is therefore a new level of existence. This heralded the discovery of a new realm. Time has always been a part of such considerations but now there was a need to compartmentalize it in a different fashion.

About that time a group made up of philosophers, scientists, theologians, and some other free thinkers got together to deal with this and other related topics. With the world in the state that it was, it didn't take long for the theologians to make their point. Their point was that if it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, and, well, speaking of ducks, shouldn't we get ours in a row? There was some resistance to the bias, but it was finally agreed that at least they would include a God filter in future considerations. It was eloquently put by one of the pastors when he said "God is a God of order, and that gentlemen, is the reason that neither science nor any other discipline has found an ultimate contradiction. There is no contradiction; just misinterpretation, closed minds, egos, and competing agendas. Ladies and gentlemen," he said "humanity is being mugged by a devil wielding an unloaded gun. His only real tool, and he uses it well, is to divide and conquer. He gets us to compromise ourselves into ignorance of the truth." A few struggled with it, but it was time to accept victory in the face of eminent defeat, such as it was. It was conceded, that we existed this day because God chose to halt the extinction due us in the midst of our arrogance. God must be with us, and not against us; we are the benefactors of his choosing. God is due our acknowledgement and gratitude. God desires our participation in the process of creation. The human race still has far to go and much to learn.

* * * * *

# Chapter 18 – The Image of God

A good test of preeminence importance is to see which consideration can survive the loss of the contrary.

Anonymous

They didn't talk much on the way back. Martin was in the midst of a mental grid-lock. Even ANGL was absent. Martin guessed that Bill had been through this routine before and understood his silence.

Had science suddenly gotten religion some way, some how? Did they see this as a hindrance or a help? Martin tried to reconcile this attitude in the midst of the 666 implant. What was he misunderstanding? Could they be this open? How? Of course, he had noticed Astro-physicists and astronomers in the past, occasionally expressing a belief in a higher power. Most of them seemed to have gained it in the course of their research. But this was a quantum step for science, in general, if not mankind as whole.

It must have come in recognition of the infinite intricacy of creation, at all levels. It was Einstein who was credited with the quote "Given an array of possibilities, choose the likeliest first." How arrogant must we be, to choose matter as a given and chance the master? It is by no means the first best or even the easiest answer.

"Earth to Mars come in. Over!"

"Oh geez! I'm sorry. Was my mouth open? I wasn't drooling, was I?"

Bill chuckled. "No. I get that reaction a lot. Some eventually find it comforting and some spit up a little. I'm guessing you to be in the first group."

"Yeah! I think that's affirmative." Martin had come this way before. Bill had no way of knowing. How could Martin tell him? He did not yet know whether Bill could be trusted.

Martin had not seen the pit before though he had been this way before, several times before. But for some reason his memory was partially blanked on the details. He remembered Bill by other names but was spotty specifics.

Martin still struggled with the pieces dealt to him and was reticent to reveal what he knew. Though he would come this way again, he was satisfied to spend this time in innocence; leaving Bill out of the loop.

Bill tapped Martin's shoulder "You can see the research complex out this side."

"I didn't know it was that big. Are all those buildings new?"

"No. In fact, about half of them are vacant. Most the staff is in the admin building. The CME changed the way we do business but we have managed to do a little growing in the last few years. Over there, directly below the mountain peak you might be able to make out the RG Unit. That's fairly new and we're doing most of the realm generation research out there."

"Oh yeah. Tell me a little more about that."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't know something about the current Denver projects so I'll focus on what lead up to them. One of the scientists, Marty Grewer, worked here in the early days. Everyone called him Guru for short.

He came up with the notion that maybe we wouldn't have to catalog ever atom in a time translation. He surmised that perhaps we needed to do some mind-expanding games first. He is a quantum physicist. He was into the "eleven dimensions of matter" thingy, and was looking for the unified theory; then again they all are. As a physicist, his vocabulary left him at odds in social situations. No one could understand what he knew, and that included most of the people he worked with. He had a revelation, another one of the religious kind. It was that the key to understanding and communicating the concepts of quantum dimension was to understand in part, the character of God. He had concluded that we have had the answers all along but have been too anti-God to recognize it. The concept of compartmentalizing creation into realms made sense to him. In his world velocity is a realm, force is a realm, mass is a realm, and time is a realm, and these four occupy another realm that we call the physical universe; something like that. These four abiding realms are the four dimensions of the universe as we normally experience it. But it's not quite the way we ordinarily define it. We normally think of the four dimensions as the individual displacements x, y, z and time. The components of velocity, force, mass and time are not directly interchangeable; or at least not as he saw it. Each is unique in that its attributes are in different units of measure. In concert, they can manifest in numerous ways; the essence of the physical universe. He sees that the other 8 or so dimensions are just as distinguishable from one another. When you boil it down you are left with some off-the-wall but recognizable terms. Terms like mercy, compassion, forgiveness, you get the idea. Each of those characterizes a separate realm, or set of realms. Some are sub realms, but realms nevertheless. They are distinct and immutable.

The physical realm can be quantified and qualified by science. But, that is where science stops. Boolean algebra can demonstrate that even though the four realms of the physical universe can be locked in a relationship defined by E=MC2 , the spirit realm is immune to the rigors of science, even though it can manifest a viable relationship with it. In a Boolean set, the overlap of the physical and the spiritual are not subject to the laws of physics in the way that we understand. And the two sets are common to a higher set, which he calls the 3rd heaven. How about that?"

Martin shook his head slowly "You don't get out much, do you?"

Bill cheeks hitched up as he broke a smile, "Does it show? Am I boring you?"

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist it. Please, go on?"

Bill cleared his throat "The Guru explained that at this point he only knew of the realms, experientially. They tried to quantify them but the answers were just numerical, elementary and virtually meaningless; numbers failed. It's like being inside a box and having someone throw a handful of items against the side of the box. You can surmise something through the character of the impacts. But, given only that evidence, it might take a very long time to prove their actual existence in any definitive way. Look at it this way. How many gallons of fear does it take to make a quart of thrust? We have demonstrated in the last few years that thought and memory can exist separately from the brain, as can love and hate, along with a few others; and, things like fear and hate are corruptions or imitations of love; false realms without authority. A thing like darkness doesn't actually exist. Darkness is the total absence of light. Also evil is not the opposite of good it is the absence of good."

"How is it that evil can demonstrate power?" Martin asked.

"I think you mean, how can it imitate a life force? Well, we don't think it can. Life, in the physical sense, has some definitive character. I'll have to call on your biblical training. The bible says that God created man "in His image". That image was that of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, which to current thinking means the essence of power, authority and dominion. Remember, an image is a reflection. Man is created to reflect those attributes. Power is tantamount to the will, authority to man's physical abilities, and domain to his capacity to conceive and command order. The life force that we demonstrate is by virtue the implementation and interaction of all three attributes. Our Creator, to emulate and reflect his character through the exercise of those attributes, endows us. Love is the character needed to perpetuate these three attributes.

Life is the capacity to effect orderly and hopefully meaningful change. Plants can imitate life except it is not clear that they have the capacity or will to choose perpetuation. Their life force mechanisms don't demonstrate the manifestation of spirit that would be expected. It seems that, without the actual intervention of an appropriate spirit, monkeys will never build a spaceship. There is, of course, more to the spirit than that, but that is, nonetheless a game changer.

To extend that line of thinking, evil does not have explicit authority. It can only demonstrate the illusion of life, by stealing another's authority; yours, or mine. Adam, who initially was given full authority and dominion over this earth, unwittingly relinquished a significant part of his authority in this realm to the serpent. It appears that God, either before or after the advent of man, cast Lucifer out of heaven into the physical realm. He was a spirit and had a will, but without the authority to exercise them. That is why he stole it by deception from Adam. That's why the he had to be given authority in order to harass Job. Authority is not inherent in the devil's make-up.

He operates among us by deception. He is called the spirit or the prince of lies. He holds us hostage by using our own authority against us.

It occurred to Grewer that another distinction that should be made is that the attributes of will, authority and spirit are not of this realm. As I mentioned earlier, this realm is the physical realm, and the equation E=MC2 describes the sum total of the physical reality here. Grewer's set, as it is called, is akin to the elements in this equation.

In concert with the physical realm, the spiritual realm represents a footstool for God. He placed man here temporarily, for some purpose only he knows. In our ignorance or disobedience, we choose to inhabit or become one with this realm in a way that has bound us. We enslaved ourselves to the flesh in such a fashion as to condemn ourselves to death, which is the natural cycle of this realm. It is our unintended imprisonment in the realm.

Christians believed that Jesus Christ bridged the gap; paid the price and paved the way for our spirit beings to be reinstated into the proper order of creation. He essentially allowed us one foot back into right standing with God. Upon death, the believers would then escape this realm, and return fully to the proper spiritual realm. I think it was Paul who called it the "seventh heaven".

Back to the story; and to make a long story even longer, if we can identify these realms and learn how they function we may be able to provide advantage to ourselves. As it happened this was the trail of thinking, that Grewer followed. He finally came up with the notion that the realms provided a way to move from one complex set of consequence to another. Providing you don't break the laws that govern the realm, you may be able to accomplish an incredible variety of actions. Things like visiting a Black Hole and seeing how it relates to the "Big Bang" of a new universe.

Brewer managed to devise a temporary realm that allowed the circumnavigation of time and distance. In a manner of speaking, he found out where wormholes reside.

By defining a realm that encompassed a volume, and then changing the clock on the entire volume, it was theoretically possible to exit that realm and enter another in a different time. The problem was to identify precisely where that realm will reappear and forcing that destination volume to trade places with the only discontinuity in the physical realm: that being the hole you left in this time.

The problem of realm definition still involved a massive data base, and impossible processor speeds. It wasn't until he unraveled the trinity disaster that he found the key. That is still classified, and these new experiments will take advantage of that knowledge.

Because of the velocity and time delta errors, the farthest out that they dare translate the first objects was about a hundred years. We could, with relative accuracy, calculate the location of the earth one hundred years ago. Even with that it was deemed unsafe for human trials.

Another breakthrough came, when one of Grewer's colleagues thought to measure the surface roughness of the sphere. They had bounced some lasers off the sphere. To their amazement, the integrity of the reflection, or deviation from the theoretical result, was immeasurable. To further check their results, they lowered a device down to the sphere to make a direct measurement. They could not detect any surface irregularity. In addition to that, the surface is quite inert.

The conclusion he somehow came to, was that the natural origin of the realm was its center, and that the boundary was a function of the speed of light. The realm formed about a finite point, and proceeded outward at the speed of light until it encompassed the exact amount of mass needed to match the intruding mass. Since the realm definition is not physical, it has no mass and therefore no inertia and could then terminate at the exact boundary.

That is where he threw the black cloth over his findings. We can only surmise that he discovered a way to seed the destination realm and define the point of origin of the source mass. In any case that building you see houses the first experiment."

"What was the first mass translated?"

"It was a silica mass, a bag of sand if you will."

"Did he succeed? What came back?"

Bill looked at Martin and knitted his brow, "You did."

ANGL; What is he talking about?

Martin; Beats me. I'm not remembering any of this.

"I thought you said that there haven't been any human trials yet."

"Well, there hasn't; at least not that we know of. Like I said, he sent a bag of sand. We don't know where you came from. But the suit you were wearing seemed right for the task. It's just that it wasn't ours. Let's leave it at that. You're here to help us understand what might be going on. You're the scheduled speaker this afternoon but you'll just have to answer questions. It should be pretty straight forward."

The silence seemed too long and yet not long enough. Martin backpedaled. Was I sleeping? Did I miss something? Should I high tail it? Do they know everything? Maybe my hiding is over? Who am I hiding from?

Bill waited for Martin to take breath.

* * * * *

# Chapter 19 – The Alligator

To be the last one eaten by the alligator is not a good survival strategy.

Anonymous

Gil had tried to keep a low profile for the next few days. Trask seemed quite confident in his obscurity. Surely he knew the importance of remaining hidden. If he was aware of Buck, he wasn't showing it.

Gil had not seen Buck since London. He should have shown by now. Maybe he was off on a wild goose chase.

The Astro-Forum wasn't Gil's idea of a fun time, but it was a pretty easy way of keeping track of Trask. The hardest part was looking interested and dodging any questions during the luncheons. It seemed that the thirty or so that were in attendance were self-indulged enough to ignore Gil, and on top of that, it seemed that the sessions were attended by different people each time. Though there were always a few introductions, most of the attendees remained unnamed.

On the second day of Gil's surveillance, Buck made his entrance. He wasn't looking good. He looked gray and in pain. Buck had downed half dozen pills, before the morning session was over. Though the room was on the cool side, Buck's hair, what little there was of it, stuck, sweat-drenched to his temples.

Trask had not made a showing yet but Gil saw his name on the afternoon speakers roster.

When the morning session broke for lunch Gil decided he would be better served to keep tabs on Buck.

Buck made his way to the lobby and sat by the courtesy phone. He shook his head as if to attempt to clear it; just as he had done by the Viro-Scan. After some more pills and a few deep breaths he picked up the phone and placed his call.

Gil had positioned himself a couple seats away and covered the ploy with a feigned interest in a magazine from the coffee table.

Buck's conversation was badly truncated and hard to follow. "Yes, I will be sitting in the same place" a pause and then "North 12 and west 3 and half, plus or minus about 4 inches. Yes, I'm sure. Yeah . . . a half hour; right about 3:30, my time. What do you mean; you're the ones that can screw up. It's my ass that . . ." He hung up and dropped back in his seat.

* * * * *

# Chapter 20 – Astro-Forum Session Five

When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking.

Albert Einstein

Martin didn't remember being helped off the plane. He didn't remember sitting down in Bill's office. The first thing he remembered was the shot of whiskey that he unwittingly chug-a-lugged. He tried to laugh and catch his breath at the same time.

Bill wasn't being cruel. He had other things to do and 3:00 o'clock was fast approaching.

"You okay?" he asked as they headed for the afternoon session.

"I don't know. I think so."

"I'm afraid this meeting isn't quite what we represented on the schedule."

"Is the short notice the good news or the bad?" Martin asked."

"Like I said, you only have to answer questions the best you can. I'll protect you as best I can. They don't know much, other than that you were the payload that returned and that you don't remember everything. They also realize that they are intruding, but they need to know some things. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah. I'm sure there is a lot at stake. I'll have to keep some of it to myself until I understand better. But I want to help."

"Agreed. Some may get pushy, but I can handle them."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Astro Forum Session Five. This is going to be a short one, people, so let's get started. First up this afternoon we have someone you've all heard of; well, most of you, in relation to the site research programs. May I introduce Martin Trask. You know him from the previous sessions, but we do have a few new faces here this afternoon. He is our Poster-Child for the exploration of the new frontier, so to speak. We are dealing in a classified area, so be careful with your questions. Some of us are not cleared by security.

We want to keep this as a forum. I'll be moderating only as it becomes necessary. Please know that some of this is quite a surprise, even to Martin, I'm afraid. So please keep your questions on a need to know basis and do your best to be sensitive. If you don't know what that means, I'll try to referee when it becomes necessary."

Martin simply smiled nodded and took a seat at the head of the table. The conference room held about thirty people; most at the table and the remainder seated along each wall. The research facility had a reputation for its casual environment. The few suits and ties were from out of town; the resident staff wore sport shirts, and even a few tee shirts and sweatshirts. There were several women in the group; neat but low-key dressers. At the far end of the table Martin caught sight of a sheer blouse with long puffy sleeves.

ANGL; Yes but her blouse is mauve and the one in New York was beige.

Martin; It is strange, don't you agree.

ANGL; Of course.

Martin; I can't see her face.

ANGL; What for?

Martin; Okay, okay.

"Questions? Yes, Dr Fralley."

"Martin. I can't tell you how excited I am at this moment. Thank you for allowing us this opportunity.

We understand that when you arrived you were unconscious for several weeks. When did you realize what had transpired?"

"Uhh; ten minutes ago. I guess."

"I don't understand, Martin."

"I'm sorry. When I awoke in the Lab in Boise, I thought it was life as usual. I don't quite know what you are referring to. I wasn't aware that I was 'return parcel #1'. I only found out ten . . ."

Bill intervened "I'm sorry Martin. I'm afraid there is a bit of a disconnect. I didn't realize that you were finding that out from me. I thought that it had just slipped you mind."

"That's okay. I'm quite used to living in a cacophony of facts and fantasies. I think I can go on with this line of inquiry.

They told me that I was recovering from a bump on the head. I had forgotten a few things, but I thought I was up to date with the detail; what I now recall seemed to fit, but I guess I'm still short a few bricks. The decision to send me on mission 2 was made before the implants. Chronologies escape me at times. I have had numerous moments of de ja vu. In many cases, I was able to resolve them. Some were frightening, and I hope you will bear with me. I may need to guard some of my answers."

"Yes we understand. Do you know where you're from?"

"Do you mean my address?"

"No. I mean prior to your arriving at the RG lab unconscious."

Martin thought for a second. "No, as far as I know I am from here. Where I was in the interim will be news to me. Dr. Grant had my history and I'm not aware of any inconsistencies."

"No. There don't seem to be any in that respect. But you understand our confusion. We don't know if our experiment is a failure or a success. You were wearing an environmental suit that we knew nothing about. It was covered with sandstone dust.

Let me read from the interview transcript?"

Bill intercepted "Is that declassified?"

Dr. Fralley paged through his data package. "I don't see anything to the contrary. There doesn't . . ."

"I'm just being careful. Go ahead Dr."

"Says here that you were bruised but not broken; I presume that referred to your bones. From the bruising, and the damage to your suit, they determined that you had slid on your side for some distance and had fallen into the top of a tree. You . ."

"How would they know that?" came a question from the far end of the room.

The Dr. indulged the anonymous questioner "The leaves jammed in his visor were fresh and attached to a freshly broken sprig or branch. The variety of tree doesn't usually have leaves below about 6 feet from the ground. Grazers keep them well pruned to that height. The tree is related to a common variety in the Savannahs of Africa.

Let me continue? The back side of the suit was covered with copious amounts of spores, particulate, and a clump of moss that is common in marshy areas. You probably landed on your backside in a bed of moss."

Martin; Isn't that special? I do most of my best work on my butt.

ANGL; Now, now.

"You must have laid in the marsh long enough to have water seep into the left leg of the suit. Analysis of the water didn't reveal anything unusual.

However, when you awoke you identified yourself as Lieutenant Brack Hagger, service number 217783. There wasn't anything in your personal possessions to support this. The service number was tracked to a Private First Class Brandon Shandler who was missing in action, during the First World War. I think we have to set that whole military thing aside for now.

The report goes onto to say that you encountered a local native, but were unable to engage him in any useful exchange.

The only other piece of information of significance is that you managed to lose one glove and one sunglass lens; probably in the fall.

Does any of this ring a bell?"

Martin shook his head slowly "I'm really sorry. This is all news to me. I thought the injury was work related. I actually have no recollection of the interview. I hope they're not going to bill me for the glove and glasses."

The room erupted in laughter and the doctor leaned back in his chair in resignation. When the mood in the room leveled he regained his posture and continued.

"At first they thought the sand dust matched the Morrison formations in the Front Range of Colorado Rockies. Since then they have found a better match in South Eastern Africa. Tanzania or Nairobi; I don't remember exactly which; near the town of Rutana, wherever that is. Unfortunately they weren't able to date the dust or the biomaterials for some reason.

The thing that is confusing is that you weren't even part of the Translation Prep Team, though you were assigned to the Trans Lab at the time. We don't need our sand back, but it would sure be nice to know more about your trip."

Martin again shook his head "I'm sorry I can't help you there."

"Yes, I'm sure you can't. Thank you, Martin."

"Martin, my name is Frank Edwards. I'm new here today, but you may remember me from Boise. I just wanted to ask about some details that may be of no consequence but you never know. Dr. Grant mentioned that in his conversation with you just prior to the implant that the last thing you remember was walking through the outer courtyard, south of the building. But the TPT crew that you were working with at the time said you were in the chamber doing some final checks. Can you shed any light on that inconsistency?"

ANGL: Be careful answering. The time element may be a complication for you.

Chas: Thanks, buddy.

Martin checked out the baseboard with the most thoughtful look that he could muster. That is how he handled most tough moments. "There are several things that are unclear to me. That is one. I may have been on my way to the chamber at the time and my memory dropped that recollection. Sorry I can't help."

"One more item; the clothing you were wearing that day, you told Dr. Grant that you didn't remember ever owning the items he described. Have you recalled those items since?"

"Actually I do remember that part of a conversation. I don't remember owning such things. Teal, my wife, had trained me to avoid pink and gray print; print in general and 'get rid of the pocket liner'. Oops, sorry." A quick scan of the room revealed several people looking down at their pocket protectors.

"Hmm; that is odd; not your fashion choice, just the inconsistency. Thank you Martin."

The questioning went on for another hour and forty minutes. They had reevaluated the software and the hardware. They weren't able to determine why those and several other points remained unanswered.

Martin had been able to answer most of the questions honestly and without hesitation. If they had doubted any of his answers, they hadn't let on.

At that point, things got pretty dicey.

ANGL: Alert! The man at the far left. He is in deception. The handset he has is transmitting dual signals. One is a timing signal of some sort. The second signal is a Random Frequency Cipher Carrier. Without a copy of his synthetic crystal there is no way to lock in quickly enough to record or decipher. In addition, he has sent out an acquisition signal to GPS or targeting signal of some sort. That signal has been jammed and redefined to the point of origin.

Martin: What's going on?

At that moment, the man lurched to his feet; pitching the three hundred pound conference table six inches. His chair tumbled back to the wall; he stiffened up and fell back against the rebounding chair. The room erupted into turmoil as several people jumped to his aid.

"He's got no heart beat. Get the nurse quick?"

ANGL: Look at the ceiling? Do you smell it?

Martin: Smell the ceiling?

ANGL: No, the burned hair and shampoo residue.

Martin: Okay. And I see the ceiling above him. There's a tiny whisp of smoke up against it.

ANGL: He has been struck with a high power laser. It probably toasted his heart in a microsecond.

Martin: What's going on?

ANGL: Keep silent. That laser was intended for you. By redefining the acquisition signal the laser targeted the point of origin. That man was new at this meeting. They must still be hunting for you.

Martin: Great. Do any of the rest know?

ANGL: At this level of agitation it's difficult to make an accurate assessment but I think you're safe for the present. He probably came from the UN in Baghdad.

Martin: If these people don't know, then I'm still relatively safe. The software code in ANGL had a program bug in it, totally in Martin's favor. The bug disabled the standard security locator beacon. ANGL's assessment was that it might become functional at the time of translation. Its purpose was to allow them to monitor Martins return.

Martin's eyes traveled to the far end of the conference room, in search of some puffy sleeves. But the sleeves had already left with their owner, and the others.

The dead man would inevitably be missed by the UNIS soon, but Martin felt safe for the immediate time. His overall anonymity was growing thin.

He headed back to Bill's office, where Bill sat quietly for a minute looking at the ceiling the same way Martin looked at baseboards. Then "Why are they after you?"

Oh-oh, how did he find out? "What do you mean?"

"That guy didn't die of a heart attack. I know who he is. I overheard him talking to his agency. He's a private contractor working for the UNIS and their major mandate is tracking security risks and fugitives. Our records don't indicate that you're a security risk, but I think he was after you. What's the deal?"

ANGL: I don't get any negative readings on Bill. You need to know if he can be trusted. Ask him a question that you think he will answer with a lie. Baseline reference points are needed. See the erased tattoo on his wrist. It looks like a crucifix. Ask him if he has ever considered himself a Christian.

Martin thought for a long moment. If I blow my cover to someone I can't trust I'm in big trouble. Maybe this ruse will work. I do know that in the long run my hope of keeping this secret is going to depend on having a friend that I can trust with my life. "Bill, have you ever considered yourself to be a Christian?"

Bill's head jerked away from his gaze out his window. He looked a bit stunned. The tables were turned; he sensed the importance of his next answer.

ANGL: He is considering lying.

Bill walked to the office door and slowly shut it. He returned to his desk and reached for a small post-it pad. "No, my mother was but it never stuck with me."

ANGL: He's lying. . . but hear him out.

He lifted up the first page and wrote something on the second page, then laid the top page back in place and finished writing something on that page too. He carefully lifted both pages and separated them from the pack. "Martin, do you like fishing?"

Not in the least. Martin's mouth opened and out came "Oh yeah; with a passion! Are there any good spots around here?"

"Yeah, I know a few. You've got a day or so before you leave. Would you be interested tomorrow? It's Saturday and I have this weekend off."

"Sounds good; will I need a license?"

"I'll take care of the gear and license. You just show up at my house around 7am. We'll get a bite to eat, and be off for the hills. Dress warm, 'cause some of these mountain gullies stay pretty cool." He handed Martin the sticky notes.

"Great. See you in the AM."

Martin; How am I doing?

ANGL; Ok. Wait until you're outside before you look at the notes.

Martin walked across the complex as far from any building as he could conveniently get. He looked at the top page. There was Bill's name address and cell number. He lifted the first page and in the middle of the second page was the traditional Christian representation of a fish; and ichthys, historically the symbol for Jesus Christ Son of God. His answer could not have been clearer. He had lied to protect himself. His office may have been under audio and video surveillance; a standard procedure especially in government funded areas. The same was probably true for their homes. Bill had cleverly sidestepped that possibility with the fishing outing.

Martin had to get some sleep; this day had been one of the toughest he'd had.

* * * * *

# Chapter 21 – Gone Fishin'

We still do not know one thousandth of one percent of what nature has revealed to us.

Albert Einstein

"We've got to talk but not here. Let's get some breakfast, and we'll take the tram to Eagles Nest. I've got a locker up there with all my gear in it. There is a small lake, my favorite spot."

The tram ride was quiet. Bill and Martin had beaten the morning rush. This was hiking and fishing paradise and yet they were the only two in this gondola. Snow had been too light this season to open the runs but day trips to the top of the mountain were popular.

At the top Bill wasted no time grabbing the gear. He didn't really have his mind set on catching anything. That part was ok with Martin. Cleaning a fish was not on his bucket list.

Martin struggled to keep the pace.

Bill stopped and casually looked back down the trail checking to see if anyone was following them. After reassuring himself, he gently nudged Martin off the trail toward a cleft in the rocks. They squeezed in and climbed the debris in the crevice, exiting on the far side. Bill swiftly moved on his secret, and, judging by its condition, seldom used route through the brush. They crested a ridge, and there lay his personal hideaway. A pond set in a mountain bowl, it was not more then thirty yards across, and perhaps fifty or sixty yards long. At the upper end a small creek tumbled off the mountainside onto the rappel at the edge. At the lower end, lily pads and reeds concealed the out flow. How could he have found a place so untouched by decades of natural and social trauma?

"I grew up near here. My brother and his best friend let me in on this place one summer when I was nine. He swore me to secrecy. Unlike what you may hear about brothers, we trusted one another."

"Where is your brother now?"

"I'm not sure. He went to NorAm when he was thirty-five and that was about two years before the CME. I haven't seen or heard from him since."

"I'm sorry to hear that; how about the rest of your family?"

"They're all gone too. I think they were raptured; my brother and my parents. It was hard for most people to accept. It was chaos; so many people died or were never found."

"That must have been an awful time for you?"

Bill paused in thought then added "I think it was worse for those of us who knew that we had screwed up. We lost faith in the promise, and gave into the threats. We had families to worry about."

"You were married?"

"Yeah, my wife Karen and two daughters; they're also gone now. That's the good news. The bad is I'm still here. I just can't believe that I screwed up so bad."

"I'm so sorry."

Bill looked at Martin, "You weren't here, were you? Where were you? How did you manage to dodge the implant? I assume you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, yeah. I didn't plan it. It just happened. I volunteered for the first translation, if you can call it the first. It was just before my scheduled 666 implant and I was hoping they'd toast me by accident but the thing worked. I returned about five hundred days later. By then my records showed that I had received the implant and . . . ."

"Five hundred day's later?" Bill was a little stunned.

"Yeah, when I returned it was to a history where the chamber completion was delayed five hundred and thirty two days to be exact."

"What happened during those five hundred days?"

"Nothing, I was only gone for a day that time. Or should I say I thought I was only gone for a day. Apparently it was long enough for me to screw things up for history as we . . . no as you know it."

"That time! Do you mean there were others?"

"Oh I guess I quit counting after a couple dozen. I lost count."

Bill still looked puzzled. "How could you lose count on something like that?"

"Well. Did you ever see the movie Ground Hog Day? You know; the one about the guy who wakes up every morning on the same day."

"Yeah he gets to relive it over and over until he gets it right. I guess that's the point."

"Well. You loose count. Every trip is almost the same except that I think the time keeps moving ahead each time. Here it is 2025 and I'm still bouncing around the calendar."

Bill thought, "It makes sense that it could move either way. Why are you keeping it a secret?"

"After returning the first time I had a couple of close calls with the UNIS. Remember, I don't really have the chip. Dodging the UNIS wasn't going to be easy. It just a matter of time before the system flags me; and it becomes a bit of a trick without any money. In fact, there wasn't any money. All purchases were made through individual cyber tallies. I didn't have an implant to do the tally. By that time my wife was gone and I had to steal in order to eat."

"How long were you doing that?"

"Not too long. After a couple of cycles I began to grab up the opportunity to get an expense card. The agency or the company I'm assigned to usually issues it. It pays for my food. It doesn't require a hand swipe."

"That's right it doesn't. Boy that's a lucky break for you. How long do you think you can do this?"

"Well, I don't really know. I don't exactly know what my advantages are or why I've been successful this long. I think I've been eluding the UNIS this long because each time I do this, I get a little trickier but they always have to start with an empty file folder. I'm getting to know what I can do and, more important, what I can't do. I am getting a little older and time is moving on, but I do have a plan. The technology to do this is not fixed by date. That means that I'm hoping that someday the technology will occur prior to the 666 implant. Then at that point I'll quit volunteering, and take my chances."

"Why not stop now or, in the past? You don't have the implant."

"I could, but I don't know if the Gates of Heaven, or should I say, the realm access to heaven, will still be open. I would like to hedge my bet a little. I'd like to spend those last days with my wife."

"I can sure understand that. I never knew what lonely was, until this all happened. I'm in the opposite camp, though. If I were to volunteer there is a good chance that I would wind up in the right time period but with the implant. I'd have to commit suicide, in order to remove the implant."

"Why is that?"

"Along with the implant there are cyanide capsules somewhere in my body that are trigger released when the blood markers indicate the implant has separated from the body. It's not put there for law-abiding citizens. It's put there for the die hard Christians."

"Swell."

Bill sighed, "There has to be a way. What about ANGL? Isn't that the same as the 666 implant?"

"I sure hope not. I don't know anything about any cyanide capsules. You got me worried though."

ANGL; About what?

"That's odd. ANGL doesn't understand."

ANGL; About what!?

Martin; That you could be a threat to my system.

ANGL; Nothing of that nature is known.

Martin; I guess that is a reassuring as "the check is in the mail."

Bill reassured Martin "I believe he was designed to be as benevolent as possible."

We watched some trout amble by. Bill still hadn't bothered to put a line in the water. It was almost as if he envied their freedom and couldn't bring himself to end it.

"Couldn't you wrap your hand in aluminum foil and shield it so you could be translated back without a signal, or something like that?"

Bill smiled at Martin's naivety and added, "No, because of the laws of physics; realm boundary definition doesn't work quite like that. What's in the realm needs only to be accounted for as mass and energy" another moment of thoughtful silence.

"Why can't you find the capsules?"

"It wouldn't do any good. I couldn't possibly remove them all at the same moment. I'd need a cast of thousands to accomplish the medical procedure" another moment. "Why is it so bad? What did I do that was so bad?"

Martin had considered that question before. "Well. I think it's like this. Would you buy a piece of property and pay the full price knowing that an adversary had a lien on it? Laws governing God's kingdom are immutable. Serving two gods is more than a loose end, and God's realm has no place whatsoever for such things. I found the answer for myself in the Book of Revelations 12:11. It ends by saying that they 'loved not their lives unto death.' meaning that our total authority must be laid in the hands of God with no reservation, no liens."

Bill look saddened and slowly shook his head.

"That's only part of it. The Bible talks about the keys to heaven, the keys of David, the keys to the gate, and such. There is or was a door that needed to be opened. I'm thinking that door is like the interface between the realms that you're researching. However that interface, that door spoken of, is relating to the harvest, the rapture. It is the door through which God reaches to harvest what He has sown. That door is closed. That door was closed as the last trumpet sounded. It's referred to in 1Colossians 15:52. I think it's the same door that the virgins encounter, when they return too late. They pound on the door and Jesus answers by saying 'Depart. I never knew you'. The economy of God can at times seem unreasonable. In any case He will not throw off the balance of eternity, accept that which his grace allows.

I think this extends to the conservation of matter and energy in this realm. When God harvests, He won't be removing the fundamentals of this realm, mass and energy. Instead, He will be withdrawing part of the "Grewer set", as you put it, will, spirit and only part of our authority; the Boolean overlap. There is no indication that the door will be reopened. He hasn't told us everything; in fact the end of the millennium may bring some surprises, in spite of the judgment, or even more surprising, in light of it. To some, the judgment may bring a pardon at some level that we do not yet understand."

"It seems that my chances are slim to none."

"I suppose you're right for now but it ain't over till it's over. Hang in there Bill, you're a good man. There may be another loophole. I hesitate to suggest this Bill, but martyrdom carries with it a special dispensation; if that's what you would call it?"

"How so?"

"Well, the act of not shrinking back, for His name's sake, and unto death, reaps many blessings. It reflects the "greater love hath no man" verse as well as dozens of other blessings. There is also the business about removing the body part that offends; it being better to enter heaven without it than not at all."

"Well, I've lived with the knowledge of the worst for years. It's not sounding so bad today." Bill gazed out at a fish-ring forming in the center of the small lake. "What's next for you?"

"That's a good question. The UNIS is either hot on my trail, or soon will be. Dodging them is a full time job. I've still got another couple of weeks before the scheduled launch in Denver. I'd get out of here tomorrow if I could. Even if I left today, it would take me a week to get there and I'd have to do some explaining."

"Not if you were translated from here."

Martin knitted his brow in surprise "I don't understand. Is this system capable of doing that?"

"Yes, it's a little smaller but as a prototype, it does everything the Denver site can do. It's been down for rework and to install new software."

"That's great but don't we need the 'cast of thousands'?"

Bill chuckled "No. It's all pretty automated. They've upgraded the software but I think we can work through the check list on our own."

ANGL; The check list and launch prep are in the science library.

"Bill, ANGL just informed me that he is up to speed with the whole procedure. He can remotely tap into the launch controller if needed. Will this cause you any trouble?"

"No; it shouldn't. I'll just clear the launch data set and reset the registers. Tomorrow is Sunday, and there will only be a skeleton crew. Is tomorrow too soon?"

"Are you kidding me? I won't even mind hiding in a dumpster tonight."

"No, no, come home with me. I'll hide you in the attic if necessary. The UNIS doesn't have any way of tracking you tonight. The way transcontinental travel is, they're probably still setting at the depot in Baghdad."

"Ok Bill. Let's catch one of these little buggers. I'm a'get'n hungry."

Bill and Martin spent a few more hours talking and fishing. Martin caught one large fish and Bill generously and graciously cleaned it and cooked it.

* * * * *

# Chapter 22 – Lickin' the Spoon

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.

Albert Einstein

"There is something I've wanted to ask. What's it like to travel in time? I can imagine it is a blast, like lick'n the spoon?"

"I don't think I'd put it like that. Tell me Bill; do you always remember your dreams? Some people don't.

"I remember some of them. Others, I can't remember anything but the emotion; fear, happiness, whatever.

"Yeah, that's what I'm getting at. I know I've been somewhere and had an experience of some sort but I can't always put it into words or even remember who I was dealing with before or during. While I'm there everything I see and do are quite clear but when I return, that clarity often goes away."

"How do you know it's not a dream?"

"Truthfully, I can't always be sure. Maybe it is because when it's a dream, the before and the, after match and the dream itself stands pretty much alone; at least in most cases. With actual time travel, the before and after are likely not to match up. And of course the intervening, as far as anyone knows, is as likely as not to be quite dream like. Do you follow? Are we dreaming now?"

"No; of course not."

"Bingo! It's usually that clear."

"Oh; sure, I guess it would be, or not?"

"Another distinguishing thing is that my memory is altered. Actually I think my memories are selectively edited. Some experiences and memories just don't or can't cross the boundary; others make it through intact. Why, I don't know. It could have something to do with the potential for harm to me or to others."

"You are saying that some of your memories are deliberately blanked?"

"Yes. Some of the things that should be perfectly clear are just plain gone. Other things that seem inconsequential are as clear as this morning's breakfast. Consider this; the past and the future are distinguished only by the present; it has already finished happening. It's like we're watching a movie that contains both at once, the beginning and the end; and us in the middle somewhere. We think we haven't seen the end because it hasn't happened yet; when in fact it has. So I think that memory selectivity is a benefit of some sort."

"Give me an example?"

"Sure. Do you remember what happened tomorrow?"

"No, of course not."

"How about a minute from now?"

"What are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at is that, you think you couldn't remember a minute from now; when in fact, a minute from now, or maybe a year from now, has already happened. We just haven't arrived there yet, and that information is not registering as a memory."

"You got a lot of shoveling to do on that one."

"You actually have as much access to the future and the past as I do. It is only because the 'cosmic' censor chooses to blank your view of the future that you think that you don't know what it is; but you do."

""I do? Show me?"

"Well okay. I know this exercise works so I'll leave it to you to do later. Take a deck of cards. Shuffle and deal, say, fifteen cards, face up. Give yourself oh maybe thirty seconds to review the cards. Turn them face down. Record your recollections of the sequence and then turn the cards face up again and record the correct sequence. Identify them as set '#1 Guesses' and '#1 Actuals' then repeat the process for set #2 and so on. After you've completed ten or so then stop and individually tally the results in the form of a percent of correct guesses on each set. Now compare '#1 Guesses' to the '#2 Actuals'; '#2 Guesses to #3 Actuals' and so on. Again, compare and tally, and calculate the percentage of correct guesses. Remember you are now comparing your guesses, not with the original sequential order dealt but with the future order that had not yet been dealt. The first time may seem like a fluke, but after you find that you are consistently better at guessing future sets, then the present set, I am sure you will agree that you are responding to the future more than the present. This test doesn't effectively show this phenomenon with everyone but with some it is distinctly reproducible.

I think those who can see with greater deltas into the future operate in life with greater freedom and less fear of the risks.

Of course I guess another possibility may be that you are unconsciously controlling the shuffle, and are deliberately ordering the next deal to match the previous set of guesses. Albert Einstein might call that the "lesser of sound reason.""

"Are you serious? This isn't saying much for life as we know it."

"Exactly; it is still possible that I'm delusional but again, as Albert put it, "pick the easiest possible explanation first.""

"What does this all say about free will?"

"I've kicked that can down the road a few times, but it is what it is. We tend to equate free will with the product rather than the passion. When we come to the "Y" in the road, God doesn't care much which way we chose to go, He cares why we chose it. It is the condition of the heart that He assesses. We are going to end up as He chooses in spite of ourselves; as surely as the pinball exits through the gate at the bottom of the game field. It may take a longer or shorter course but it will, never the less, exit via the last gate. The bumpers we encounter in life are incidental to our value to the Lord. He loves us unconditionally."

"He loves us unconditionally? Come on! How could He have loved Judas? That doesn't make sense."

"Oh He loved Judas. But I think that he didn't like him much. Like and Love are quite different. The word like is used only once or twice in my bible. And then, it is used primarily to indicate a similarity, in a comparison. As far as the other meaning goes, God doesn't say that I have to like anyone. He does say that I am responsible to love others. Love is measured by our response to the needs of others above our own. That's not to say that we need to respond to their wants; just their serious needs. He gives us the capacity for love, and thus, the responsibility to apply it when we are able. And He says that if we are inhabited by His spirit, which is the spirit of love, then we can seamlessly and transparently love without conscious effort; it will be our image of God, our creation given reflection of His being. That's the way we are created in his image. Without a doubt we will screw up on occasion, but as long as we do not deny His spirit of forgiveness, He is faithful to forgive us."

"You make it sound easy. Why are you still flopping around here with the rest of us?"

"'Stupid' doesn't appear in my bible either. I've made some pretty dumb choices. But who knows, it may be my job to do dumb stuff at times. He is looking for my obedience and acknowledgement of His eminence in my life. 'Mine is not to reason why.' Do you remember the little dude that always followed the horses in the parade; that may be moi. I'm not sure what God has planned for me. Maybe it was for this one day.

When Jesus was asked about the blind man whose eyesight He had just healed in the presence of the Pharisees, they wanted to know the cause of his blindness; was it his sin or the sin of his parents. Jesus answered "Neither. This man was blind from birth, that God may be glorified." The blind man earned a place in the bible and yet did nothing holy except to receive, from God. It isn't clear that he even understood who had healed him. Who then am I to wonder about God's plan for my life? He'll bring it about in spite of my ignorance; maybe even if I get in the way."

"Tell me more about this connection we have with the future."

"My connection isn't any better than yours but I think I know what you're asking. Do you remember a guy by the name of Edward Casey?"

"Yes. Wasn't he a fortune . . no . . a prognosticator?"

"Yup. He acknowledged that most anyone could do what he did. He would have an interviewer prepared with questions as he went into his "trance". The trance involved remaining suspended in the moment between awake and asleep. We all or maybe I should say most of us would on occasion experience that feeling of 'falling asleep'. He said that when he arrives at that point, his eyes would involuntarily flutter. At that moment the interviewer should begin the questioning. He was able to hover in that mental state and yet respond to the questions verbally. Presumably, in that state we are on the threshold of being beyond our conscious self yet still in the body. I believe that all knowledge can be accessed from that level; the whole movie can be seen at one time, by knowing the past and the future. Even with that, I think God's cosmic censor will blank some information from us for our own good."

"I've never heard of such a state of being."

"Sure you have. Haven't you felt that falling sensation? Sometimes it awakens me with a start. You just have to look for it and try to respond to it. Do you remember Peter Pan?"

"Yeah, so?" Bill chortled.

"At the end; Tinker Bell tells Peter that in the future she'll meet him in that 'place between awake and asleep'. She's talking about a moment common to us all."

"That's a fairy tale. I don't remember that."

"Rent the movie for goodness sake or see the play. I'm not attesting to the whole scenario, just that she is referring to an experience that is common to the human condition. The problem with operating from that state is that some of us, me included, can't articulate what we experience. Not that there aren't words, but we always, or even sometimes, can't figure out which words to use.

There are a few savants who partially live in that state even while they are awake. I know of two math-savants who can do unbelievable calculations in their heads. They explain that they don't actually calculate at all. All they do is interpret what they see when asked the math question. Some see color forms and shapes. The answer exists apart from the question; it's just a matter of matching it up. You see the thing is that some of memory resides outside the brain. For sure some of it is in the brain, sort of like RAM storage. But in addition we have an allotment of some sort that is not resident in our heads."

"What are you smoking?" Bill slowly shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, what can I say? There are things that I remember that ANGL can't verify by scanning my brain. I know that doesn't pass the sniff test with you but it does with me. I have had Edward Casey kind of dreams many times. I don't mean the self-fulfilling prophecy kind. I mean the kind that informs me in advance of events that ultimately occur; things that have never happened to me, personally, before or since; things that I could have no control over."

"Like what?"

"It wouldn't do to give you an example because the certainty would be judged against your second level experience rather than my first hand sense of reality. It is real to me. How could it be real to you?"

"Cop-out. Come on; give me an example?"

"Okay, fine. I had a dream. I was standing over a young girl lying in bed and it was obvious that something bad had transpired. Exactly what is just conjecture on my part. I woke up with a start. I discussed the dream with my wife. She . . ."

"You didn't. Seriously? With your wife?"

"Sure I did. I'm not a molester and she knows it. Beside when we have bad dreams we share them and then pray about them; against them, for them, about them, whatever. With this dream, Teal suggested that maybe the dream wasn't for me at all. It may be for someone else and my part in it might come later. In the dream I was aware of the name "Steve". How that name factored into the dream I didn't know.

Teal suggested that I 'just shelve the dream and wait for God to do something with it in his own way. Remember, You're a servant of God, and it's not a given that you will know the nature or the outcome of your service'." Since I didn't have enough to go on, that seemed like the best plan.

Besides, I might come across someone by the name of Steve that will profit by it. Then she added 'In any case ask the Lord to use you as he wills in regard to the dream.' I didn't know what that would look like, but it sounded right.

I worked at a company where literally one out of every ten employees was named Steve. There were twelve in all. It was just as well; since there was no way that I could make this happen. I managed to let the temptation to act pass, for many months in fact.

My wife and I regularly hosted a 'Home Group' associated with our church. We did most of the coordination and leading; not that we were any different from any of the attendees. One evening I took the opportunity to lead the group in an 'exercise in faith' as we called it. In the exercise we would pair off. In pairs we would join one another in a short prayer asking the Lord to give us words of encouragement, revelation or even release from burden for our partner. Then we would spend a minute or two in quiet giving ourselves an opportunity to receive such a word. Finally we would share in the raw form what we received. I would caution the participants against injecting any elaboration of their own into the words that they, by faith, received. It was not intended as a time of self-glorification, theatrics or anything overwhelming. Though the exercise regularly resulted in very positive exchanges, it never got messy."

"What do you mean "messy"?

"Often pastors of churches attempt to encourage order. It is easy to think that disorder is of the devil. However, when there is a true manifestation of the Holy Spirit within an assembly of believers, the definition of order belongs to the Holy Spirit. To our limited sense, the manifestation may well look like anything but order; messy might be more appropriate. After all it is His ball game, not ours. Not that we should seek disorder only that we should recognize whose in charge.

In the meantime, back at the dream.

My partner was a young married woman named Ellen, who was new to the group. We went through the process and it came time to share. I started first. I told her that even though I have the group do this exercise, I am not one who often gets a word. I added that most of my revelation from God comes in the form of dreams. As an example I chose the dream about Steve, believing that she probably wouldn't be upset by it. I told her the details of the dream and added that the only name I got out of the dream was Steve. At which point she said, "Stop! My name is Steve. At least it was my nickname when I was young. That dream is for me. That man was my neighbor; he molested me. The Lord has been dealing with me on the issue of forgiveness. I know he is telling me it is time to forgive the man and move on." I was speechless to say the least. I had not shared that dream with anyone, other than Teal, prior to that moment. I could not have intentionally orchestrated that encounter.

A statistician might not agree to its uniqueness, but I am not in need of the support of skeptics."

"Yes but couldn't it be . . . ."

"Including you; thank you very much."

"Oh, I get your point."

"Belief is in the heart of the beholder, and survives in faith by the author of faith. You are welcome to an opinion but realize that faith dwells independent of carnal agreement. After all carnal agreement is part of our carnal existence, and thus is merely a symptom of true life."

"Slow down, Preacher."

"I'm sorry, but you did insist."

"Yeah. But I still want to know, 'what is it like'? Where have you been?"

"Literally nowhere. All possibilities exist at this moment, and pretty much in the same place. I just go sideways through a few time zones, so to speak; but that dodges the issue, doesn't it? There is nothing to feel aside from a momentary high-pitched ringing in the head. Most of the translations that I can remember involved a realm definition that injected me into the landscape at an elevation. I was far enough in the air so that I would not wind up inside a rock or under the water. From that point, I would slowly descend to the ground. The more sophisticated translations involved the transportation of consciousness only. That's a lot safer. That is called teleportation; miss-location never seems an issue. It does not involve mass and energy equilibrium. It is closely related to remote reading. Do you remember about that?"

"Yes I do. It was required reading so to speak. It is still a tongue-in-cheek science."

"It won't be for long. The translations of that kind were more like out of body experiences except that time change can be involved. It is probably like what the Apostle John and Ezekiel experienced in the Bible."

"Speaking of the Bible; is the anti-christ the same each time?"

"You say anti-christ as though you see him as an individual. I think that the Apostle Paul was the one who used the term antichrist but he was referring to the mind set and character of anyone who denies the existence of God in the form of Christ. I'm talking about the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Prior to the advent of Christ there would have been no cause to deny him as the Son of God. Thus the "coming of the antichrist" that Paul speaks of seems more like the rise of the voice of opposition to Christ's association with the Godhead. I think he is talking specifically about a collective spirit of those who have been given the revelation of Christ but could not make the leap of faith.

And yes, the spirit of antichrist seems strongly present in every parallel universe I have encountered though the manifestation is in various ways. In this universe it seems to be personified in the UNIS. They are intent on purging mankind of any individual who would harbor, by faith, the hope of redemption through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

Combating the antichrist mindset seems to be part of the refining process. It's like the refining of Gold. After all this life we live is within the refiner's pyre. This isn't about us; it's about him. He is building something. It is most likely a kingdom not bound by a physical realm. This universe is His field; He is the farmer and we're the seeds that He has planted. He is refining what He will for the purpose that He chooses. He has given us free will to choose this imitation of life or to seek to enter the real thing. There are places in the Bible that equate this life with death, and true life is yet to come for the believer.

Have you ever heard of a 'blink comparator'."

"Well I have heard of a comparator."

"That's along the same lines. Now days, the process is imbedded in the software. Back in the days of dial phones, linoleum, and red-tipped white canes, the inspection of electronic assemblies things had to be processed by hand. Things like electronic circuit boards were made up of hundreds of discrete components. Each component needed to be checked to make sure that it was the proper component, in the correct place and oriented properly. Before the blink comparator was introduced a person had to visually inspect each component of each printed circuit board assembly. It took tens of minutes or even hours, depending on the complexity of the board. But with the blink comparator the inspection took a matter of seconds. An image of the subject board was superimposed over the image of a correctly assembled board. The comparator would then alternately display the two, in rapid succession. If all was correct on the subject board there would be little or no difference between the two images and they would appear as one. However if there was the least error, the faulty component would alternate right and wrong images. The alternating component appears to blink in a field of otherwise motionless components. Picking it out was a no-brainer.

A similar phenomenon occurs when I get translated into a parallel universe. The process is slower but never the less the societal ills sort of jump out at you. It is a lot like boiling a frog."

"Drag that by again; boiling a frog?"

"What; you not up on that one?"

"Nope; 'fraid not."

"If you throw a frog into hot water, it merely jumps out. If you put it in cold water it is okay with that. If you slowly heat the water, the impulse the frog has to escape the danger never occurs, and in the end the frog can be boiled to death."

"You making this stuff up?"

"No, scout's honor. That's the way the story goes. And regarding societal ills, well the path to destruction is often traveled very slowly. And when destruction hits, the society in question seems blind to the cause; though it is quite obvious to the outside observer. Often the failures aren't associated with the seeds of destruction. When the dross is skimmed, it is met with incredulity; "how could this have happened"."

"Are you by any chance drawing a parallel between extinction events and social ills?"

"Kinda, sorta; you damn well betcha. It happened in the bible all the time and people pass it off as fairytales. The CME wasn't a fairytale was it?"

"No but do you really think it was the consequence of social ills?"

"No, no, no. . . . yes. Why, you ask; it matches. Just like with the blink comparator; if you overlay the biblical account of the Tower of Babel onto the social condition of the first two decades of the twenty first century, it does NOT blink; they are figuratively and literally the same disease. We believed that we could do anything we put our minds to and we spoke with one language via the internet. The same is true for the people of the time of the Tower of Babel. We were reaching for the sky. When the CME hit, it divided and humbled us. It even confused our pseudo language, and knocked us down a few pegs

Presently we are racing back to that same absurdity, in all haste. If we do not learn a social ethic that is in line with the Creator's, he'll snuff us again.

In metallurgy, the refinement of gold is accomplished by seven firings. Each firing has a different purpose; the dross varies, although the process remains about the same. Modern man has been through about seven firings or should I say potential extinction events. Could it be that the last extinction event was in fact related to his final step in refinement; the harvest rapture? Is he done with us or has he just begun setting a new pyre to burn off the dross of more ill doing? We can't reason that in specific. Humanity can only hope that he will reach out yet again."

"Well, what does he want from us. Why are we here?"

"Do you want the short answer or the long one?"

"Let's try the short one. You can always add a little more salt."

"Yes that's right." Martin was glad for the opportunity. "God knows that we're at our best when we are otherly focused; that is, operating in love. It's just like a choir. Everyone likes to sing but if they're not singing from the same song sheet, it can sound pretty bad. So if we are willing to give up our individual control to a single leader, we sound best. That is all God wants from us. We will be at our best in that arrangement. People think that to give their lives to Jesus dilutes their enjoyment of what they have."

"Isn't that the way it is?"

"No, I don't think so. Realize that our lives are a package. The package includes all our bad habits, addictions, our goofy attitudes, bad taste, lusts, the whole mess. He doesn't require that we clean it up first. What he is really after is a personal relationship with us. Any other detail is a religious trapping. He says that he loves us as we are. He loves us in spite of who we think we are, or who or what we think we should be. The problem is that we identify with our baggage; he doesn't. He identifies with the being that he created. He identifies first with our spirit; a victim of the sins of the flesh. He takes us in our corrupt condition and cleans us up, as our will allows. He quietly and gently prunes our character and dresses the wounds without a scar. He is faithful to give us a choice that was not accessible or even known to us prior; a choice that becomes within our power to make. We are given the strength to release the previously un-releasable temptations. Often the things that seemed to good to give up inexplicably fall out of favor with us. It is much like trying to put on your dirty clothes after a good hot bath; they stink more than we recall; they are no longer acceptable even to us. He cleans us up. Most of us can't clean up the least problem in our lives. Oh, sometimes we can put on a pretty good show but it often amounts to trading one neurotic behavior for another.

In reality, what he gives us with the salvation kit is not requirements but rather a free and will driven choice. In a not-so-extreme example, it is like the alcoholic that couldn't say no to a drink. Suddenly he is given the choice. A choice that was previously non-existent. Strangely the choice isn't 'drink' or 'no drink'; instead it is 'drink' or 'deliver-me-from-this-temptation, Jesus'. And Jesus is faithful to His promise to deliver us. The alcoholic is still an alcoholic, but he is now an alcoholic with a free will choice. It is the same for every need of deliverance; whether it is from drugs, food, selfishness or lust. The list boils down to one item and that item is pride.

I think that is why He commands us to love one another. It's because the love that God gives us, displaces pride and makes our id point exclusively in the direction of creation. So, here's the bottom-line; all He wants from us is love. That's why we're here. He loves us and we need only to reflect that love; that's that image we are created to be."

* * * * *

# Chapter 23 – Country Road

The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.

Albert Einstein

Bill and Martin disembarked from the RUT, and set out on the half-mile walk to the house. The afternoon sun slid behind the clouds. The two men walked, deep in thought. They men shared a common goal; to recover a destiny stolen by the spirit of deception.

Fearing another bout with self pity, Bill chose to recommence the reality gymnastics that he had initiated. "Have you ever encountered someone else who had experienced translation?"

"Oh yeah."

"You're not the only one?"

"No. There are others. It's not like an association. They are spread out over the globe and from everywhere in the universe."

"Do you mean that they are aliens?"

"I guess you'd call some of them that. It's all a matter of what you call alien. The human race is mainly alien. But I think you are asking if they were born here. The answer is, probably not; they aren't from around here. Very few come from a common place of origin; they are from civilizations scattered across the sky."

"Where are you from?"

Martin laughed, "I actually am from here, as far as I know. And yes, I think there are a few others from here but it isn't advertised and I haven't crossed paths with any that I know of. I think some of the Tibetan Monks are moonlighting as time travelers. I'm guessing about that, of course."

"Really; are any of the outsiders trying to take over the world?"

"I certainly hope not. I've only met a handful. But they all agree on what I'm telling you. I'm the freak among them. And no, for the most part they are here for more benign reasons; exploring, doing research, having fun, or what ever. The ones that are here with intentions to dominate' or federate, are usually in such trouble that they perish before they can carry out their nefarious plans.

"How are they different from the ones on vacation?"

"The ones on 'vacation', usually get here via the more advanced teleportation technique; 'remote reading thing', remember? They are from cultures that have successfully transitioned from our level of barbarism."

"Really; distance isn't a problem?"

"Distance is an illusion; it is a perception that we're bound by. It works pretty well for us but it can be sidestepped."

"Boy, you've lost me. Do you have an example, please?" Bill whined.

"Well yes; sort of. Imagine taking a film recording of a scene that you're in, a movie, and laminating all the frames together, one on top of another, into a block. On the surface you see a record of a moment in time. It can include any number of individuals or things that existed in that moment. Various points on that surface of the frame represent distance but not time.

Now imagine cutting through the block, from front to back. Slice right through your own image. Look at the cut surface of the block. You would see the passage to time rather than distance. Starting from your image at the beginning of the cut and moving back in time you would be visible in that cut up plane until the point where you entered that location in the scene. You might look like a smear. You would require some examination to fully understand.

Realize that any given moment is represented by single frame in this example. There are frames before and after; the past and the future. The realm that we live in restricts our sense of now to the single frame that we call the present. That is the nature of the realm we live in. Other realms are limited in other ways. Some realms could be likened to living in that slice where moving in one direction is a change in time rather than distance.

Imagine the same block after you put it in a blender. I think there is a realm that has a definition similar to that. Don't ask me what that looks like. I don't have a clue. There are many ways to slice it.

Even as a visualization tool, this is an example that falls quit short of the actual reality of things. Some of the individuals I've encountered can't even point to the sky to locate where they've come from. It's just as well; they were pretty weird."

"You know, for someone who looked innocent yesterday, you sure know a lot about realms."

"I didn't know yesterday whether or not I could trust you."

"You got any more surprises?"

"Not that I know of; do you want me to continue?"

"Sure. What did you mean about these guys looking weird?"

"Usually they look different, but maybe weird is not the word; how about extreme; no that doesn't work either. In any case, that generally isn't what distinguishes them. I usually felt funny around them. It seemed to be a spiritual disturbance. Sometimes it is pleasant and sometimes not."

"When was the last time you noticed one of them?"

"I'm not a 100% certainty, but I think there may have been as many as three of them at the forum yesterday. I don't think they were associated with one another or with anyone else in the group for that matter."

"Three of them? This is just crazy. Who were they?"

"The guy who died might possibly have been one of them. The first man to try and help him may have been one. And there was a woman in a long sleeve blouse, I am fairly sure she was one. She had a pleasant feeling emanating from her, and yet I don't remember even seeing her face."

"What do these people say about this place?"

"Well I didn't talk to any of them but others generally agree that this planet is a great example of pre-enlightenment history. They describe our science and technological endeavors as an 'investigative schism'; a myopic effort to punch our way out of a paper bag. We are however only several centuries away from cosmic enlightenment; as one of them put it."

"Isn't that special? Should we be worried about these folks? Is there something we could be doing?"

"Yes, pray. But aside from that, I don't think there is a lot to be concerned about. Many are just angels doing their job. Usually they're the ones with the halos."

Bill shook his head "Come on. Now you're playing with me."

"Actually they do have halos. I haven't seen any, but Teal told me that she occasionally saw them. The rest are pretty transparent, in character that is. Move away from the people who give you the "willies" and toward the ones that give you the warm fuzzies."

"Where have I heard that before?"

"Probably your daughter; kids are often sensitive in that way. She may not understand the mechanism but she can probably tell the baddies from the goodies without too much trouble. As parents, we often talk them out of believing that there are monsters."

"Hum; she is like that. She couldn't get far enough away from some people. And she was afraid of monsters at night."

"You didn't try and make her believe that they didn't exist, did you?"

"Well . . . No, my wife usually handled it. I never asked her what she told my daughter. What ever it was it worked."

"I hope she just told her the truth. If she's still sensitive, it will go well with her."

Bill was glad to get Martin to his house. There they could both unwind; quietly

Bill put Martin up in his guest room. He felt quite sure that he would be safe for the night. The lack of news may have had to do with the embarrassing position into which it could put the UNIS. The organization could, however, suppress news, even rewrite it, if necessary.

If the translation didn't happen tomorrow, it could be as much as another week before the UNIS picked up Martin's scent. His time was running short.

* * * * *

# Chapter 24 – Alpha Translation

The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.

Albert Einstein

The RG Lab was nearly deserted. Martin and Bill got through the first four manned security checks without incident. The next two were passive access limiters. After that would be two badge readers and the last would be a voice and retinal scan. It was almost amusing, because, of all the security checks, the last and most important sounding check point turned out to be the easiest to circumvent. ANGL remotely tapped into the security system and reset a counter so that even though Martin's entry without a badge was not a violation, he no longer had to account for his presence. Since his location and movements were not tracked, the system lost any accounting for him. He was virtually invisible, as long as he stayed close to Bill, and didn't trigger any other security alarms. In this area the video surveillance was locally recorded and secured. It might never be looked at, unless foul play was suspected.

For translation prep, they went through the standard surface viral and surface blood scans. Reference measurements of his body functions were recorded. A final surface scan was being made when a spot on Martin's forearm was identified as something other than a freckle. It turned out to be a microchip. The chip or its function could not be identified. It could have been misapplied by the UNIS agent for tracking or even something he picked up in the environment. If however it was properly applied it might be activated at any moment.

"What do we do? What do we do?" Bill's thoughts rolled out in the form of words.

"Where is a semi-truck when you need it?"

"What?" Bill furrowed his brow and cocked his head.

"Sorry? I seem to joke at the wrong time. I think it's a Scandinavian thing. But back in Idaho when someone would shoot a wolf that had a radio tracking collar, the joke was that they would tape the collar to an interstate truck heading for anywhere else."

"Oh. I guess we'll have to pass on that option."

ANGL: Wrap the chip in aluminum foil. That will block most RF signals.

"My resident guru says we can wrap it in aluminum foil for the time being. You can stick it on the semi later."

"Good idea. Thanks ANGL."

ANGL: ? ? ?

Martin finished suiting up. Most of it was to protect against cross contamination with the translation site. While he finished decontamination Bill started on the site initialization.

The site initialization amounted to sending a Reference Unit ahead. That was a device that was sent ahead to verify the site conditions. It was programmed to enter the site at a high elevation to reduce the risk of being buried in the dirt. It verified that the environment would support life. Then the unit would scan for an appropriate drop site within the descent cone, preferably not on the face of a cliff or in the middle of a lake, tree or rock. Next, it tagged the exact location of entry so that a minimum amount of destination material would be exchanged. With the updated system, the realm remains in existence the entire time of the mission. Martin would be able to enter into the destination environment site without exploding, a feature he found comforting.

That process takes about 35 milliseconds and is heralded by a crackling sound. Following the verification of the site the only thing left is to enter the chamber with a few pieces of mission gear.

"Initialization complete, we're ready to fly."

Martin entered the chamber and got himself seated. Within a couple minutes he completed his sensor hookups for baseline checks and then reversed the hook-up leaving him in the chamber alone.

Bill pressed he 'Initiate Trans' button and looked up to verify the sequence. When the standing wave was initiated, he and his gear became fully supported and levitated. The seat lowered and Martin was left suspended in midair.

He looked down at Bill "Hey, buddy! Are you sure you don't want to come along?"

"I'm sure I do want to come. But I didn't sleep a wink last night. I've thought it through, and I think I know what I've got to do. In any case I don't think time will be separating us. I'm hoping we'll be meeting again, soon."

"God bless and keep you Bill."

"We'll see. Over and out."

Martin switched his audio to the HF filter to help muffle the high frequency shrill from the standing wave generator. It would only be another forty five seconds and he would start his journey home.

The experiments planned for this machine were for archeological research. Its primary function did not appear to pose a problem. Martin explained to Bill that his only goal at present was to get back to 2012.

Ten, nine, eight, he counted in his head. He could see Bill through the chamber window. Bill leaned against the lab door arms folded, looking down as if he had just been denied a trip to the ice-cream shop. Then as Martins vision began to gray he could see a security light over Bills head flash red. He couldn't hear the clackston at all. Then a trailing voice from within.

ANGL: Alpha recalibration complete, Beta Site acquisition complete, Mission check list 7.1.1 complete, RF link due to shut down in 30 seconds, UNIS-GPS synchronization signal FAILURE, life support monitoring to. . . . .

Martin heard the sizzling snap. He was on his way.

In the next moment the light intensity began to recover, he opened his eyes to a broad field, roofed with high cirrus clouds against a background of deep blue. He took a deep breath and scanned the horizon. Beneath him, about a hundred feet was a field of tall grass waving in the wind. A few trees graced the high plain. It looked like the Camas Prairie. He looked to the east but couldn't make out Grangeland. He looked below where he expected the Denver cyclotron to be and again saw nothing. It occurred to him that he hadn't asked Bill exactly where he might be entering the area. By now he had lowered to about fifty feet and much of the distant horizon and the edge plains were out of view. Just the mountains surrounding the prairie stayed in sight.

The procedure involved entering the destination site at several hundred feet elevation. The realm slowly descended to set Martin on the ground. It continued to descend until it is about one hundred feet below the soil. That's to assure that Martin didn't have to exit the realm in midair without a parachute. The realm will reverse the process and gather him up at the end of the mission. The only thing that the realm will support is the items with the proper mass markers which included Martin and his gear. There would be no room for samples. Certain things like oxygen and other gasses that emanate from the body are not marked so they won't come with him. He could survive the moment it took to be translated.

At that moment it occurred to him that not only did he not see any buildings, he didn't see the little Denver cemetery, any roads, fences, cattle or anything for that matter.

Martin; ANGL, where are we?

ANGL: No GPS signals are active. You are facing N10degW based on the present magnetic field.

Martin; More data, Hal wants more data.

ANGL: Star-Tracker is hunting for a fix. The stars are in an unfamiliar orientation. Polaris acquisition accomplished. It is off axis by 5degs; further analysis in process.

Martin; What's going on ANGL? We're still on planet earth; right?

ANGL: Without an international time code and accurate local time will require a momentary fix on the sun. Fix complete; the time is 10:15'30".

Martin; What day?

ANGL: Star-Tracker interpolating star positions to determine accurate sidereal time. Base on the shift between Ursae Minoris and Rigel Kentaurus the year is 2012B.C. And the length of the day will be corrected to 24hr0m0.6s.

Martin; B.C.? That's a problem isn't it?

ANGL: The solution has been verified and is correct?

Martin; B.C.? Let's try the 'where are we' part?

ANGL: Approximately 5deg10m W 51deg12m N.

Martin; I thought so. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas.

ANGL: ? ? ?

Martin; ANGL do you see my problem here?

ANGL: This isn't Idaho?

Martin; Bingo! I'm just a little freaked out about the B.C. too.

ANGL: You did ask for 2012.

Martin; Well yeah and I asked for the Denver Site 116deg15m W, 46deg0m N

One of the pieces of equipment that made up the mission gear was Field Realm Synthesizer. It allows initialization and activation for the return trip. As Martin looked at the panel, he noticed the '∆T' which is the years traveled and it read -13. The 'TX' which is this the baseline year, it read 2025. And the 'TY', which is the destination year, read 2038.

Martin; When I add 2025 to -13, I get 2012. Why does that display read "-2038?"

ANGL: That is a default sign. The software generates it to avoid any misinterpretations. This is an archeological tool designed to study archeological times near the great flood, B.C. By setting the 'TX' at 2025 and the '∆T' at -13 you get a destination year of 2038B.C. Minus retards the date and a plus advances the date.

Martin; Well shit, I guess we solved that little error of 4000 years. What about the location? Where are we if we take into account the time delta corrections?

ANGL: Using the best data in the memory, and excluding other factors, the new location is in the British Isles.

Martin; Sounds like a mighty long walk to me. How could Bill have made that mistake?

ANGL: Bill's experience was with the Alpha unit. The Beta unit, which included the arithmetic sign default revision, is an updated release.

Martin; So how do we get back to the right time and place.

ANGL: Remain here for a short time so that more accurate data can be obtained. With that we can accurately target the time and location of the new destination.

Martin; Would three or four days do it?

ANGL: Yes.

Martin; Let's go for a hike. I'll set up the FRG Site Beacon. We wouldn't want to lose our way back. Let me know when you figure out more about where we are.

ANGL: Seismic sensors pick up wave action to the west as well as some coastal like atmospheric components. Within a few meters a distance delta will allow a more accurate determination. The ridge on the west side of the plain is about 5.6 miles. The terrain seems easily traversed. The wooded east slope may pose a problem. In another 3 miles, a more accurate assessment can be made. The ambient radiation level is extremely low probably near the pre-twentieth century levels.

Martin; What is an 'ambient radiation' level?

ANGL: Everything emanates a radiation signature over a broad high frequency range and at a very low level. Some animal life can home in on such radiations. Even in total darkness some creatures see shapes and locations and can identify composition. By the beginning of the twentieth century man started to generate synthetic RF and transient RF in the GHZ range. By the turn of the next century RF contamination and signal strengths were identified as a major interference with the life cycles of many species including man. By the time of the CME, steps were being taken to reduce the contaminations in signal strength, content and transient radiation.

Martin; Cool!

The hike to the hills took about two hours. Being in his environmental suit did not help. He couldn't enjoy the breeze or hear the whoosh of wind in the grass. Even the sensing of the smells was absent. The environment was safe from any contamination from Martin.

There were only a few small surprises, snakes and rodents mainly. The East slope consisted of rutted tree lined rills. The open areas between the rills were spotted with trees and rock outcroppings. The summit of the facing hills revealed the presence of a hog back ridge. The far side was likely to be a challenge.

As he jostled up the slope the heat exchanger in his suit was just barely keeping up. He had to stop numerous times to keep from overheating. It took another hour and a half to get to what looked like a likely vantage point to the landscape beyond.

Martin stopped for a delightful meal, swill-in-a-tube; something rare, unidentifiable, nutritious and barely palatable. Oh, this was going to be a fun couple of days.

The last few yards to the ridge of the slope were a challenge. The suit was constructed quite durably and unlikely to be damaged by casual contact with the rocks. The impervious fabric hindered his movement.

After a bit of wedging and sidestepping he popped out at the top.

* * * * *

# Chapter 25 – Salisbury Anyone

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.

Albert Einstein

The edge of the plain dropped off to conceal the ocean waves. Martin was perched on a hogback that stretched around the southern and eastern edge of the plain. The plain was edged with woods and fallen stone rubble at the base of the hogback. The riverbed lay off to the east, and then passed along the northern boundary, and out of sight.

In the center of the plain stood a structure. The structure was one that Martin had not expect and certainly not in such good condition. Several dozen stone columns placed in a circle. A lintel stone bridged between adjacent columns. Judging by the height of the people moving about at the base, the stones appeared to be forty or fifty feet tall and the circle a hundred feet across. All the stones, columns and lintels were precisely placed.

From this distance of a mile or so it appeared that the grassland covered the otherwise featureless site. The nearest tree stood about a mile from the henge. A line of people spaced many yards apart marched to and from the henge carrying what appeared to be bundles of sticks and brush.

On the far side of the plain there was a group of people strung out along the tree line as though they were waiting for a parade.

Martin; Can you detect any people hidden by the trees below us?

ANGL: Yes. They seem to be spread out along the tree line; fewer than on the far side. It seems that we can safely descend this side another hundred yards.

Over the next three hours Martin made his way down through the jutting stone slabs; ancient layers long ago heaved up to make dramatic slivers and flakes pointing to the sky. It would have been difficult or impossible for Martin to walk and watch for people perched above on the wedges of rock. ANGL on the other hand could detect and discern life forms in any direction and at any time. When Martin got within about a two hundred feet of the nearest group of people he decided to call it a day and prepared to settle in for the evening. He still had a couple of days to play.

ANGL muttered through a mission checklist to make sure that everything had been accounted and recorded. Martin reminded him that this mission wasn't going to end back at the Lab. ANGL reminded Martin that if they had to return to the lab for strategic reasons it would not hurt to bring back some data as a gift to salve the natives. Ok mark one up for the Bot. Martin settled down to eat or as he called it "nurse the nozzle."

After preparing a sleeping area and inflating a sleeping pad, Martin climbed a nearby pinnacle to observe the evening ceremonies. He wasn't expecting a Forth of July display but they hadn't gathered like this for nothing. With the sun dropping beneath the flat ocean horizon and the light of day fading fast, Martin felt relatively safe from discovery on this perch. The last reddish rays of the setting sun lit the pink under side of the high clouds. Red sky tonight sailor's delight, went through Martin's head. The henge stood silhouetted by a crimson sun set glow. The air was dead calm. Martin could hear an occasional voice and the chirp of a child's laughter crackle through the cool moist evening air. Strands of dense fog penciled the muted coastline patiently waiting to own the night. Even Martin could feel the expectation that filled the air. Something was about to happen.

Martin initiated vision augmentation to see if I could see what was taking place at the henge. He could make out two or three people working at the center of the henge. Inside it appeared that an immense pyre of wood and branches were being carefully placed. The columns obstructed a clear view of their activities.

About three quarters of a mile radius from the henge stood a line of people. They encircled the henge. Inside of that circle another circle was forming. This one contained about three hundred people and they stood about two hundred feet from the henge. Fifty or sixty feet inside that circle stood another concentric row of people about sixty feet apart.

ANGL: An ignition source has been detected within the henge.

The three people within the henge walked out and joined the inner circle. Everyone faced the henge.

The high wispy cirrus gave way to the Milky Way arching the entire sky. The flicker from within the henge grew to tongues of flame licking high above the henge. Streaks of various color laced the growing flames.

ANGL: Various ores have been added to the fuel mass; copper, Thallium, phosphates, some Lithium compounds, Calcium, Manganese among others.

Martin; Where do they get that stuff?

ANGL: Some of it may be local but some must be brought in from elsewhere. The manganese and lithium must be brought from a great distance.

The color show quickly gave way to a roaring orange pillar of flame leaping skyward in an ever-heightening spiral.

ANGL: A resonance is building.

Martin; Where is it coming from?

ANGL: The resonance is building between the flame mass and the column surfaces. A portion of the thermal shock wave is emanating from the flame surface and rebounding off of the stone columns. The return pressure wave is creating an amplified flame pulse that radiates outward in another pressure wave. The cycle is self perpetuating; amplifying to the level of a discernible pulse. If it enters the infrasound range before it decays it will become a health concern to those standing in the circles. As the fuel mass reduces in size the sound will drop in amplitude and become undetectable.

Martin; Am I safe up here?

ANGL: Yes. You may feel it but the energy level at this distance will be inconsequential.

Martin; Could it injure them badly?

ANGL: Yes. They probably have experience and know how much they can take.

Martin; What does it do to them?

ANGL: The lowest sounds the human ear can detect are about eighteen to twenty hertz. The average resonant frequency of human organs is about seven to ten hertz. Enough energy in that range of frequency can dislodge the internal organs from their supporting tissue and bruise them. If the person didn't die from the experience they may still require several weeks to heal and recover.

As Martin watched the fire the sound rumbled across the plains and moaned a weird echo off the hills. The immense flame coalesced into a tight spiral that rocket into the sky above the henge. Within minutes the tones pitch dropped to the inaudible. I would have guessed that it was over except the light from the fire continued to pulse noticeably. The pulsing light became mesmerizing.

ANGL: Watch the children.

One at a time the children would slump to the ground, sit down or lay down. The adults with raised arms as though worshipping. They showed little concern for the children.

Martin could feel the pulsing of the energy wave through his clothing. It was as if an earthquake was moving the ground.

ANGL: Can you feel the seismic wave in the soil? It will be felt for many miles. This may be more than just a religious ritual.

Martin; Yeah. What else could it be?

ANGL: Miles from this fire an observer can see the pulsing glow and reflection off the lower clouds.

Martin; How far away?

ANGL: Maybe as far as sixty miles if there is no background lighting. It may just be the alert signal; a dial tone of sorts. It is possible to use the seismic wave as a carrier wave. By injecting low energy air pulses into the base of the fire, a signal can be amplified or modulated.

Martin; By low energy do you mean like the beating of a drum? I can hear drums.

ANGL: Yes or even vocal vibrations. It may not result in a discernible sound in immediate area. The sound may be resonating something that can be felt. The human touch can be trained to discern a large number of intelligible patterns. There is a detectable pattern that may in fact be that signal.

Martin; How sensitive would they need to be?

ANGL: Tactile and audio acuity can be very highly trained. Some auto mechanics have been known to possess the ablity to differentiate between dozens of internal combustion engines sizes and types by sound and feel alone. They could differentiate engine cylinder count and firing orders; as many as 80 different beat frequency signatures could be identified. This population is probably more sensitive than that.

Martin; Ok. So maybe they are communicating?

ANGL: Yes. There are more than a thousand known henge sites in the British Isles. Several hundred of those could be candidates for this type of communication.

Martin; Is there anything else you'd like me to know?

ANGL: ? ? ? ? Would you like to know about the possibility of signal injection into the Aurora Borealis?

Martin: I can't wait. First I gotta get some sleep, okay?

As Martin left his perch, he glanced back at the spiral column of flame reaching far above the henge.

ANGL: Its flame column is traveling upward at nearly one hundred miles per hour.

Martin: In the morning!

* * * * *

# Chapter 26 - Terah

If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts.

Albert Einstein

Morning came quickly. The dew silvered the grassy patches around Martin. High pink cirrus stood at the edge of dawn. A whispering column of smoke slowly lifted skyward over the embers in the henge. It fed a lazy layer that flattened out over the plain. A ground fog receded to the sea cliff hiding the separation of land and sea. Deer calmly grazed the plain belying the fervor of the night before. A new dawn had set in.

ANGL: All systems are go.

In the tree line on the far side of the plain wisps of smoke rose lazily from early morning cooking fires. This side too, had its share of morning activity. Martin, though not a coffee drinker coveted the thought of a pot brewing over the campfire. He could have gotten into the mood even more had it not been for his plastic suit, pee pouch, swill pack and the matching upper and lower PTFE underwear set. It was time to face reality.

He packed away his air pad and pointed himself down hill. Another few hundred feet descent to the edge of the open field lay ahead. He wanted to get closer to the henge, and maybe even to sneak up to the site unnoticed in the haze. A well-worn path lay near his campsite. Almost as soon as he began his descent ANGL sounded an alert.

ANGL: Four or five individuals are approaching from the rear. They seem to be about thirty yards back.

Martin spotted an area where he could step off the main trail. He initiated the cloaking function on his suit and stood motionless, waiting.

What looked like a family group came into view. The male adult led the way with a walking stick, followed by a woman and a preadolescent girl; last came a young male, also with a walking stick. As the man came directly opposite Martin on the trail he stopped, as did the others. He stood about twelve or fifteen feet away. He looked straight ahead and without obvious cause turned his head to look straight at Martin. Then he slowly cocked his head, checking for sounds. All four looked in Martin's direction.

Martin; ANGL, help me out here.

ANGL: No indication of any fear or aggressiveness. There is much being said but it may take a moment to extract meaning. It is not entirely clear that they have seen you.

Martin; I don't see any lips moving.

ANGL: No, and more than four voices are communicating. No additional individuals are presently detected. Maintain your silence.

At that moment the man made two steps toward Martin then reached into a pouch at his side. He scooped out what looked like a handful on wheat kernels. He stooped down and carefully laid the kernels on a flat stone. Returning to the trail he proceeded to renew the march down the path. Just as Martin began to feel safe and successfully concealed the young girl turned and glanced at Martin. Then she casually smiled and raised her hand to wave goodbye as they continued their trek.

When they had moved on out of sight, Martin returned to breathing.

Martin; ANGL?

ANGL: The grain is likely a gesture of acceptance more than an offering. It is clear that even if they couldn't see you they somehow knew you were here. After all you are standing in the sun.

Martin turned and looked behind me. The strange and truncated shadow cast upon the ground and boulder behind him would have been a total giveaway.

Martin; My cloaking gear was good for most terrain but apparently it would have been well for me to have paid better attention in the hardware briefing. Do you think the cloaking gear did any good at all?

ANGL: These people seem to depend more on what they sense then what they see. Their communication level declined when they left. It is now evident that the background radiation that has been present since our arrival is in fact the on going communication of many voices.

Martin; Why didn't you mention this before?

ANGL: The din of this radiation has been quite foreign to the translator. Besides, they weren't talking to you. In the 21st century the background din is unrecognizable chatter, no one is listening. Here the radiation is coherent and valid but initially the translator misunderstood.

Martin; What do you mean?

ANGL: Communication is the exchange of transactions between two intelligent sources. If one speaks and no one listens then the fact of communication is not exacted. In this situation the communication is coherent only for the individuals who are addressed. This population is capable of a high level of extra-sensory communication. In crowds humans generally tune out conversation that is not directed at them. It is somewhat the same with extrasensory communication.

Martin; Am I missing something here?

ANGL: Yes and no. They are not talking to you.

* * * * *

Martin; Hmmm. High cirrus has given way to the cumulonimbus. Something is not right. Why am I lying on my back looking at the sky.

At that moment a familiar face came into view. It was the man who had left the grain!

ANGL: Lay still?

Martin; What's happening?

ANGL: You've had a fall. I'm checking for injuries. You've been unconscious for about ten minutes. The people standing about are concerned and are of no threat. Your suit has been seriously compromised. You seemed to have sustained some bruises and minor cuts but the blood loss has ceased. It's going to leave a mark.

Martin; Cute. Can I get up now?

ANGL: Carefully.

Martin; I'm sure they didn't know what else to do for a man in a zip lock bag.

Eight or nine people stood about watching. Martin could definitely tell that he had done some bumping. ANGL had taken steps to reduce the pain but like he said it was going to leave a mark. Repairs looked impossible and at this point, pointless. ANGL had not detected any significant health hazards since their arrival, and any danger Martin posed had already been expressed. It seemed ludicrous at this point to maintain his outfit. He removed and packed it, preserving it for the return trip.

He did a striptease in front of a crowd that mumbled but did not applaud. An old man leaning on a staff slowly shook his head, as though he recognized that Martin had just suffered some minor stupid wounds.

Martin; Why aren't these people afraid?

Voice: Should we be?

Martin; ANGL, was that you?

ANGL: No. It was the man in front of you.

Martin did not see the man speak.

Voice: My name is Terah.

Again the man's lips did not move. Confused, Martin replied "My name is Martin."

Terah: Why do you not call yourself William?

Martin; ANGL, what does he mean?

ANGL: In ancient times a man's name was an expression of his character. To go by another name was to deny himself before others. He apparently can detect the difference between what you are saying and what you are thinking. I think you need to speak to him subliminally and forthrightly.

Martin; Very few people go by their given name from where I come from. I choose to go by Martin; it's my middle name.

ANGL: He seems to know that people of your time must be in denial and deception.

Martin; Hmmm. I guess I should keep that in mind.

Terah: Who are you talking to? Are you in conflict or possessed?

Martin couldn't possibly answer that in twenty-five words or less.

Martin; Yes, but I think you can trust me. I am glad to meet you, Terah. My given name is William; William Martin Trask, but please call me Martin. Don't be concerned if I talk to myself; really.

Terah: Do they do that much, in your time?

Martin; I guess the answer is yes?

Terah: You talked much in your sleep.

Martin; Did you see me on the trail?

Terah: Yes but you would not speak to me.

Martin; I wasn't visible, was I?. How did you see me?

Terah: I can not see all those that I hear. I could not see you, only your angel.

Martin; Oh. You mean ANGL.

Terah: No. I mean the angel, the one at your side.

Martin; ANGL help me out here.

ANGL: He is speaking of another presence with you.

Terah: Are you talking to yourself again.

Martin; Yes, I guess I am. Tell me what you see.

Terah: Your angel stands to your left and is much taller than you. He says that he is not permitted to talk to you yet. He goes with you for your protection.

Martin; My protection? Against what?

Terah: The ravages of sin. He is with you to protect you from anything that would hide you from the face of God.

Martin; Really? Well, tell him thanks.

Terah: He understands.

Martin mused, who is my angel and why don't I know him? Why was he so evident to these people? And how had he gotten by ANGL.

Martin; ANGL did you know anything about my Angel?

ANGL: No; nothing.

Martin; I learn something new everyday!

Martin spoke further with several of the people. They asked him many questions, the answers of which probably made little sense. They seemed sympathetic to his 'need' for the high tech stuff. They thought of it that way, as one would think of a crutch. It seemed a bit silly in light of their way of life. They put Martin in touch with the scariness of his time. He was the one who came up short in this rally; almost as if the passage of time had required the addition of technology to guard against the value and purpose of life. Were we moving backwards? Martin wondered. It occurred to him that in many respects time had made him the disadvantaged one in the group.

They talked, and with ANGL's instant translation, Martin was able to understand most of them. ANGL was not able to translate all of it, and had difficulty understanding some of the people.

Martin; ANGL, why do some of them refer to me as "bigot" or "the bigot".

ANGL: Scanning the language module. The original meaning of the word "bigot" is man with a mustache. It is synonymous with "one who is dogmatic, opinionated, . . .

Martin; Enough!

ANGL; Your character however seems not to otherwise be in question here.

Terah invited Martin to see the henge up close. He quickly accepted and was eager to learn more.

* * * * *

# Chapter 27 – The Revelation

It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.

Albert Einstein

Typically the henges consisted of two concentric rows of columns; the main outer circle and a lesser inner circle. The outer columns predated the interior set. This henge must be one of the earlier structures.

Martin; What is the henge used for?

Terah: It serves many purposes. It is a monument to our community, a meeting place, a place of ceremony, a place of worship, a place of passing, a means of communication and place of celebration.

Martin; Is it a place of commerce?

Terah: Certainly not; it is a reflection of who we are. What we are exemplified elsewhere. How do you do it in your time?

Martin; In my time, who we are is what we are. No sooner then he said it, it sounded uncomfortably inappropriate.

Terah: How can you blur the distinction? Can a people survive like that?

At that moment the recollection of Grewer's set came to mind, power, authority and dominion. Adam's error crossed his mind, Martin thought had we blurred the distinction between authority and dominion or even obliterated the distinction entirely.

Martin; I'll have to think about that some more, Terah. It sounds like an important point.

People were spread out across the plain, a few here, a few there. It seemed that they stayed clear of the henge by several hundred feet.

Martin; Do the people stay back from the henge because it is sacred?

Terah: The people may approach it at any time that they wish. They choose to stay back as an act of respect, and to avoid defiling it.

As the two strode onto the main path to the henge, Martin noticed that there was a broken stream of people walking to and from the henge. Some carried a variety of things while others traveled empty-handed. As they approached one group of people, Martin realized that they were workers involved in transporting material and tools to the site.

At that moment, one of the men, a supervisor of sorts, stopped the group and spoke to one of the young lads. He pointed back the way they had come.

As the boy turned to run, Martin interrupted "don't forget your water." He pointed back at the supervisor.

The boy smiled, hitched and turned back to grasp the filled goatskin held out by the supervisor. The boy snatched up the skin and returned to his task.

Several other people from the village joined them as they walked.

Terah began to circumnavigate the congestion, and left Martin several steps behind. Martin looked for an opportunity to catch up with Terah, who seemed unconcerned by the temporary separation.

As Martin walked he was beset with a pleasant sensation. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. His gaze fixed on the people ahead. Suddenly it came to him, one of the women in the group stood out; something very familiar about stature and her gait.

At that moment she turned and glanced back at Martin and smiled. She chuckled as he stumbled.

"Teal? Teal Marie" he sputtered. It couldn't be. How could it be. He doubted what he saw and yet, hadn't she acknowledged him with a smile?

She slowed her pace and as Martin and Terah approached, Terah stepped around her, leaving the two of them to their own devices.

"Teal? Your name isn't. . . "

"Yes." She interrupted. "It is I, my dear one."

"Don't be messing with my mind."

"I'm not. I'm just checking up on you. You know how you are. I send you to the store for ketchup, and you come back with a lifetime supply of mustard."

"You're messing! You disappeared in 2012. What the heck are you doing here."

"Upon request, I was graced with this assignment by the Lord."

"The Lord? You mean Mister Big. You're an angel??"

"If you are referring to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the answer is "yes". I am here as a messenger of God. We can manifest in any one of several forms, of which angel is but one, albeit the best known one" she continued. "You are here to study Chokepoint and I am here to make sure you don't screw it up."

"What? 'Chokepoint', what's that?"

"What do you mean, 'what's that'? You are here for the purpose of investigating the possibility of an intelligent influence on the flood, an event in the cause and development of mankind. You even call it Chokepoint."

"Yeah I guess so. You're really checking on me? But what's that to you and why do you use the term Chokepoint. We just picked that name because it seemed appropriate."

"Precisely; you did well. Your project is investigating a valid premise. However the character and virtue of your hypothesis exceeds your expectation. You are actually approaching another chokepoint as you put it. A chokepoint you couldn't have anticipated. The seventh extinction event as some may call it. And you have successfully negotiated your part in it."

"Huh?"

"Most of what you do here will not materially effect the future. When you return to the future you will see no significant change as a result of your intervention here. However there are many strings of events and occurrences that do matter and they all intertwine and weave together to form the fabric of history. Those strings cannot be violated or disrupted without seriously impacting the outcome of history. And for the most part there is little chance of that in the grand scheme of things. Your presence here is not a random occurrence. It was ordained to provide a bias adjustment in history; the boy with the water. The one you stopped from forgetting his goat skin."

"Yes."

"He is one of the key players, though he is unaware. The water he carries with him isn't for satisfying his thirst, but to slake the thirst of a wayfarer who he will encounter on his journey to his destination. That man has not had a drink in two days. His journey takes him into an area where he won't see water for another two days. Were it not for that drink from the boy, he would not have made it to his destination. He is carrying a message, which in turn will be a defining point in history. Your intervention with the supervisor was the result of God's leading. God chose you because you're a good listener."

"Me!; a good listener? God doesn't talk to me that I know of."

"Yes he does and you generally do what he asks. You are blessed. Dull but blessed." She spoke without rancor, in a matter of fact tone and manner."

"Why didn't you stop the boy yourself?"

"That is not the way things are done. The authority here on earth belongs to man. He would have had vastly greater use of that authority, had Adam not given most of it away."

"Do you mean by Adam, the one in the Garden of Eden?"

"Yes. When Adam submitted to Satan's enticements, he took a devastating step backward. He bowed to Satan, and forever allowed a separation to stand between himself and God. That separation, which you call sin, can only be overcome by the appropriate atonement. The perfect atonement in this realm is the shedding of blood from one of higher authority than the accused. That higher authority is God himself. When you leave this earth you will return to God but only if you associate yourself with Christ's love and atonement through acknowledgement and acceptance of his forgiveness. His blood sacrifice is the only payment on your behalf that Satan can extract. With it, your freedom has been purchased. Without it, you will be subject to the default relationship with your creator; that being eternal separation and eternal subjection to the ways of the natural world. Like any inheritance, you can deny its existence and fall short of its favor, or you can acknowledge, accept and enjoy its benefits. I am here for the purpose of encouraging you, and doing battle for you if it is required."

"I don't seem to be threatened in any way."

"It is true that you are not threatened physically, except for the bomb hidden in your britches; the britches that you left in the woods. The real threat comes from the powers, authorities and principalities at play. Remember, this isn't just about you."

"Oh. Hmm. Does that mean that you will be leaving soon?"

"Not until I make sure that the boy delivers the water."

"But what about me?"

"What about you? There isn't any danger; you abandon the britches and even if you die now, you will never be lost from the Lord's hand. Besides you have an angel to watch over you."

"You mean ANGL?"

ANGL: I don't think so.

"ANGL is right. I'm not referring to that. I'm referring to an angel of God assigned to protect you."

"Oh that angel, I heard about him just this morning."

"Yes."

"Can I talk to him?"

"No, not in your present frame of mind; he is available for your protection. Besides why would you want to talk to him, when you have the Holy Spirit to talk to?"

"Do you mean I can talk to the Holy Spirit directly?"

"Yes of course, the Holy Spirit, the third person of the trinity. Why does that surprise you? Don't you ever listen to your self? You spend a good share of your time talking to ANGL, and it has no life at all."

ANGL: ????

"No life?"

"Correct. The true definition of life is the presence of power, authority and dominion through the Lord. To lack any one of the three is to lack life. Remember God created you in his image, that of power, authority and dominion. As a member of God's flock, you are called to reflect that triune image and in its proper order.

When Adam gave his authority to Satan, or a good share of it, he sentenced himself to death. ANGL has only the authority that you give, and no dominion, or should I say spirit. It is not a living entity. Not even close.

Start addressing the Holy Spirit by the authority purchased for you through the shed blood of Christ"

"Explain power, authority and dominion further?"

"Simply put, power is the motive force for change; the will of God. Authority is the presence and ability to effect change, therefore, the Son of God. Dominion is the order of change; the spirit of God.

To say that you are the image of God is not to say that you are God; only an image of God. You are mere reflections of those virtues, in the physical realm. When you reenter the realm or Kingdom of God, the proper order of things will be reestablished. You will be one with God in a similar fashion as you were one with me."

"What do you mean by proper order?"

"The intended order is that you are a ¬spirit, you have a soul, and you live in a body. Adam disrupted that order somewhat. Initially the order was correct and he walked with God, face to face. When he bowed to Satan's enticements he caused the disruption in that order by placing the desires of the flesh ahead of the wisdom of the spirit, and the soul. What he was, became more important than who he was.

That is why God's question to Adam is so important, 'Where are you Adam?', God knew precisely where Adam was. He wasn't seeking Adam's location, as much as he was calling Adam to account. Adam's answer should have been "I am here Lord", but instead he said "I was afraid because I was naked." His self-identity had changed from who he was, to what he was and why. Terah mentioned that to you. That is what he asked you about.

Adam had placed a formidable barrier between himself and God. How often do we call shame upon ourselves by calling attention to the kingdom of self, and away from our heavenly identity? Adam, in his sin, plucked out his own spiritual eyes, and hid within his flesh. His flesh became boss, and yes, he was then naked, and that will continue until the flesh dies and the spirit is returned to God. God in his mercy will replace your body of flesh with a new and incorruptible body clothed in a righteous white robe, made white by the Blood of the Lamb."

"That's what Grewer was trying to say; the 'Grewer set'."

"Grewer is saddened by the fact that his colleagues never did get the point."

"You know Grewer?"

"Yes. When he was here on earth he had shared his revelation with everyone who would listen. He wanted them to make the connection with the love of God on their own. Most saw it as a stepping-stone for science. In fact, it was a means of escape from the bonds of science. It was a passport to salvation and away from the destiny of this realm as you call it."

"What is the destiny of this realm."

"The infinite transposition of energy. It is a crucible of God. It is the Refiner's Pyre. It is where he refines the gold of heaven, and it is also the repository of the dross of humanity"

"Then what is the Gold that he refines?"

"He is refining the human soul, spirit and body as one would refine gold. He refines mankind as individuals and as a community of man."

The 'chokepoint' that you were to be researching is part of this process. The flood removed an evil and wicked generation, which contained no redeemable character aside from Noah and his family. It served to remove an unclean element in one fell swoop. It is but one of the refiners steps."

"What were God's other steps of refinement?"

"What do you think they are, Martin?"

"If the flood was one, Adam eating the apple might have been one; Abraham and Isaac on the mount; Israel in the desert; the holocaust; and maybe Armageddon; the CME; oh, and the advent of Christ."

"Close and well said. It is not mine to tell you these specifics but you are on the right track."

"Are the henge ceremonies valid. Are they worshipping the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, or is it some kind of pagan worship?"

"Again I am not here to answer those specifics. I can only encourage you to petition the Holy Spirit, and ask for Wisdom, Discernment and Grace. If you can see His love showing through all of these filters, then you have done all that you can do. If you do not see His love, then walk away unless He directs you to do otherwise."

She paused as if listening. "The boy has given the traveler the water that he needs. It is time for me to go."

"Wait, what about the bomb in my britches? What was that all about? Tell me, will I make it?"

Teal smiled "I told you. No specifics! Some things must be left to His doing. He is faithful to complete the work He has started. God be with you, and now quit whining."

Before Martin could decide whether it would be proper to kiss an angel, she was gone.

As Martin's attention returned to his walk he was stunned to see that but a step or two of time had passed, barely a heart beat.

Suddenly and without any warning a concussion resounded across the plain. Martin turned to see a plume of smoke near the spot where he had entered the plain the previous day. "What the hell. There goes my outfit. Someone was trying to set me up."

Terah returned to where Martin stood watching the plume. "Does this have anything to do with the garments you shed?"

"I guess so. But I'm afraid I'm at a loss to explain what it was intended for."

* * * * *

# Chapter 28 - Ceremony

If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough.

Albert Einstein

Terah, if he knew the extent of the bombs devastation, chose not to share it with Martin.

What Terah did tell Martin was many things about his own history. That he was son of Telar, who was the son of Meshah, begotten son of Almeg, the son of Javan, who was the son of Japheth who had come through the deluge. He has two sons, and is eighty-seven years old. Martin thought that he looked to be in his mid-fifties. His grandfather was one of the builders of the henge, and that was about one hundred and eighty years prior.

Javan was one of those who had worked on the Tower of Jupiter Belus, when the light came and bound their voices. From then, many could no longer communicate directly, and had to revert to verbal communication. They could no longer understand each other's, languages and were forced to return whence they came.

Martin was then taken into the tunnels beneath the henge. One of the tunnels connected the henge to a burial chamber where ashes and bones of the dead were stored. Terah showed Martin a set of tunnels that was used to drive pulses of air into the center of the henge to produce the seismic message pulses that Martin had felt the previous evening.

The pyre of the previous evening had served as a crematorium for one of the elder men who had died a few days before.

Martin asked Terah about the seismic messaging, and how it worked. He told Martin that each henge that was used for communicating, and had a series of tunnels of set lengths and orientations. These tunnels were closed off when the pyre at this site was ignited; they then became resonant receivers. They could receive messages being sent from elsewhere, providing they matched the same resonant frequency. The tunnels were closed off on the end that otherwise opened to the outside. A large skin was stretched across the tunnel, near its opening. The reader stood at the skin and could feel the vibrations of the message. In this way, some of the messages could be sent over a distance of three or four days travel.

The henges were used on a regular schedule or for special ceremonies such as last night. Tonight they will worship per their regular schedule. It is not a message night for this henge but they will have a fire and will be in harmony with about one hundred and fifty other henges. He said it would be an exciting night, because the clouds would be low, and the lights from other fires would be plainly visible for many miles. Martin was invited to go down into the tunnel and listen to the "voices of many people".

The group of people attending tonight would be a larger then had been there on the previous night.

Martin was invited to eat with them. ANGL explained this privilege as probably great honor. People in this time did not break bread with anyone who was not in good standing with them. Terah's extended family amounted to fifty or sixty people. Though the families cooked over several different fires, it was difficult to separate the groups as they wandered freely from fire to fire. This feast was special; this was a monthly worship meeting. There was a regular worship, every seventh night. The henges were divided into seven groups. Each group used a different night to lead worship. Readers were posted every night to hear the news from other groups. Some people could also read the messages as they flicker off of the clouds.

Everyone prepared to head for the plain as the sun set. They all seemed to know exactly where they were going to sit or stand.

Terah and Martin would join the families later. First we were going underground to hear the 'humms'; the "voices of many peoples." By the time they reached the tunnel that was near the tree line, the fire had been started. The two men sat near the entrance to the tunnel with several dozen other listeners. As the pulse began Martin thought that the main fire would drown any sound coming from the tunnel. Carefully he listened.

"Martin, do you hear it?"

He strained harder to distinguish the sound. Then almost as if he was listening for the wrong sound, he heard it; a resonant harmonic overtone. He listened harder. What he was hearing was the combined effect of several henge drones. It seemed that if the fire had not been going he would have heard nothing. But the minute bias of the other seismic waves combined to make a sound like a Gregorian chant of angels. It was a sound you could feel, almost taste; like a sound from heaven.

"I hear it. It's beautiful. Is there meaning in the music?"

"Yes, I can only interpret some of it, but the readers can both read and send. However, to send they have to be in the tunnel system leading from the center of the henge. But this is not a message night for this henge. Shall we go? It is time to be with the families."

"Yes, of course." They headed out onto the plain. On this evening, their place would be in the outer ring where Martin would be able to tolerate the pulse. The next ring in was for the people in service of the henge, and the inner circle were the leaders of worship for this community.

As they stood watching the column of flame spiraling into the sky, Martin realized that, for as far as he could see, the underside of the clouds were dotted with pulsing spots of light; other henges in the distance. From his new position, closer than on the previous night, Martin could hear almost the same humming as he had heard at the mouth of the tunnel. The pitch of the sound was now dropping out of the audible range and the light pulse was becoming even more pronounced.

At the edge of the henge air was being rapidly drawn into the fire. A layer of ground dust raced inward between the columns. The robes of the leaders standing in the inner circles flapped in the in rush of air.

Martin; how many miles per hour did you say that column of flame is traveling.

ANGL: The surface visible to you is traveling between one hundred twenty and one hundred twenty-five feet per second.

Martin; What was the part about the Aurora Borealis.

ANGL: You may not see it with the cloud backdrop, but these columns of flames are traveling fast enough to generate an electromagnetic spike that can influence the character of the Northern Lights.

At that moment a bolt of lightning pierced out of the clouds and the thunder pounded immediately. The bolt passed right through the center of the flame column, scattering the flame and muting the pulse. Within a few seconds the column had formed again.

ANGL: Oh, and . . . .

Martin; What's with the 'oh and' stuff? Were you planning on keeping the advent of that tidbit a secret? That scared the crap out of me.

ANGL: That was next on the list. Not only does it draw lightning but an ice blue spritz will leap from the cloud top into space as the lightning strikes below. The spritz dissipates into the magnetosphere in thousands of tentacles. In your time, the spritz have been witnessed by airline pilots and astronauts. They are not readily visible from the ground.

Martin; Is that color, on the underside of those clouds, the Northern Lights?

ANGL: Yes but the colors are very muted by the clouds. It would be a very dramatic light show, otherwise.

The pulse in the air was now becoming very noticeable and almost uncomfortable. People here and there had lifted their hands skyward in praise. The young girl, who had waved at Martin that same morning, was standing nearby. She was slowly daviting. Then she carefully lowered herself toward the ground, slumping over backward. It seemed as if she was asleep.

Martin's focus returned to the other people.

Martin: Terah; where are the bubbles coming from?

Terah: I don't know where they come from, heaven probably. I can only tell you that they appear during our times of worship. Notice that they seem to be present over those who are deep in worship, the ones with uplifted hands. They are in greater numbers over some groups. We call the bubbles "hosts". They appear to be mobile, in a state of excitement, almost frenzy. Sometimes you can hear them sing. The size of the bubble has some relationship to the prominence of the host that inhabits it.

Martin: Inhabits?

Terah: Yes, watch them closely. You can see a face in the bubble. The bubble even appears around the heads of some of the people.

Martin: You mean above?

Terah: No I mean it envelopes their head. All I can tell is that those people are generally known to be highly devoted worshippers.

Martin; ANGL, do you understand what he means by "host".

ANGL: Not exactly. The resource is scant, but the meaning lies somewhere between cloud and messenger. I think Terah is describing your understanding of angels.

Martin; What about the bubbles?

ANGL: In classical religious paintings and icons, some people are depicted with what you call haloes, which, look like these bubbles. These bubbles may be temporary realm definitions.

Martin; Do you really think so? I mean I thought that haloes were just a symbol of some sort.

ANGL: The theology module and your memory would tend to support the notion of a symbol. But, it looks real enough to indicate otherwise.

Terah: Look over there, at the man standing behind that group? The man with his hands raised.

Martin; Yeah.

Terah: Can you see the bubble over his head?

With a nervous giggle, Martin responded

Martin; No I can't see . . . wait! I do see it. Wow! That is really strange. What are they there for?

Terah: They're present during most of our worship. Their presence encourages us. It reinforces our belief that God is listening. That man is presently experiencing the presence of God in a way that few can understand. That man may even be present in heaven at this moment.

Martin; I don't remember hearing anything like that in church.

ANGL: The theology module makes reference to a sense or gift that has been present over the millennia; to a greater or lesser degree. Only recently was the phenomena known to have reemerged at the turn of the century.

Martin; What phenomena?

ANGL: The presence of bubbles. They show up in some worship meetings and some claim to have recorded it with digital photography.

Martin; I've never heard of that. Do you think that it is an ability that we've lost over time?

ANGL: It may not be lost. You don't seem to have lost it. You may just have been denying it.

Martin; I wonder what else I've been denying?"

A bit later there was a break in the clouds. The Aurora Borealis could be seen in the distance, dancing above neighboring henges, about ten to fifteen miles distant. Martin was even able to see a spritz explode out the top of a thunderhead, while lightning danced on the underside.

From his close vantage point, the pounding of the seismic sound was all pervasive. It was readily apparent that those who stood much closer had to have conditioned themselves over time to withstand the tremor.

From time to time people would sing chants that would be picked up like a slow wave at a football game. Worship continued into the night. By midnight the fire and sound had diminished and coalesced into one large campfire. And one by one, the people had drifted back to their places in the woods.

MARTIN, IT'S TIME TO COME HOME.

Martin; What did you say?

ANGL: Nothing, however, I have achieved some reliable measurements on celestial orientations and with predictable orbital decay I can make safe projections of time and distance.

Martin; Okay. But didn't you say anything before that.

ANGL: No. What did you hear?

Martin; ? ? ? Oh, nothing. I must have been mistaken. When can we leave?

ANGL: When we get back to Beta Site.

Martin; I guess that will have to be tomorrow afternoon. I'd better get some sleep. I'll stay with Terah and his family and leave in the morning.

* * * * *

# Chapter 29 – Omega translation

The question shouldn't be "do you love me?" but "do I love you enough?"

Anonymous

Martin awoke early but not earlier than Terah and his family. They were preparing for a day of travel. They were heading north to visit other members of their family.

They fed Martin, and invited him to stay with them and when he excused himself from traveling with them they urged him to come back again.

Martin talked with Terah for a while longer. He had asked very little about the time to which Martin was returning. It was almost as though he felt sorry for Martin. As though the technology was a symptom of the decline in the human condition. He didn't seem to accept the technological advancement notion in the least. When they parted he hugged Martin as he would a lost brother heading back into the wilderness.

* * * * *

Martin retraced his route to the Beta Site. He gathered up what litter was left from his shredded suit. The return trip went much faster, without the Environ-suit. He made good time.

Martin felt sorry for ANGL. ANGL stayed on alert 24/7, watching for danger. He couldn't enjoy the luxury of sound sleep; just 'Stand-by'. Nor was any real emotion built into his existence. Emotion was left entirely to the human host. ANGL knew when Martin was experiencing emotion, but he could only tally it and quantify it. ANGL could detect and reflect sarcasm, but he was programmed to never respond in anger or displeasure.

Martin greatly appreciated the advantage that he was given in the form of an AI assistant such as ANGL. What he could not quite grasp was that as intelligent as ANGL was, he would never love ANGL as he loved Teal, his family, friends or even his cat, Spud. An element in his relationship with ANGL was missing, and would never be there. As amusing as their conversations were on occasion they had all the emotional validity of the computer voice on his phone. He recalled how offended he had been when he heard his phone respond to a misdial; "we're sorry, this call cannot be completed." Begging your pardon but you're not sorry; you're a damn computer!

And now he was joined at the metaphorical hip with a computer that could only respond with synthetic sympathy; he knew that ANGL was doing the one thing he was programmed to do; and probably doing it well.

As he pondered the paradoxes of his life, he included his relationship with his Lord Jesus. He had come to understand the love that was expected of him. He had even advanced to loving earnestly, without reservation. It had become a love that Martin felt he would be willing to die for because he had been witness to God's love many times. He had come to know what God love is. He knew he would be condemned without it. He knew that he would not be cast into hell. This life was a slow burn and he would not hesitate, to trade it in for the eternal.

His flight had changed along with his plight. He had traded running from the devil to running toward his Lord and Savior. The direction was the same, but the motivating reason was no longer carnal.

Martin recalled asking, What does God see in me? What is He looking for? And now, like an answer to prayer, it hit him. God is looking to see His image in His creation. He should expect no less.

Martin was on his way home. Just what that meant he did not know, but he would do nothing to slow his arrival.

Resetting the clock seemed his best and perhaps his only hope.

By noon he had located the site and set about reinitializing the Field Realm Synthesizer. ANGL correlated the new data, and checked a few default codes.

Martin; ANGL, what about the food and water that I consumed while I was here?

ANGL: When the Realm acquisition has been made, a reset and mode recalibration will have to be made to add markers to the additional mass. That revision was also included on the Beta Realm Generator and Synthesizer. But the Gamma Site that you are destined for will have to project a mass deficit to this location, and it may cause a bit of a pop. It will probably start a grass fire. There are no people detected on the plain at this time. The danger is minimal.

Martin; Just how big a pop are we talking about?

ANGL: A crater about fifteen feet across.

Martin; I hope the EPA doesn't hear about this.

ANGL: In a matter of milliseconds an adjustment will be made and it may mitigate the damage or eliminate it altogether.

Martin; This time we are due to land at the Gamma Site; right?

ANGL: That's affirmative.

Martin; Are we ready to initialize the translation?

ANGL: Yes. Move about one foot forward. The process will begin immediately and you will feel the acquisition in about one hundred and twenty seconds.

Martin; What are the chances this will go without a hitch?

ANGL: Excellent. The Gamma Site data is known to six or seven decimal places; the sidereal time is correct to nine decimal places. The Beta Site data that I have gathered over the past two days are nearly as accurate. The interim delta shifts are the only relative unknowns but they can be closely estimated. Stand by! Beta Site calibration complete, Gamma Site initialization override set ON, Gamma Site acquisition complete, Mission check list 7.1.6 complete, RF signal seek to initialize in 30 seconds, UNIS-GPS synchronization signal seek to commence in 27 seconds, life support monitoring to commence at realm acquisition signal. Prepare for acquisition.

Martin braced himself for the elevator-up jolt.

He was on his way. The realm would lift him back to his entry elevation before beginning the translation.

The field below began to look like an ocean with wind swept waves of brown grass. The air was clear and the distant hills looked deceptively close. The crystal clear air let the sky show deep blue as though the stars could shine. He hoped that his footprints here would quickly disappear and life would continue as before.

His vision began to blur then gray out as the ringing in his ears began. Idaho, here I come.

ANGL: Tracking acquisition FAILURE, time signal acquisition FAILURE, UNIS-GPS signal acquired, life support monitoring switched to emergency mode and initialized, EMERGENCY SYSTEM PROTOCOL override initiated. Stand by!

Martin; ANGL why is it so dark? I can't move! What's going on?

ANGL: It is not clear. It is not clear that there has been a failure. The system is in emergency mode and looking to verify inconsistencies.

Martin; Where am I? I don't see any stars and we aren't above anything.

ANGL: Your oxygen supply is less then predicted but it is stable.

Martin; Am I floating in space. How much time do I have?

ANGL: Unclear. Unclear. The sun is not in view. No fix on any stars. Oxygen should last for several minutes. Return to Beta Site might be accomplished; initializing emergency return sequence.

Martin; It's getting hot in here. I can't breath. Are you sure there is air in here. I've got to get back to Teal. Oh my God help me? ANGL!

"Breath, Marty! Live! Live! Wheels down, feather the prop, flaps down, flare out, prepare for a ground loop. You're going to hit hard! You're going to hit real hard! YOU'RE GONNNA DIIE!!"

"NO NO ANGL!!!"NOO, NO I CANNN'T!!!"

"Of course you can, dear. But you're going to have to put it off 'till morning.

Whaa . . .Teal! Teal, what are you doing here?

She hiked her brow "I beg your pardon. Were you expecting someone else, the housekeeper, perhaps? Sorry I had to fire her; she refused to iron your shorts."...

"No, no . . .yes. No, I mean I thought you were . . .?"

"Gone? No that was you. You were on another planet. I wanted to vacuum in the morning so I dragged you in here; out of the way. How was I to know you weren't done with this body? Boy you must have had a doozy of a dream. Of course sleeping with a hangover, a major hangover, and the covers over your face doesn't help."

"I'm so glad to see you. I . . ."

"I thought we covered that."

"I just . . . . what day is it?"

"It's still Saturday but don't worry about the garbage; I put it out."

"What year?"

"What year did I put it out? Last year, silly. It's Sunday 2011; yesterday was Saturday 2010 and tomorrow, that might just be Monday of what year, I'm not sure! How's your headache, champ?

"Headache? Oh man is that gone! I'm okay. Now that I got some air."

"Hey, why don't you just go back to sleep? Martin please, when you see me in the morning, don't have that look of horror on your face. I love you, Smurf. Go back to sleep?"

"I love you too, babe. Sorry, just a dream . . . I guess. Oh man, am I going to sleep."

"Martin."

"Yes."

"Who's Angel?"

? ? ? ?

* * * * *

# About the Author

Taylor Strop lives in rural Idaho. He grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and attended San Jose State College. He passed on an opportunity to become a programmer for the early commercially viable UNIVAC computer. In his thirties he married a like-hearted Christian woman. They moved to the Colorado Front Range where they both embarked on careers in contract drafting/design.

Taylor participated in state-of -the-art commercial and DOD research and development projects, projects such as automated medication delivery devices, aircraft head-up displays, computer disc drives, space shuttle payloads, Hubble telescope and cloak-and-dagger electronics. Long immersed in an environment of innovation he developed a love affair with the "what ifs".

Instead of investing his retirement leisure in entrepreneurial pursuits, Taylor chooses to express himself through his writing.

In this novel, Taylor attempts to entice his reader into narrowing the gap between the tangible and intangible, and at the same time, into broaden their view of reality.

