

Beyond The Gate

A short story collection

By Gabe Sluis

Published by Gabe Sluis at Smashwords

First Edition

Copyright Gabe Sluis 2013

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locations or persons, living or dead or undead, is entirely coincidental.

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support. I need to get a movie deal already...

This book is dedicated to Holden Ryan Sluis. I hope these stories find their way to you in your early double digits.

Table of Contents

A Story for Enchu

And The Scroll Read...

Statues in the Southern Marsh

Chapter 20- The Lost Chapter

Pick-up on Hill 136

Seven Forty Seven

The Treasure Map

The Bronze Coin

The Supervisor

Blackheart

A Deep Dive

Vega's Lullaby

A Story for Enchu

Enchu walked quietly along the jungle path following his brother and father. They made little sound as they passed the large trees with their white trunks, wet from the morning rain. The three came along to a place where the trail split. The two in the lead went right.

"Father," Enchu asked. "Why do we not go the other way? Would it not be faster?"

"That is good you have become old enough to feel where you are in the jungle, Enchu. But, no. We do not go that way. Can you not see that path has not been disturbed for many years?"

"But why father?" Enchu passed his brother, who had paused with his father to walk beside his youngest son.

"That way is death." Matchu said to his son very seriously. "We must never go down there."

Enchu looked up at his father with his curious brown eyes. What did his father mean?

Matchu knew it was time to tell his son. The others had been small when it happened; Enchu not yet born. "I will tell you a story," he started, "of when a stranger visited us and why we use that path no more."

"My brother came to me and said he had seen men traveling up the river in our direction. They were a few days away and had guns. I hoped not to see them and began to consider going into the jungle until they passed. The evening I heard this news, the stranger appeared."

"I was working on arrows when he walked silently out of the jungle into the center of our huts. I was so surprised I jumped up to grab my bow when he spoke. He spoke our language like he had spoken it from a small child. I put down my arrows as I listened to this tall white man with black hair speak so kindly to me. He could not be the pack of men from the city downriver that my brother had sent warning of."

"I invited him to the fire and he took off his pack. We talked. I do not remember what we spoke of that night, but I could see in his purple eyes that he was a friend. Your mother gave him food, and he played with your brother and sisters, who had never seen a white man before. As it got late he stayed in the center hut with promise to say goodbye before he continued upriver in the morning."

"The next morning the men with rifles came. I came out of our hut late to the sounds the men entering our camp. Your mother and all my children were up. I had forgot all about the white man. The new men were from the city, just as your uncle had said. I did not know if they were slavers or colonistas. But, they demanded food and began saying bad things about your mother. They asked me 'how much for her'. I was angrier than I had ever been! I went to strike one and another pointed his rifle at me. He had no soul I could see in his eyes."

I walked away towards an outer hut in a panic. These men could not take my wife. Remember that Enchu, you must never let evil men harm your family! You must do anything." Matchu paused. "And so that is what I did."

"The white man with black hair suddenly appeared as I left the center hut. He motioned to me and I began to cry out silently to him. When I got to his side he told me not to worry and handed me a black knife with a curved blade. I will never forget that knife, as I have never seen one so well made in all my life. He told me to put it sideways between the bones of the first man, right below his nipple."

"I heard screams as the men began to leave, dragging my wife and your brother. The white man was much larger than the biggest in the gang of men. I thought he would try to fight them with his hands. We ran together, back to the center and I grabbed the first one I could touch. With a hand over his mouth I used the other to put the knife where I was shown. I will never forget the hot breath that came out as the man screamed his last."

"As we ran, the white man drew a small gun from his pack. This was like no pistol I have ever seen, Enchu. It was black like the knife and had a long thick part coming off the end. Faster that I could imagine he shot two of the men several times in the chest. The pistol was very quiet, much more quiet than the ones I have seen the army use in the cities. It was as loud as someone clapping their hands. Two men fell and the third ran. The white man did not run after him, but paused and shot four more times. At last he fell to the ground."

"He turned to walk back, removing part of the pistol and putting a new piece in its place. He smiled and said we must get rid of the men. I wanted to throw them in the river, but he would not have it. I was in a panic and did not think that someone would find these men and come looking for us. The white man was very smart and not excited like the rest of us."

"So now you see, Enchu, why we do not walk that way. We do not walk past ghosts of men who tried to steal my family. Who tried to steal you while you were inside your mother."

Enchu was silent. He was amazed at what his father had just told him. He had never known his father to be so brave as to kill a man larger than him who had a gun.

"What happened to the white man? What was his name?"

"He left. Went up river and we never saw him again. And I cannot remember his name. It was hard to pronounce and quickly left my mind."

They walked along in silence again until they got to the clearing where they would continue the work on their river canoe.

"That is why I am called Enchu," he said. "It means traveler."

"Yes son, you owe your life to a nameless traveler."

And the scroll read...

Chaos was one. To create the universes, it split itself into three. Gods were born. Two held their full share of the Chaos from which they came, creating all Systems seen in nature and the Will to power them. The Third, itself, splintered into many parts. Shards of that power existing, scattered among the universes. Small holes, running through levels of existence were made by the Shard's expanding path of travel. It is these shards of power, which exalt the development and updraft of mortal life.

Statues in the Southern Marsh

Vega sat on a log high above the swampland, legs crossed, face looking down at the water below. He wore dark clothes that he had stitched himself and a flawless jade hooded cloak that matched the color of his eyes. A frog jumped after a fly, making a splash somewhere in his periphery. He thought about leaving his abode.

Behind him, on a short hill in the swampy lowlands, sat the only home he had ever known. His father had built the cabin from logs he had fallen with his own hands. He made a winding pathway up the hill out of sharpened logs that acted as a retaining wall, so that any visitor would have to walk the switchback maze in order to reach his family.

And Vega missed his family; he had been alone for six months. His father had become ill twice that long ago, and he deteriorated rapidly. It was a strange illness, for he and his mother had no transferred effects. Seeming to know his fate, his father made a point to tell him many things.

"The reason I caught this illness is because I am not from this place. You know this, I speak your mothers tongue poorly, and you know each of ours because of it. I may not last much longer, and even though you are still young, you must be prepared to take care of your self."

"But I will always have mother..." Vega cried, faced with his father's death. He sat at the edge of his bed and looked down on the pale man. Vega's heart was broken seeing his father like this. He had always been so large and solid, faster and quieter than any man he had seen, even though he could probably count them on one hand. He did not think he could feel any worse, but his father proved him wrong.

"You are not going to be able to depend on her, son. She is a good woman and gave you life, but she is weak. I saved her from herself, from her vile life back in the City. Without me, without the influence I held over her, causing her to walk away from her previous existence... I cannot say for certain that she will not return to it."

And that was the case. They burned his father and his mother was silent for days. She came to him on the third night and told him there was nothing left for her there. She was going back to the City, and that he could come. They could find a room and he could work, or find an apprenticeship. Her words were said, but Vega knew better. His father had pulled her from the grime. She had made terrible decisions with her life just to keep herself warm at night and food in her belly. Most of the time she worked just to pay for another bottle of sharp liquid, like everyone else in the City. The people there worked long hours at monotonous tasks, just to forget their toils by drinking them away. His father had told him about City life.

He had never been to the great city, but he had seen it once. His father took him to a hill that provided his first view. It was sunset. The orange light of the setting star was blotted out in a quarter of the sky by the dark aura of the stinking city. Smoke stacks shot clouds of burnt fuels high into the firmament, mingling with the common persons own waste smoke. The City was huge and sprawling, a lump of cancer growing around the river that flowed through the human conurbation. That was the place his mother came from. It was the only city known to man, there were few small settlements outside the industrial monster, mining towns and plantations, but for the most part the City was where humans lives. His father told him all about the place that day, about the greed, corruption, poverty and filth. He made it clear that the City was no place Vega would ever want to go. His mother never spoke of it, but now she was gone.

The swamp was his home. Or it had been, until recently. He did feel content with the vibrant green and browns in the place of his birth, but now it felt empty. There was an indescribable itch in the depths of his chest, but he could not put a finger on what it meant. Before his father's friend had arrived, he thought about leaving. Maybe he should go into the City and see the accomplishments of man for himself. He could go and stay apart from that life without being corrupted, like a person on a tour. Maybe find a woman of his own, like his father had...

Or he could strike off to the unknown regions. He knew enough magic from his mother to be able to survive on his own. And the roomers of warm islands far to the south...

But the recent arrival had changed all those plans. Now he sat in his special place, humming a tune his mother would sing to him to make him go to sleep, contemplating yesterdays offer.

Vega was out collecting turtles from his traps when the man appeared. He looked young, possibly only ten years older than himself, and spoke to him in his fathers tongue. "Can you understand me?" he said, shocking Vega with the speech. His father had told him that they two were probably the only ones in this land who could speak that way.

Vega had felt unable to move when the stranger approached and switched words. "I can also talk in this manner if it would be easier for you."

"No, this way would be fine. It has always tasted better in my mouth anyway," Vega answered.

"That is because you are half Tarkin and our speech is in your blood."

The man walked closer and Vega saw his eyes. They were purple, but the shade was so similar to the Jade green he and his father shared, nothing at all close to the hazel his mother had. "Your father and I were very close once. He was one of the best friends I have ever had. I was told that he is dead."

Vega had shown him the long extinguished funeral pyre and they stood in silence. His father's friend reached in and drew out a charred long bone, wrapping it in a cloth before placing it in a pack he had been carrying. It was obvious to Vega that this man had come from the City. He wore their clothes and a long dark coat beneath the pack.

"I'm sorry I missed him. I didn't even know he was here for some time. I heard a tale in the City about an occurrence sixteen years ago that made me realize he had made it off our world as well."

Vega didn't know what to say. He had so much confusion inside his mind and wanted to ask so many questions, but only the simplest came to his lips first. "How did you know where we were?"

"I found your mother. She told me what happened."

Vega blinked back tears at the mention of his mother. He had felt little when she had left, still numb from loosing his father, but now the emotion crept up on him. They stood a little longer before they went to the house. Vega cooked turtle stew over the fire and there was little conversation.

"My name is Aros," he told Vega. "What are your plans? Will you continue to live alone?"

"I don't know," Vega said, staring at the bed his father died in. That had gotten him thinking.

"Think about it. I will have a proposition for you tomorrow, to consider in better light. We can talk then."

Vega did not sleep that night. He was too tired to get up and do anything, so he just laid in sleeplessness until the sky began to lighten. Without a sound, he forced himself up, leaving the sleeping visitor on the hill. Now he sat, covered with his green cloak, absentmindedly thinking about the past rather than about the future.

Aros walked down from the house on a hill. He went toward the cloaked figure perched on a fallen tree overlooking the swamp. It was not quite a Tarkin mannerism, but it was close. Aros walked down the path beside the water toward Vega's roost.

Vega watched Aros approach, wondering what it was that he would ask him, when he saw the slight change of the swamp water. Vega was about to call out a warning when the small crocodile exploded from the water, striking at the pedestrian. As if with negative magnetism, Aros launched himself up and away, sticking to one of the old wooden pylons that had been left by a previous attempt to build in the swampland.

Vega was amazed by the hand weapon Aros had used to attach himself to the pylon. Into the wood it stuck, holding Aros out of reach of the danger. With a natural motion, Vega raised a flattened palm to the ground and sent a thin bolt of electricity down to the waters edge. The collection of teeth recoiled back into its usual hunting ground. Aros gave him a nod, detached himself and continued to meet him.

"So, I see you share your mothers affinity for magic."

"Yes," the boy said, his hood pushed back now enough to plainly see his face. "Most people from the City are taught it in school if they are found to posses the talent for it. My mother remembered her lessons and taught me all she knew."

"Yes, in the City you can earn a decent living casting magic in a factory. The creation of energy by using crystals is sought after. I read that over half the population has some level of command with simple magic. And there are a few that can do more..."

"My mother told me that that requires years of advanced schooling at the Institute. Not many get to go there and learn. Most of the skills of the ancient casters are no longer public knowledge. There are books, but..."

"I have read the books. But I am not of this world, and have no skills with magic," Aros said. "Your mother, who I met, was very powerful indeed. But, she never reached her full potential. That is why I have come to see what you can do."

Aros was half way up the fallen log now, standing facing Vega. A warrior and a magician, half related by distant blood. Vega took his hands from his cloak and cupped them to a bowl.

"I can make fire," he said and a drop of flame illuminated his hands. With concentration, the fire grew larger and taller, rising like a column from his hands. Then it was gone.

"You saw my skill with lightning. I know some white and red magic as well. My mother had a worn copy of intermediate skills that she was given by a mentor in school. I have read it, but she never trained me to use any of it."

"She should have. Most the magical workers I met in the City were only adept at casting pink magic to charge mined gemstones. Most couldn't produce fire larger than a candles flame," Aros said. There was a pause and Vega could sense what was coming.

"I have to leave this place," Aros began. "Something in it is not good for Tarkins. I don't know if it's the air from the City or unseen organisms, but I will have a similar fate to Akoda's if I do not leave. I never planned on staying long enough for it to affect me anyway.

"I came across a very old book of magic while in the City. I was going to hire someone from the Institute to cast a spell from it for me, but then I found out about my friend. I had to come and meet the son of Akoda myself, even if it was too late to see him."

"But you are so much younger than my father," Vega interrupted. "He said he was over one hundred years old. You look like you are no more than thirty."

"Time is a funny thing. What do you know about time travel?"

Vega was taken aback. "Nothing. Can great magicians really travel against the river of time?"

"Oh, yes. Maybe not magician from your world, but from others... It has been known to happen," Aros said.

"Is that what you are going to ask me to do? I could never perform a spell like that..."

"No, No. Not against the river of time, that is a feat that I'm sure is beyond you. The spell is one of stone." Aros took a pocket-sized book from his breast pocket and handed it over to Vega. "It will call forth a thick cloud that will cast me into stone. The stone will hold me suspended in time for half a millennia. It is a quick way to go downstream a distance."

"This was used long ago to create gargoyles out of prisoners," Vega read. "Then they would be displayed for all to see what happened to thieves and rapists."

Vega looked up, "How do you know that you would revert in five hundred years?"

"Part of the incident with your father involved a man who was out of place in the City because he had come back to life in a different age. He said it was like a nights sleep for him." Aros nodded his head as he said this and took a step closer to Vega.

"I have traveled through time, in various fashions. Why do you think your father and I, who grew up together, are such different ages? This is what I do, I am a traveler. Come with me Vega and let's leave this place. There is nothing left for you here. I could use a good magician with me. You can travel with me as long as you like. I have been to different worlds and different ages. There are things out there you would never believe! We might even reach the world where your father and I are from, one day."

Vega glanced back at the book and then to the already familiar face of Aros. For a moment, all time was one. He knew the outcome of the decision he was being asked to make. It took no thought; Aros was right when he said there was nothing here for Vega.

"Where would you like to stand for five hundred years?"

Chapter 20- The Lost Chapter

A man sat on his knees, head bowed to the polished jade tiles. Firelight flickered off stonewalls from mounted torches in the large chamber. The smell of exotic incense wafted from metal pots that hung from the outstretched arms of marble statues. The man sitting on the round floor-pillow wore tattered travelers clothes. His deep crimson hair was long and peppered with grey strands. Renault opened his eyes. He sat up.

His connection was broken.

After disappearing from the top of the structure far away, he had meant to use his farseeing gift to watch his charge in flight, invisible to them, but there none the less. Instead he opened the eyes of his own body and was back. Back to the mountain top temple, far from any kingdom in the known lands. What had happened? The answer shouted from the back of his mind, but he refused to hear it.

Renault lifted his head and took to his stiff legs. His feet still felt as if they had been pounded on with blacksmith's hammers. The journey had been long and intense, a search for a rumor that tales could be sung about. And he had done it alone. Thus, here he was, the final push to achieve his desires and he knew deep down that he had broken a rule.

At the far end of the domed hall, the lifelike statue of the great wizard dominated. Renault worked the stiffness out of his legs as he walked toward the enormous blue sodalite stone statue. The blinking statue gazed upon the small man that approached with an expressionless face. The Wizard had a mighty beard and hair that looked like the crashing of waves. He wore only a tattered loincloth over a thick muscled frame. Age showed on his face despite the physique, giving the stone figure an air of omnipotence. Renault halted ten paces from the pedestal in which he sat.

The soft slap of sandals preceded the spread of light produced by an old woman holding a torch that walked out from behind the statue. The messenger, Renault thought. He had met the woman before, when he first entered the temple and begged to prove himself worthy of a gift. She was bald, smooth skinned and covered in a wide swath of tan cloth that was held to her figure by a rope at the waist. She would speak for the Great Wizard who sat on the mountain top overlooking all lands.

"What has happened? Why have I been cut off from my quest?"

The messenger stood silent for a moment before she spoke. "You know why. You have acted inappropriately."

"Great Wizard," Renault began, clasping his hands together and looking up at the silent animated statue. "Am I to forfeit my quest for one minor infraction?"

"A minor infraction?" the messenger exclaimed. "You have journeyed far and thrown yourself at our mercy, asking for a gift that few men should ever command. And for this gift, all we ask in return is a token of your time and to follow certain rules.

"But, now that we have reached this circumstance, you should know why we have asked for so little in return. Gifts like this are not bestowed upon any who travel here and ask. Quests, such as the one you have just failed, are for you to prove you are fit to wield such powers."

"Failed..."

"Yes, failed. The rules were simple. You were to guide the three on their quest. You were not to interfere, only to provide information. When you project yourself in this manner, you are incorporeal. Exposing this fact is highly undesirable. The ability to make yourself look any way you imagine is to make yourself blend in with the people in the land you project yourself to, not to frighten them. You did this, exposing yourself as more than an ordinary man. Doing such is not the goal of having this gift. Should ordinary men know of such things, the gift looses its power and becomes an ordinary thing."

"Please, Powerful One! I did such only for the benefit of those that I was sent to help! Search my heart, its intentions were pure!"

"We do not fully believe your claim. Part of you did it out of spite, to prove you were better than those who were in pursuit of the three."

"I yield to your judgment..." Renault said, shoulders slumping.

"The quest was both training and a test, to see how you would handle what you were given. If you cannot use your gift properly in a closed world, how could we let you loose on the possibility of all the worlds, of this and every other level? There is another climbing the mountain as we speak. He will likely be better deserving than you."

Renault was flattened at the rebuke. He wanted to collapse on the floor and cry out defeated. But something stopped him. Something tugged at the reserves of willpower he was not aware he had. It was the faces of the three young men he was sent to help. Their quest meant as much to him as his own. More possibly, in fact. Theirs desire to heal was touchingly selfless.

"Please, I beg of you. Return my gift for a short time. I accept the failure of my own quest, but not theirs. Permit me to see their journey to the end. I owe them that much. Let me help them before I leave this place forever."

The messenger looked up at the statue, who's stone gaze was locked with the red haired man that knelt before him. The animate blue stone head gave a slight nod, and the bald woman turned back to Renault.

"Your heart is pure. The lesson has been learned, and you shall be given a second chance. The three have crossed the river and one is hurt. You will have one last time to visit them before they go off on their own to finish what they have started. Should they succeed, the gift will be given to you. You will have succeeded at your quest. But this will be your final contact with the three. Your fate rests in their hands. Is this still acceptable?"

"Yes! Thank you, Powerful One!"

"Then return to your place and watch the conclusion. We have another about to join us," The messenger said, looking to the back of the hall.

"You said one was hurt," Renault said before he walked away.

"A leg injury from their escape. It will hamper them, but such is the way of things."

"One last request. Let me give them something to ease their pain. They still have such a long walk and a final confrontation," Renault beg.

"You push your luck, Renault of Castt. But we will grant you this. It cannot be that such a small request will not influence the final outcome. Return to them and watch the game play itself out."

Renault turned and walked away from the statue. He had let his passion get the better of him, but at least he had gotten a second chance. His round pillow sat near the base of another statue, partially in the glow of torchlight. He lowered himself and closed his eyes. The exhausted man jumped back into his quest before he had fully lowered his body to the position he had taken up in total concentration.

While Renault's mind interacted with the world his image was projected into, the doors to the great hall opened on their seldom-used hinges. In a way that he had not yet experienced using the gift he had been lent, Renaults' body heard the opening of the door and felt the cold blast of air as the second traveler sought refuge from the harsh winter conditions.

In the last two days of his time using his new ability, when he was gone from his body, it was as if it was forgotten. But now that the temple was no longer a place of total silence, he was able to devote a small fraction of his attention to what was going on at his anchor.

Standing in a field near a riverbank, addressing three new friends for the final time, Renault knew that in a land far away, the messenger had brought a second pillow for the newcomer and had placed it for him to rest on across the hall from him. But this fact distracted him little and he went on with his task; prepare his charges for their final deed.

"We rarely receive travelers here," the messenger told the man sitting across from Renault. "Never two at once."

"What is he doing? Meditating?"

"He is on his own path. But do not concern yourself with him quite yet. For now, warm yourself and rest. You may come to find what seek when you are ready. Take as long as you like."

With his final visit complete, Renault removed his image. His body took a deep breath as he had done all he could now do to ensure all of them success. At this point all he could do was watch the rest unfold. And so he did, projecting his vision all around, watching from every vantage point the endgame. It took all he had not to appear and attempt to intercede, with information or the sudden appearance of his image, for this was his final test as well. This was his test to see if he had truly learned his lesson and was fit to retain his gift.

Pick-up On Hill 136

Vincent Hardin had just started to drift off when there was a heavy knock at the door. The small room made the sudden noise waking him much more startling. "What is it?" He said, swinging his feet to the floor.

A voice muffled by the thick wooden door answered. "Captain Groves wants you to grab your things and meet him at the dispatch office."

With protests running through his tired mind, he pulled the door open and looked at the runner. "You know what this is about?"

"Sounded to me like you guys got a mission." With her message delivered, the young girl took off, disappearing into the misty night.

In his full uniform and travel bag draped on one shoulder, Hardin walked across the stone ground of the Falcons Perch Relay Station. The sky was bright with moonlight illuminating the puffy clouds overhead. Some of the moisture had descended, leaving a thin layer of fog near the ground.

Arriving at the dispatch office and nodding to the attendant at the front desk, Hardin walked back into the operations theater. An old man, wearing the uniform and badge of an airship captain, stood talking with the station's supervisor. Hardin stopped two steps into the room and waited for his Captain. Across the room, radio operators sat at their stations raised a half level above the main floor. A large map of the continent, containing a wide array of geographical features, other relay stations, the coastal cities and numbered hills, dominated the adjacent wall. The soft, serious hum of activity in the operations theater took on its own life, which knew not the hour. The conversation broke up and Captain Groves walked towards Hardin with a package tucked under one arm and a small envelope in the other hand.

"So, who did we upset to get an extra run thrown at us in the middle of the night?" Hardin asked quietly as they left.

"No mail this time. This is a special run, a pickup."

"You are their favorite to send on special errands."

"Ehh... You grab the new kid and I'll get Franks. We can take off as soon as we are ready," Groves said.

"Aye, Aye." The two exited the dispatch office and pealed off in different directions.

Hardin and the new pilot reached the airship dock just as a section of clouds parted, spilling moon beams onto the circular stone perch. The dock held eight airships, all moored around the perimeter. When the two got within one hundred meters of their ship, The Lost Shadow, they found they were the last to arrive. Their night vision was interrupted by the sudden lighting of the airship, reveling its relatively small passenger and cargo carriage that hung forward and beneath the large cigar shape of the lighter-than-air envelope. As the two walked under the stabilizing fins at the tail of the craft, Captain Groves appeared at the top of the loading ramp.

"Move it, Long, you got a ship to fly!"

Five minutes later, after running through pre-flight checks, the pilot announced that the ship was ready to depart. While the Captain radioed in for clearance with dispatch, Hardin checked in with the pilot.

"So, tonight we have no payload, and with us being so much lighter, your controls are going to be much more responsive."

"Got it, " Long said. "This is my first real night mission, so when we fly by a pylon, I need to pull down my blue filter?"

"Yes, at least one kilometer out. They react brightly through the blue. Other than that, treat it like any other run," Hardin said.

"What are we doing anyway? Search and rescue?"

"The Captain will brief us on the way to the pylon."

Captain Groves flicked on the intercom, which ran back to the hold and down to the engine room.

"You got me down there, Franks?"

"Go ahead Captain."

"Alright, mission brief." The old man cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope he was given earlier. "We are to precede to the south pylon and plot a course 3086 mils taking us to Hill 136. We are to set anchor and wait to pick up one male passenger. We will then precede along 2763 mils to Inleaf City Station and await further assignment," Groves said concluding his brief.

"And hopefully get a day off for this mess," Franks piped up from the intercom.

Captain Groves grunted a half-hearted approval. "First officer, supervise course acquisition from the pylon. I'm going down the hole to get a cup of coffee."

"Aye, Aye Sir."

The long tan airship slid up through the clouds like a rocket in slow motion. Now, running along the top of the cloud deck, the pilot lowered the blue filter screen on the forward windshield. Sailing over the mounds of clouds and steering clear of the stiletto peaks of rock on which moisture hung, Long waited to glimpse the pylon.

Hardin took a seat behind the pilot and waited. He knew just when the pylon would come in range. He had spent his time in Longs chair and knew all the routes by heart.

"I have it," Long said as the red lights of the pylon reacted with the blue, leaving a strong purple glow on the horizon.

"Time for a lesson," Hardin announced. "How do you make up time on a run? What if you don't have time to go all the way to a marker to plot a course? These were common problems for airships back in the war. One smart captain caught on and used math to come up with something called a 'combat shortcut.' Old timers still pull this maneuver off, but it is no longer taught to new pilots, as they rather have you do things the right way every time."

Long nodded, keeping his eyes on his task.

"Estimate your distance to the pylon."

"Um... I guess I'd say, about two kilometers?"

"Bad guess," Hardin said. "You can do better. Don't guess, just tell me the distance."

"Ok," Long said. "One point seven kilometers."

"Alright. Swing over to the plotting station," Hardin instructed. "Now, you are going to knock off a tenth for our current speed. Our last known point is the station. We are between the two and one point six from the pylon. Now, get an azimuth to Hill 136."

"I have 3120 mils," long said.

"Quickly, match your course."

Long swung back over to the pilots station and moved the airship along the new course. Hardin clapped the new pilot on the back.

"That is the combat shortcut. How close we arrive to the hill will depend on the accuracy of your estimation. So, if you were off, we could get lost on a heavy clouded day. We wouldn't want to have to break off and search for the southeast pylon and re-plot. That would make us very late and tarnish our title as the best ship in the fleet. That is why this is not taught in school."

"Yes Sir." Long paused. "Thank you for teaching me this, Sir."

"Well, I wouldn't want my pilot not up to speed with how we do things," Hardin said. "Stay on course. I'm going down below, call if anything comes up."

Muffled chuckles drifted up amid the clicks and whirls of the engine room. "...And the damned thing is, he survived the war!" Hardin heard the Captains' punch line as he came down the spiral staircase.

Both men looked up as they finished their laugh. Sitting at his 'work' table, the old pudgy engineer Franks grabbed a mug, filled it with the strong coffee and slid it over to Hardin.

"I felt us change course a little early," the Captain said, eying Hardin.

"I taught the kid your shortcut."

"I've got one for you just like that," Franks said to Captain Groves, as if there was no interruption. "After the war was over, I went home and got into a mechanics school.

"To pay for the school, I got a crummy job at a warehouse moving crates around. After my second day of work, I recognized another guy that worked there. We must have gone to school together when we were youngsters, so we start talking. Soon enough we ate lunch together and were always talking. He eventually understood the types of things I did in the war.

"So, a couple of weeks later, after work, he pulls me aside and asks if I want to earn a bit of extra money. This guy says he will give me two hundred Gil to go up into the hills and check out this mine camp.

"Mind you, this was back when the slate hills were full of rare gems. There were laws against mining, or being in possession of unpermitted gems. But these hills were so remote and wide that the locals all had illegal mines running. The gems were the main thing that kept their local economy going.

"My friend grew up in the area. He knew most everyone and where everything was. He knew who had producing mines and when the constables came around. Best of all, he had the contacts. He knew guys who could cut and polish, and others who would buy undocumented stones, no questions.

"This guy was a crook. He also wasn't the lightest balloon in the race. But he knew he needed what he lacked. He needed someone who knew how to use a pistol and could come up with tactics.

"So we worked together. We would stake out different mines at night and our days off. I spent a lot of time setting things up and coming up with plans. With the types of things I was seeing out there, I was expecting a huge haul. I'm talking enough money to take care of all my debts and more to spend on whatever. At most of the spots, a single old guy was left sitting on a huge stash. Others had one hired hill-hick to guard a mine at night when the others were away. We had one other guy on our team and knew we would have to play rough, because that is what it takes.

"We met on and off for months. He was always unsure of the plans. I wanted concrete plans and to set dates for our raids. But things just never came together. With all his talk, I never saw him pull the trigger. We never took a single gem. He was smart enough to know we needed each other, but not smart enough to know when to take action."

"Yep, you know the old saying," Groves said, "Greatness is never achieved through hesitation."

Three long cups of coffee later, the conversation was interrupted by the intercom. Captain Groves and Hardin ascended to the main deck. Groves took his seat in the comfortably worn-in captains chair as Hardin asked Long for a report.

"I put us five kilometers and in visual range of Hill 136. All scopes and switches functioning. Time is zero-one-one-six. Your orders, Sir?" Long rambled off sharply. Captain Groves reached into his coat pocket and drew out the envelope. "We are to reach the hill no later than zero-two hundred and set anchor on a shelf on the southwest side," Groves read. "Looks like we came right down on top of the hill. Good cut, Long."

Long beamed to himself as he closed the last five kilometers to the rocky peak protruding above the cloud deck. The airship slowed and circled clockwise around the hill, taking the long way to their anchor point. Ten feet above the shelf, the anchor was dropped so that the nose of the long ship pointed at the mountain.

Franks came up from below out of curiosity and a lack of instruments to monitor. "This doesn't look right, Boss."

"I agree," Hardin said, scanning the windows for signs of anyone. "I would have figured there would have been something up here, a keep or a house. A shack, at least."

"I had a feeling this would be a strange one," Groves said. "I heard that this mission came from the Director, himself. I guess our runs had been planed well in advance for us to be at Falcon Perch today and run this tonight. Hell, the letterhead has the old seal on it. They changed those ten years back. This is all odd. If we don't have a passenger by fifteen after, we are gone."

The crew sat in silence. The moons bright white light reflected off the smooth stone cliffs and nothing moved. Hardin checked the clock. Five minutes till. He hoped they didn't come out here for nothing.

In the midst of the silence, a sharp crack leapt out of the night, with a fierce rumbling in tow. The distinct quavering trill of the anchor cable echoed over the hill. The airship remained static as it floated over the shaking hill.

As suddenly as it began, the earthquake ended. Hardin turned to see Groves on his feet. "Mark that in our log," the Captain said. "Reorient the ship in preparation to leave. I am lowering the rear hatch and waiting the final fifteen minutes back there."

Groves left the bridge as Long moved the ship. Hardin noted the time as three minutes until two and scribbled in the log. Franks moved behind the pilot's chair and spotted a figure moving across the shelf.

"Eyes on!" Franks yelled, pointing out the pickup to the other two. "Hold her steady," he said as the two left Long alone on the bridge.

In the few moments it took Hardin and Franks to join the Captain on the loading ramp, the man had reached the ship. Before a ladder could be lowered, the dark haired man leapt the ten feet from the ground and grabbed the edge of the ramp. He quickly pulled himself up.

"Welcome aboard, I am Captain Jonas Groves," The Captain said, extending his hand.

"I'm Aros," the man said, taking his hand. "Thanks for the ride."

"You didn't get hurt by that quake, did you?" Franks asked.

Aros turned and looked right at Franks. "There was an earthquake? Interesting." Aros turned back and was lead up to the bridge by the Captain, with a confused Franks in tow.

"I was told you would have a package for me."

Groves handed over the long rectangular box, which Aros immediately opened. The whole crew curiously watched to see the stranger take out a small handbook and a belt with two very fancy looking sheathed daggers.

"We have no passenger berths, with this being a postal ship. But feel free to make yourself comfortable back in the hold," Groves said. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Only to get to Inleaf as fast as we can. I've come a long way for an important meeting," Aros said.

"Pilot! Let's get on our way then!"

Seven Forty Seven

The chapter was just getting to its climax, a David vs. Goliath fight, when a loud chirp and buzz of his pager caused Will to stop reading. He popped the outdated stone off his belt and read the text. He hated that chirp. Why couldn't they have made it something pleasant? A nice chime or musical note?

"Looks like we got one," Will said, looking over at his partner. Bobby took his headphones out and looked at the same message that had also came across his pager. Will reached over to the center console that separated the passenger seat from the drivers, and picked up their Nextel. He punched a button on the face and depressed the walkie-talkie toggle, producing a different chirp that alerted him that he was now speaking to Dispatch.

"Seven-Forty-Seven, we copy pages."

"Seven-Forty-Seven," Dispatch echoed back, "Your call is going to be code one, for a 73 year old male, coming out of Shady Pine Skilled Nursing Facility and going to Berry Community for failure to thrive. No special equipment. 23:43."

"Copy, show us responding," Will said and tossed the Nextel back into the basket. "Hey, wake up," he said turning his head to the back. "We got a call."

Bobby started the engine and dropped the rig into gear. The two full time partners rarely talked anymore. When you have been working with the same person for long periods of time, week after week, you quickly run out of things to say. This wasn't that big of a deal for Will, as these night shifts rarely left him in want of conversation. But tonight, they had a rider.

This happened occasionally. That evening, as Will walked up the concrete ramp into the ambulance bay, his supervisor called his name from the office. "You two have a guest tonight," the old paramedic said, pointing to the small Asian girl sitting in one of the office's chairs. "This is Kelly and she is from the Bastes City College program. This is her first of two ride-alongs, so be nice to her, especially because she volunteered to do a night car."

"Cool, grab your stuff, I'll show you what rig we are in," Will said to the young woman, and then turned back to his boss. "I take it you haven't seen Bobby yet?"

The supervisor looked at his watch and snorted. "You better tell him that if he keeps walking in here three minutes late every shift, I'm going to write him up."

"Oh, I think he knows, but just doesn't care. It's hard when you carry a P-card but can't use it."

"Well, he will be in the next group we upgrade... whenever that will be."

They left the office and found their ambulance. Will was slightly surprised by how chatty the girl was. Maybe it was a nervous thing. He walked her through their daily checkout procedures, and she asked about everything. She talked about her class and her plans to apply to every ambulance company as soon as she got nationally registered. Bobby showed up half way through the checkout, saw what was happening. He kept to the front of the rig, saying little. That was fine with Will. He remembered when he was new, a short two years ago, so full of hope and excitement at saving lives. Then he got a slot full time on a basic life support transfer car, and that ended that. But, at least having a rider was a change of pace.

Will was in the space of mind that nothing really upset him in this job. Last week, they had a patient that had obviously defecated on himself. Bobby half blew up at the sending facility. If it weren't for him stepping in and volunteering to ride in the back with the patient, Will wouldn't have been surprised if a complaint was phoned in to his supervisor over lack of professionalism. In his mind, what were a few moments in the back of the ambulance with a stinky old lady? He just poured a bag of instant coffee on the ground and dealt with it. He was here all night and making money. It was his job, and things could be worse.

"So where are we going?" Kelly asked. She was young, probably just out of high school, and small. It was always funny to see persons of slight build try to enter the field of emergency medicine. Most thought they would be doing lots of medical procedures and didn't even consider the other half of the job. And lifting patients was a big part of that job. He wondered if the tiny girl would be able to lode the gurney into the back of the ambulance with a full-grown man on it. He aught to get Bobby to lie on it and let her give it a try...

"A Sniff off of Stalton Ave," Nate said to the face peeking through the compartment leading to the back. "Sniff's are slang for skilled nursing facilities. We get a lot of private transport calls from places like this."

"Cuz for some reason they can't wait to call until a reasonable hour. It has to be in the middle of the night, always the middle of the night."

"The last two were from a hospital to other places, how often do you guys go to peoples houses, like, with lights and sirens?"

Both men laughed. "We are not a 9-1-1 car. We would never get a call like that. Your next ride-along, request an ALS car, that's where you will get the action you're seeking," Bobby told her.

"We will go to peoples houses occasionally, but it's never for an emergency. It's always for a patient who can't get themselves to the hospital or a dialysis clinic without help. There is lots of need for transports like this everyday. People don't even realize. It's not what most of us get this job for, but someone has to do it. But, I tell you what, there is worth in everything you do. On a transfer car, you can learn where everything is, how the hospitals are laid out, and how to document. It's a great way to develop in a low stress environment. A good way to make sure this is for you."

"Well, I want to go to med school eventually and I was told this is a good introduction to the field."

"Oh yeah, can't get any more basic than this. Pay attention to everything; see how it all works now. It's much better to figure out if this is what you want to do before investing so many years of schooling into something you end up hating."

Bobby pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and drove under the overhang. Right after he put the rig in park, as he was taking his time preparing to get out, the backlights lit up as Kelly threw the back doors open. He looked in the rearview and saw her pulling on a pair of blue medical gloves, ready to save the day. He shot a look over to his partner, who snorted.

Will called Dispatch to tell them the unit was on-scene.

Will pulled out the gurney, and drew a pair of gloves from a box in the back. He stuffed them in his front pocket and led the yellow-wheeled beast into the building. The pickup went as they usually did. The paperwork was not ready, the nurse in charge had left the transfer of care to a subordinate, and the man they were picking up was not exactly light. Just another night on a transfer car...

Will took the tech, it was his turn, and Bobby drove. The EMT student rider sat in the airway seat, at the head of the gurney. The old man on the gurney seemed asleep, and only opened his eyes to nod in approval as Will explained to him what was going on. He thumbed through the paperwork to get the info he needed for his pre-hospital care report. He scanned over the Do-Not-Resuscitate order, and ensured it was signed and valid for the patient he was transporting.

It was quiet in the back of the moving ambulance when Will interrupted the silence to ask Kelly to get a set of vital signs. Out of nowhere, the man awoke and spoke.

"I'm going to die tonight," he said. His voice was hoarse, evident that he had not use it in some time. He turned his head and looked at Will, who sat on the bench seat next to him. The ambulance vibrated down the road, and Will looked down at the paperwork spread out next to him.

"We are all going to die, Mr. Vasquez," Will said. The statement from the older man did not surprise him or catch him off guard the way it did Kelly. Will heard it frequently, usually from the older patients who were tired of running the marathon of life.

Kelly sat back in her seat, visually uncomfortable, not knowing what to say.

"But... tonight is not your night, I don't think. We are going to get you over to the hospital for some tests and I'm sure they will fix you right up. Besides, I've never had anyone die on me in my ambulance, and I don't think tonight would be a good time to start."

The man listened to Will's half sincere speech, and continued to look at the boy who gave him courteous attention. He found the man interesting; A Hispanic last name, yet he looked like any old white guy. He did have a slight accent that was unplaceable. Maybe that had something to do with the last name...

Instead of responding to the statement like most rational people, Richard Vasquez went on with his own stream of consciousness. This also did not phase the seasoned EMT, as most his patient tended to not have completely present mental faculties.

"No," he said, "I have seen it. I will die soon. I know it." The comment hung in the air for a moment before the dying man continued.

"I remember my own birth. I remember all kinds of things that happened. I remember things that haven't happened, but should have. All my life I have been this way."

"All your life, huh?" Will said, head tilted to one side, happy to engage the patient in his deluded conversation. His hope was that talking to this man would get his mind off morbid thoughts. Hell, he thought, I would want someone to talk to me like I was a real person if I was old as dirt and had to be carted around by ambulance. Plus, this technically was his job, patient care. Some EMT's wouldn't do this, especially someone like Bobby. But this was the type of thing that all those company posters that hung in the deployment center talked about: customer focused concern.

"Yeah, since I was a baby. My mother passed it on to me. She said she had it too, and when I was born, it went away, passed on to me."

"So you can see the future, then?"

"And the past," the wrinkled old face said, turning back to look at the dome fluorescent lights. "But not very far. I know things I shouldn't know, they just come to me. Sometimes it's a vision; sometimes it's just a feeling. And I'm always right."

"So you must have made a lot of money doing that. Ever go to Vegas?"

"No. No, I just lived my life. I tried to help people. Once I was in a restaurant and this woman started complaining that she had just lost her necklace. She got up and looked under the table and poured out her purse. I asked her if it was gold, with a big gold hoop on it and she looks at me, and says yes. So I told her the clasp broke while she was in the bathroom and it fell off. I got myself in trouble sometimes, because the lady thought I was spying on her while in the bathroom. How else could I have known where her necklace was? But I saw it happen, up here," The old man tapped his forehead, "as soon as she made a fuss about loosing it."

Something changed. Will had had countless conversations with the sick and dying, people with every sort of psychosis, and this was different. He could no place his finger on it, but this man's claims were different than any other person with an altered mental status he had come across. Instead of asking leading questions to coax the patient into talking, and thus gaining trust, the next question felt real.

"What else? What else have you seen?"

"Things I shouldn't have seen. I end up knowing things I shouldn't have any way of knowing. I know about this lovely girl behind me. Her mother has blue eyes..."

As the man continued to talk, Nate show a glance at Kelly, who he had just met. Her own brown eyes were wide. He was right...

"And once I was driving down this hill and a voice just spoke out loud to me. It was my own, but it said to put the car in second gear. I was going over the speed limit a little bit coz of the downhill, but I did it anyway. The engine roared when I downshifted, but I slowed down. When I got to the bottom of the hill, a little girl ran out in the street chasing a dog and I stopped for her. If I hadn't put the car in second..."

"I have had dreams about who would win football games," he continued. "I have gotten the feeling that I need to leave town and done it. Nothing happened while I was gone, but maybe that's because I was gone from it.

"Once I was at a gas station and dropped a quarter on the ground, when I went to pick it up. I picked it up three times. The first time the face was looking at me. A sweating man jumped out of a truck that sat at the pumps and robbed the store. He shot the man behind the counter before he left and drove away, almost hitting me. I picked it up again and it was tails, and the man drove off without paying and did not go inside. The last time the quarter was on its side, standing up as if it was balanced there. The man in the truck was sitting behind the wheel, hands shaking. So, I walked right up to him and said, 'Let me buy you your gasoline.' I went inside and paid for his tank. He never said a word to me but look at me like I was some sort of angel sent by God to help him that night."

"And even knowing all you do, you have lived a simple life? Do you have children?" Will was in a trance. His rider sat not saying a word, as if there were only two people in the back of the ambulance.

"I could never settle down with a woman. I would get a flash of our future, and could not bear to walk down that road, knowing. I drank too much for years. It was the only thing I could do to stop it. But once I sobered up, I was so glad to feel whole again. I wish I had children..."

"Three out!" Bobby called from the front, breaking the magic. He was totally oblivious to what was being said in the back. The reality check put Will back on his task. He pulled out a form for his patient to sign.

"Mr. Vasquez, could you sign this for me? It says we had permission to take you over to the hospital."

"Sure, son," he said.

With weak hands he reached out to take the clipboard and pen that were offered to him. Will had removed his gloves for the transport, and their hands touched with the transfer of the pen. Richard Vasquez held on to Will's hand and looked into his face before attempting to sign.

"Thank you for listening to me," he said earnestly. Will was about to respond when the old man froze. He waited, holding the clipboard over the lying man, ready to assist with the collection of the signature.

The race-weary man closed his eyes and his hands slowly lowered to his chest. There was a moment of uncertainty as the familiar bump and lurch of the ambulance signaled that they were pulling onto the hospital grounds.

"Mr. Vasquez? Mr. Vasquez?" Will said, shaking the old man's arm.

"What..." Kelly began.

"Bobby! This guy just went unresponsive!!"

Will was checking his pulse and feeling with his cheek for a breath when he yelled at his ride along to check the blood pressure. Despite the orders to not attempt any life saving interventions, the back of the now parked ambulance became a flurry of activity. Kelly was sent inside, and sloppily informed the staff of the situation. The two-man ambulance crew moved their patient inside as if a doctor inside might throw out the orders and go to work on the man.

But of course the orders were kept. The wishes of the patient were written as a legal order, and it was respected. A simple cardiac monitor was attached and the results were clear. An ER doctor came over to confirm the findings.

Richard Vasquez died that night just as he had predicted.

Will sat in the passenger side of the front of the ambulance, doing his paperwork, which was more complex than usual. As he had told his patient thirty minutes prior, he had never had someone die on him, so this type of documentation was new to him.

Out the ambulance entrance, An ER nurse, who had signed as the receiving facility in place of his dead patient, walked to her car. She was older and looked tired from a long evening in the ER. She smiled at Will on her way past, and he smiled back.

When she got home, she would find that her cat had given birth on the foot of her queen-sized bed. The bedspread would have to be thrown out due to all the mess, but she would be left with four healthy kittens and one that did not make it. Her long night at the hospital would now turn into a longer one with her husband working the swing shift at the glass factory and not off till two.

Will blinked the thoughts away. He was letting his tired imagination run wild! After all those stories...

But the vision had been so clear: a white and calico cat, an oak bed frame, and the mess on the bed...

Bobby and Kelly came out of the hospital and got in the rig. The ending to the call had awoken the grumpy EMT and he waxed philosophically to the new girl about the ambulance business in a way he hadn't all night. Both seemed in an electric mood that Will could feel working at him. After that weird flash it was slow in coming, but he perked up and let the thoughts of the last half hour wash away. He rolled down his window and picked up the book he had been reading off of the dash. He held it on his lap in both hands as they cruised through the seeping town and back to their deployment center to await the next call.

The Treasure Map

Greg Thompson screamed down the sidewalk, jumping down from the curb to avoid a telephone pole that took up too much of the walkway. Swinging his head in all directions, he set his gearless BMX bike at an angle and cut across the deserted four way stop. As he peeled past the gas station on the corner, his older brother Peter looked up from the television set sitting on the counter and watched his brother go by. It was Peter's job to look after his twelve-year-old little brother during the summer while his mom was at work, even though he had a job of his own. It made no difference to Peter, as his kid brother could take care of himself, just like he did at that age. Once out of sight, Peter went back to watching his Discovery Channel show about the universe.

Greg wore no helmet. His blond shaggy bowl cut swept back from his forehead as he continued down the hill and under the highway. It was a typical warm morning in Grass Valley, and he dressed accordingly: jean shorts, high top sneakers, and a striped shirt. The ground leveled off. He peddled in full body motions, passed his old elementary school and over to the park. Summer days like this seemed to never end for a boy this age. One day Greg would wake up to his mother ushering him out the door to shop for school clothes. Only then would he realize that his vacation was over. But today was not that day, and the numbers on a calendar were the last thing on the boys' mind. Today it was a girl.

Chelsea Donovan lived down the road and had been friends with Greg since the fifth grade. He heard she was back from summer camp and subsequently road past her house several times yesterday evening. Her father finally noticed the ride-by's and gave his youngest daughter the hint that she should go out to the front lawn.

"Oh, hey, Chelsea! Where have you been?"

"At camp for two weeks, remember?"

"Oh yeah..." Greg feigned ignorance. He had been friends with the girl from down the road for years, but lately he couldn't stop thinking about her. He thought she was the prettiest girl in his class; with long brown hair always braided into a single ponytail. The fair was coming up and he hoped she would go with him one night.

"You want to go ride bikes tomorrow? I'm probably going to be riding around anyway. I might meet up with Zach later, too..."

"Okay," she said and smiled. "My sisters have been such a drag lately anyway. Being around them everyday for two weeks has really gotten on my nerves, you know?"

"Cool. Meet at memorial park at eight?"

She had agreed and he had gone home grinning.

After waking up ten minutes before his rendezvous, Greg streaked toward the park. He rolled around the final corner and cut across the parking lot, dodging through the few cars parked in front of the park pool. It was swim lesson season, but that wouldn't start for a few more hours. Greg leaned his bike against some freestanding monkey bars and walked toward the main play area. There was still dew on the grass and it collected on his sneakers, threatening to soak through. He reached down to pick up a dandelion, when he heard a familiar voice.

"Greg! Where is your mitt?" a boy of the same age yelled, walking over to Greg from the blacktop behind the pool. Greg's eyes flared wide and his shoulders slumped. He gazed in all directions, but didn't see who he wanted to.

"Oh yeah! I forgot!"

"I had two others who said they would start a game with us today. But I think they forgot too," Zach Webber said. He was a few inched taller than Greg and had very dark skin despite being solidly Caucasian. He wore a backwards hat while he pushed his bike, his glove jammed on one handgrip. "You guys always forget if I don't tell you the day before. What are you doing here then, if you forgot, anyway?"

Zach was not Greg's best friend. In school, Zach was a little cooler. He was friends with the rough boys who road dirt bikes and had older brothers that all raced. But come summertime, when the others were not around, and since they both lived close to downtown, Greg was Zach's go-to friend.

"I, uh, was waiting for someone. We were going to go riding around this morning," Greg let out. He began tearing out the petals of the flower, not wanting the other boy to guess what he had picked it for.

Just then, Chelsea came walking her bike down the slight hill from the opposite side of the park, and waved to Greg. Both he and Zach noticed this.

Zach turned back to his embarrassed friend.

"Ooooh! Greg and Chelsea, sittin' in a tree..."

Greg kicked Zach's front tire to stop the next line from being said aloud, and the girl came into earshot.

"Hi Greg," she smiled. In that brief instant the twelve-year-old boy forgot that anyone else was in the park. It was a moment that would be tattooed in his memory; the girl, her long hair, and the timeless and classic feel of summer. "Hi Zach."

"Hey Chelsea," Zach said. She joined the other two and they stood facing each other.

"So, what do you want to do?" Chelsea asked Greg.

"We were going to play some baseball with a couple other guys," Zach said, "but it looks like everyone bailed."

"Oh yeah? So are you going to come riding with us then?"

"Sounds like fun," Zach said to Greg. "So where do you guys want to go?"

"I figured we could go over to the fair grounds and check out the pond. I've got a little rod hidden in the blackberry bushes over there. And my uncle is setting up his horses for the fair next week," Greg said. "So we could go play around over there, or I heard about a cool spot over in the Empire Mine Park."

"That sounds fun," Chelsea agreed.

Zach nodded. "But next week, its baseball for sure. You have to help me get a bunch more people to play."

Greg ignored Zach, happy just to be starting the day. He ran back and grabbed his bike, racing to catch up with the other two as they took off in the direction of the fairgrounds.

The sun became more intense as they reached the fairgrounds. They cruised in one of the back gates reserved for trucks pulling trailers full of livestock. Greg shouted to the gate attendant that they were only going to the pond, and the old man wearing a black windbreaker and Korean War Veteran hat waived them through, knowing there was no point in protesting anyway.

The pond was not far from the gate, and the three dumped their bikes in the dust. Greg went in search of his stashed rod. He came back from a nearby blackberry thicket with a button caster and a beat up Styrofoam cup full of rich back dirt.

"I had these worms left over from a couple days ago. I hope they are still alive..."

"Don't you have to have a fishing license, or something?" Zach said, standing back slightly with his hands in his pockets while Greg and Chelsea picked through the dirt for bait.

"Naw, not if you are twelve and under, I think," Greg said, pleased to be shoulder to shoulder with the girl who was slightly taller than him.

"Ooh! I got one," Chelsea exclaimed and came up with a worm. "These guys are the best bait, I think. The fish just love 'em."

In reality, Chelsea had about as much experience fishing as Zach, but she didn't let on. When you are twelve, being professional at things was easy. You just had to believe in yourself and everyone else would too. The two fishermen impaled the worm on the hook while Zach grimaced in the background. Greg handed the rod over to Chelsea and she attempted a mighty cast.

For the next hour, the three laughed and joked, squealed and yelled as they tried to catch a fish. They ran around to different sides of the small pond, coming up with reasons why each new spot was now going to be the best for catching fish. After a couple bites and loosing their second worm, the short attention span of the children won out and the novelty of fishing was over. Greg re-hid his pole and the nearly expended cup of bait worms and the group took off to walk through the paddocks of the fairgrounds.

Greg's uncle was nowhere to be found, but his horses were. The children climbed half way up the fence and pet the nose of the large brown horse that thought there might be a treat involved. When none came, he wandered out of reach and the three moved on.

"So, what do you guys think? I'm bored. You wanna go?" Zach said.

"Yeah, I can show you guys that spot over in Empire Mine I was talking about!"

"Let's go!" Chelsea said, and they got on their bikes. The three exited out of the east entrance, Zach leading, followed by Chelsea and Greg. They went down the hill on McCourtney road toward the highway. They had not a care in the world as they coasted down towards their fate on that warm summer day.

It happened very slowly, as if it could have been avoided, but the car connecting with the transient was heavy and forceful, as was the mental impact on the three youths who had a perfect view of the accident.

They all jammed back on their pedals, breaking their bikes harshly as they came to a stop. The loosely clothed individual was knocked like a billiards ball, skimming across the ground and onto the pine needle covered corner of the intersection of McCourtney and Mill Street. The fully loaded shopping cart the man was pushing continued to roll, unharmed, down hill as the white four-door hammer came to a stop for a moment, and then sped away.

The three witnesses stood over their bikes in shock at the aftermath of the violence. Greg was the first to snap out of the fright and ran over to the downed man. Zach and Chelsea followed Greg over to the man's side.

"Are you okay?" Greg said in terror, looking at the heap of dirty clothes that looked far too warm to be wearing on this hot day. A car stopped in the middle of the intersection and the driver shouted questions to the children while reporting to the 911 dispatcher on the other end of their cell phone. Greg did not notice. The homeless man rolled supine with his dead weight and looked up at the little boy standing over him.

The man could have been handsome if it wasn't for his receding hair and dirty unkempt beard. Blood was running from his ears and mouth. Chelsea began to sob. Greg was more scared than he had ever been in his life, when the man pulled a small book from the depths of his rags. He pushed the book at Greg, who had no choice but to take it, and whispered his last words.

"The prime numbers... a map of my treasure..."

Sirens wailed from a distance away and the man closed his eyes. Greg's lower lip trembled and the three backed away. They sat down on the curb near where they dropped their bikes. Chelsea continued to cry. Greg held on to her, trying not to cry himself. Zach sat like stone, his own eyes wet, watching the scene in front of them unfold.

There was a yellow sheet over the body by the time the highway patrolman finished interviewing the three small witnesses. Greg told everything he saw, but left out the part about the booklet, which he had jammed in his waistband. They were all in shock, and once they were no longer needed, they walked their bikes away from the scene of the accident, up Mill Street, towards old town. They had to pass the body, and Greg could not bring himself to look at the yellow sheet until he was nearly past. Chelsea would not stop crying, so Zach made their destination the public library, where they could sit in the shade under the trees behind the building.

A librarian, all the children knew, Ms. Robinson, was out back having a cigarette, when the upset children dropped their bikes. They plopped themselves down at the base of a large boxelder. She snubbed out her cigarette and walked over inquisitively.

"Hey guys, what's wrong?"

This time Zach spilled the story, leaving the librarian visibly saddened for what the children had seen. She bent down and comforted the little girl and asked if she could call anyone's parents. "That's just terrible," she said.

"That's okay," Chelsea said, sniffling and wiping away her tears. She seemed to be doing better, and asked Greg, "What did that guy give you anyway."

Greg looked up at Ms. Robinson, and figuring he was in good company, pulled the book from under his shirt. He handed it over to her, who better to tell them what he had been given than a librarian, and said, "He gave this to me before he... closed his eyes. He said something about treasure and prime numbers. What are prime numbers?" he asked the woman.

Flipping though the book, she answered. "They haven't taught you prime numbers yet, in school? They are numbers that are not divisible except by one and themselves. It looks like he drew a map on the prime numbered pages." She knelt down and showed the children what she had found in the book.

The intrigue created by this new information further helped to snap the three out of their current mood as they crowded around to get a view of the pages. "Maybe we should cut the pages out and tape them together to make a big map!" Zach said.

Considering the possibility of ruining the artifact he had just be entrusted with, Greg finally agreed after a supportive nod from Chelsea.

"Why don't you come inside? We have scissors and tape you can use in the library," Ms. Robinson said, genuinely interested in what the children had been given. The three agreed, dusted themselves off, moved their bikes to a place they wouldn't get stolen, and went inside the old whitewashed building.

The corners of the pages of the booklet had common symbols on them, and when the prime numbered pages were cut out (the first three pages were only front sided) the symbols could be matched at the corners and the map was formed. Nine pages put together made a series of hand drawn maps showing three different locations with three X's and a brief blurb giving specifics. The librarian was especially flummoxed by the map, as the pages seemed to be drawn independently of each other, but still formed a cohesive single document spanning a single sheet.

The kids seemed to have forgotten the whole traumatizing incident that had brought them the map. They launched right into taping the pieces together without considering any deeper issues that might give an adult reason for reflection. The librarian on the other hand, did have these thoughts and decided that more than likely, this was an innocuous treasure hunt, especially since only one X seemed to be located in town. She gave the children her blessing save one piece of advice.

"Now, if you do find anything, remember that it would be the right thing to do to turn it into the police first. Then, should they allow you to keep whatever it may be, it will be yours legally."

The children agreed, along with a promise to first tell their parents what they were up to, and left the Grass Valley Public Library.

"We are not actually going to tell our parents what we are doing, are we?" Zach asked.

"No way! My mother would never let me go!" Chelsea said.

"And mine is at work, so I couldn't ask her anyway," Greg said.

So, with that agreement, they were off on their treasure hunt. The map, that they had studied, contained three different locations of treasures. Two of the places on the map were labeled Silver City and Lone Pine. None of the three knew those two locations, so they went after the X in their own town. It was located not far from them, in a place they knew, in fact. Three little tear marks set just down the road from the high school, and up a main road from where they were at, marked a small reservoir hidden in the middle of the town. The X was on a creek that led into the ponds. The note about this treasure said it was under a rock that was covered by a tree branch.

The three raced up the road and circumnavigated the reservoir, going down a side street full of houses that dead-ended against the greenspace. They again laid their bikes aside and picked their way through a mound of blackberries and onto the bank of the creek. The area was far from natural, fences backed up to the blackberry bush infested area, with trash and broken bottles intermittently strewn about. This was a hobo paradise, and in evidence was a moldy mattress dumped halfway into the thorny vines. The children moved toward the ponds until they spied on the far bank, the landmark described on the map.

The sense of elation was immediate and the three jumped to the opposite side of the creek. They all tried hard to keep their glee to themselves as to not alert anyone in the area.

The account on the map was word for word for as how the children would have described the place. Atop a pad of concrete sat a boulder the size of a small wrecking ball, with a thin tree branch growing horizontal out over the top of the stone to reach the sunlight available over the creek. Greg grabbed the branch and lifted with all his might. The branch lazily took its undulating weight off the stone while Chelsea and Zach pushed with all their weight. Feet slipped on gravel and tore at weeds, but the stone rolled and a black hole was uncovered.

Greg looked to Chelsea and Zach, and each back to the other. Finally Greg knelt to the hole unsure of what he would find.

The Bronze Coin

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Peter saw his brother for the second time that day. He had an hour left on his shift at the gas station and the beautiful day had just absolutely crawled by. There were only so many hours of shows about physics he could watch in one day...

This time his brother came around, he was dragging his old red wagon and accompanied by two friends. He grinned at them as they came in, hopeful of the distraction they may provide for the last minutes of his workday. The front bell dinged as the three youths dragged the wagon with them into the small convince store. The sight of three backpacks sitting upright in the wagon prompted his first question.

"What have you guys got there?" Peter Thompson asked.

The three glanced down at their last years' school backpacks sitting stuffed full in the wagon. All eyes then rested on Greg. The shaggy blond boy took the lead with his brother.

"We need some advice. Mizz Robinson over at the library told us we should turn this stuff over to the cops, but we wanted to know what you think first..."

Peter's eyes narrowed as he came around the counter and went for the bags.

"And you are the smartest guy I know that isn't an adult..."

The girl's backpack was unzipped first, revealing the most extraordinary thing. Peter paused and looked up at the kids and then peaked in the other two bags. They were full of a modern day pirate's booty: jewelry, coins, velvet pouches full of cut stones, and tons of Canadian currency.

"What... Where did you get this?!"

"I know, there must be a thousand million dollars in there," the taller, dark skinned kid said. "It's money from Canada."

"I can see that," Peter said, flipping through a stack. "Like I said, where did all this come from?"

"We saw a man die today," the girl said. Peter thought she looked familiar and recognized her as a Donavan. Peter knew of her older sister, who was a year behind him in school. "He gave Greg a book with a map in it and it lead us to his buried treasure."

"A guy? What guy? Here in town?"

"Yeah, this morning at about ten. We were leaving the fairgrounds and this car hit him and just drove off. He was homeless or something. I don't now why with all this money..." Greg said.

"And the librarian told you to turn it in? Have you shown anyone else?" Peter asked.

"No, she just knew we found the map," Zach said. "We haven't shown anyone but you, yet."

"And I didn't tell the cops about the book when they came," Greg said, catching on to the line of questioning. He trusted his big brother, who could be a bit cocky, but who would never steal from his little brother.

"Then don't give it to the cops. If you do, you will never see it again. They will hang on to it forever, making sure it wasn't from a bank robbery or something."

Peter eyed a large bronze, tarnished coin on the top of one of the bag. He fished it out. "It looks like you have it pretty evenly distributed out. I say you guys hang on to it and don't tell anyone. Hide it somewhere yourselves and when you get older you can trade it for American cash. You could pay for your college with all that. I bet there is more like a hundred thousand between all these bags. Plus everything else..."

The three kids eyes lit up at hearing there was another option, one they rather liked now that it was said. They jumped on their bags, zipping them up so none else would see. Peter had one more thing to say.

"But, you guys are going to have to keep this a secret for it to work. If one of you gets discovered, they can't let on that anyone else has something like they do, or it will get taken away." Everyone nodded and he continued. "So, for my advice and silence, I'm taking this coin as payment."

"I'm okay with that, it was in my bag anyway," Greg said, taking the handle and leading it out of the store. The other two followed .

Peter could hear them scheming where it was that they would hide their part of the loot. They exited the store and Peter chuckled to himself hearing mention of a tree fort as a possible hiding place. Hopefully his brother would veto that dumb idea. He looked down at his coin.

He he made a good selection, he thought, looking at the foreign writing on the thick bit of metal. A woman's profile was on the front and an hourglass was on the back. The edges were worn and it was obviously old. It may be worth more than a stack of money that he was sure he could have gotten away with. At least it might make a good flipping coin. He would have to flip it ten times to make sure it was properly balanced and not biased to one decision over another...

At fifteen past three, on a Thursday in August, Peter Thompson, a gas station attendant from Grass Valley, flipped a Time Coin and disappeared from where he stood.

He was unaware he had stepped out of time until he was told. Upon reaching the zenith of its flipping motion, the coin froze in mid air and Peter found himself standing in a sphere of oily-white light. The service station was gone; the only thing that existed in his world was himself and the coin.

"What is this?" Peter was bewildered.

"You have activated this travel device," A sweet female voice said to the young man. "Please state where in time and or space you would like to go."

"Time or space?" The reality had not yet sunken in.

"Yes. This unit is limited to the planet earth, and a span of 4,500 years. Please state your destination."

Peter looked around the bubble he was in and said the first thing that came into his mind. "Take me back, now!"

Greg and his friends had walked across the pump area and headed back up the hill to the Thompson household, where no one would be home for at least another hour. They had plans to make and needed to get off the street with the backpacks full of money. He gave one last look at his brother and watched him flip the big coin into the air and catch it with his flipping hand. Peter stared off into space after the catch. Greg turned back with his friends. It was the last time he would see his brother until they were both old men.

Peters mind raced upon finding himself back where he was a moment before. A time machine? Well, not a machine exactly... A device? That is what it had said. He opened his palm and looked down at the thing he held in his hand. Peter Thompson wondered if he had just had a stroke, or something. His brother had just walked out of sight and so he flipped the coin again.

"You have activated this travel device," A sweet female voice said, once again. "Please state where in time and or space you would like to go."

"The first Super Bowl. The Packers win... But I can't remember what year," Peter said searching his mind for more specifics.

"January 15th, 1967," The voice spoke. "Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, Los Angeles, California. United States, North America."

"Yeah," Peter said, amazed. "That's the one."

"The game begins at 1:15 Pacific Standard Time. Would you like an insertion suggestion?"

"Yes?"

"I can place you in an unused men's bathroom stall at two minutes forty seconds before the beginning of the game. Is this acceptable?" the voice said.

"Yes," Peter said firmly, pulse jumping and hands shaking.

"You will be placed in five seconds. Please remember the Hopper rules for device activations."

Peter furrowed his brow, but before he could ask, his white bubble of a surrounding was gone. He was left starting at a porcelain toilet on a concrete floor. He caught the coin as it fell.

Was he really at the very first Super Bowl? Peter had been a life long Packers fan and had watched re-runs of the first NFL championship on TV. But never had he even fathomed that he would find a time machine to take him back to see it. Time device! The coin was in his hand and it still looked innocuous enough. He jammed it into his pocket and ventured out of the stall.

He was still wearing his bowling style work shirt, and suddenly felt out of place in the bathroom full of men wearing clothes from 1967. To his relief, no one seemed to look at him any different. In fact a big man in front of him ushered him out of his stall muttering about how he was going to miss kick-off.

The first Super Bowl! The largest smile grew on his face as he walked out of the men's bathroom at the LA Coliseum. Vince Lombardy...! Peter's mind jumped.

Peter went back into the stall, several hours later, and activated his device. He had no idea about the rules he was told to remember, but he figured it had to be something about not being seen. Or was it that he must use the same place out that he took in? Oh well, he was flying too high to care.

The game had been amazing. Even though he knew the outcome, he was still swept up in the moment. He had been so caught up, in fact, that he had not even thought about where he wanted to go next. He was sure as hell not going home! No time for that, he chuckled ironically to himself. He was back outside of time, and now he had to think.

Where to go? Anywhere!

And then it came to him. He had been watching the shows about the universe all day. The device had said he was restricted to this planet, unfortunately, but London was on this planet!

Stephen Hawking! On one of the episodes he had watched that day, the physicist had left an open invitation to time travelers from the future (obviously as no one from the past would know about the invitation) to meet on a specific date in London for a party. He remembered that they hung a banner and everything! But, as any reasonable person who had not discovered a time device would expect, no one showed. Well, he was about to blow that guys mind!

"I want to go to London, to Stephen Hawking's party for time travelers. It was sometime in 2009. Do you have the specifics on that one?"

"June 28th, 2009. Gonville and Caius College, Trinity Street, Cambridge, England. United Kingdom, Europe."

"Excellent!"

"The event in question occurs at 12:00 Universal Time, in a private banquet room. May I suggest an insertion point?"

"Go ahead," Peter smiled and nodded his head.

"The alley beside The Michael House Cafe, directly across the street from the building in question, three minutes, five seconds until twelve. Is this acceptable?"

"This coin is good! It is, take me there!"

"You will be placed in five seconds," the voice said.

No rule warning? Peter thought and was gone.

Fifty feet down the ally beside the cafe that was previously mentioned, Peter popped into existence and caught the falling coin. In front of him was a bustling outdoor sitting area, full of people. His eyes went wide and he hoped no one saw him, but they all had. Everyone was looking right at him. He heard and felt a strange noise behind him. Reflexively he turned to look.

A large figure in a black suit and the head of a reptile was on top of him before he could make another move. Inside a sudden iron grip, Peter, the foolish time traveler, was apprehended. The lizard-man disappeared out of existence, taking Peter with him.

The crowd sitting outside the cafe, turned right back on their natural activity, the moment the trap had succeeded. They had seen the apprehension they had known would occur, and had come to see. Stephen Hawking remained the only person at his party.

The Supervisor

The pair saw it happen out of the corner of their eye and kept on walking.

The cafe was suddenly abuzz, and then went quite. Some action happened in the space between the buildings and then it snapped back to the normal it had been the moment before. The taller man, in a grey three-piece suit made a small motion to keep the younger, and shorter man, from showing any signs of interest. The dark haired man in the grey suit looked to be middle aged. The younger could have been in his thirties, but still kept a boyish face. They kept on walking south on Trinity Street.

They walked, but not unnoticed. A black woman with medium length ringlets watched them pass with only her eyes. She waited a moment as they continued on their way, waited for another event to be observed, and then departed with the rest of the cafe customers who left in small spurts. The show was over.

"What was that?" Vega asked.

"Time tourists," Aros said. "They are nothing to be concerned over, but when you see them, its best to beware."

"They go to interesting points in time and watch like tourists? How does that work?"

"In Earth's future, when time travel has been commercialized for the select rich and privileged, they send people back to watch events. I even think some of them have the means to record the event firsthand to place in archives. They don't make many mistakes because time is on their side. There are rules governing all this. I don't understand it all, but time is tricky. Tourists don't interact with anyone other than their group to avoid people from other times.

"But no system is perfect, and when the means of travel are lost they set up traps to catch unauthorized tourists. That must have been one," Aros said.

"So its best to avoid them..."

"Yes, but when you see them it can mean something important is about to happen, or you have not stayed out of the spotlight well enough. I can't say that I have ever noticed them watching me when I was in this version of Earth."

"Others, then?"

"Well," Aros said, "Time works different on different levels, as far as I have seen. In this version, tourists exist as a result. It can be a gauge of which version you are in: alternate timelines, changeability, resistant changeability, uni-directionality... But that only goes so far. It makes me think..."

They turned right on the tan cobble stone pavement of the Senate House Passage. The sky was covered in grey clouds and the ground was wet from a recent rain. The two men's footfalls echoed off of the walls of the surrounding buildings.

"I think we are being followed," Vega said.

Aros nodded and walked a distance further and took up position against the corner of a building, next to a wrought iron fence that spanned the distance until the next building. Aros leaned back casually, with the top of his back and one foot resting against the wall, hands in coat pocket.

Vega stood with legs shoulder width apart, facing the direction of the trailing tourist. The passageway was not very crowded as the dark woman walked up to the awaiting pair. She spoke to Aros with a smile on her face that gave away not a hint of secondary communication.

"Will you tell me what she is saying?" Vega said.

"That is what they want," Aros said, code switching between the two languages that Vega could speak. "They would love a recording to analyze my translation of the conversation."

Vega looked around, startled to see another person watching them from a nearby window and another two watching from opposite rooftops. Vega was shocked by the seemingly sudden arrival of the people who blended in so seamlessly with the local population.

"You are the enigma," the woman spoke in a precise British accent.

Aros kept his careless pose and answered with matching pleasantness. "Why, thank you."

"We know very little about you, and it was only by chance that I recognized you back there. May I speak with you? We have a suspicion that you know things about the universe that we do not."

The woman was interrupted by a brief exchange between the two men, but smiled as they finished.

"What is it you want from me?" Aros said once he and Vega had finished.

"What is the name of your friend? Should you not share with him what we talk about?"

"No, he will be fine," Aros smiled back.

A passerby came down the passage, another dark skinned female, carrying an umbrella. The woman stopped to look at the time tourist, and mouthed a short message. Vega could not help but notice that the newcomer and their tail were one in the same, a message to herself from a future time.

"Ahh... It seems you almost made a mistake," Aros pointed out.

"Not a mistake, just a hint. Where were we? If not your companions' name, may I know yours? I am a Supervisor of the tourists. My name is Shana."

"Greetings, Shana. I may give you mine, but I have a request of my own. Perhaps a trade?"

Vega could barely contain himself. After seeing a woman walk up to her past self and the arrival of another pair of tourists down the Passage, he was becoming quite nervous. This was getting out of control, and Aros remained leaning and smiling.

"I thought you said less interaction was better. I feel like you are about to make a decision that will get us noticed," he hissed.

"It appears they have heard of me anyway. Since our last attempt failed, this may be another way to keep moving. Let me see what I can coax from them."

"My friend and I need to get back in time. One hundred and nine years. This place in space will do," Aros said.

"Letting us transport you would be a larger concession than knowing your name," the supervisor smiled. "What is it in the year 1900 that you are seeking, if I may ask."

Aros stayed tight-lipped, until Shana rephrased her question.

"In fact I must know the nature, to be blunt. There are systems in place to prevent mistakes, as you saw back there."

"I seek to purchase a crystal egg in London at a shop near Seven Dials."

The supervisor cocked her head slightly as if searching her memory, wrinkled her nose, and lifter her left hand to look at her wristwatch. After a moment of intense counsel with the innocuous looking device, she looked back at the man in grey.

"Will your friend be coming?"

"Naturally."

She glanced at the timepiece again, and then back to Vega.

"Well, I think he is better looking than the blonde clones..."

The smile slid from Aros's face.

Vega became truly worried at the look on his friends face, still not fully understanding much of the content of the conversation.

"See, not a mistake, just saving a part of the exchange for later. We can go as soon as you fulfill your end of the bargain," the Supervisor said, holding out her hand.

Speaking a single word, Aros bid Vega to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Aros."

"Ahh," Shana said, after confirming with her watch, "Aros the enigma. Well, are you ready to go?"

He gave no verbal response, but took her hand and they were gone. The tourists at the windows, on the roofs, and down the path all dispersed as well. Cambridge went back about its business that June afternoon.

Blackheart

His feet were raw and soft from being wet so long, but he trudged on. The base of the mountains had come into sight, hazy, yet visible now at the furthest distance he could see. There were no breaks in the shin deep water that stretched before him. Each step over the smooth oblong stones that were submerged below the blanket of water was an effort, but one well worth it. In the mountains was his chance to earn a name.

As he walked, he held onto the bandolier hung over one shoulder. In the pockets were two weapons and a small bit of food. He had been walking for half a day and a full night; first over dry land and then in the middle of the night he reached the water. The shallow ocean was not a surprise to him. He was told it would be the last obstacle between him and the land that reached up into the constant cloud covered sky.

His people did not come from mountains. They lived along rivers, and islands or caves that ran through the earth. Steep land was the home to the great beasts, and was only used for pilgrimages. The mountains extended up past the low layer of grey clouds and from them, he was told, you could see the true sky beyond. And now it was his turn. The nameless one worked his way across the great distance and would find his fate in the mountains.

Only the sound of his wrapped feet breaking the surface of the water was to be heard. It was the only thing that reminded him that he was still moving. The scenery looked all the same and the mountains drew closer at too slow of a pace to account for. The splashing of his feet...

The first step onto dry ground was painful. Too long had they been waterlogged beneath him. He looked up into the hills and let out a deep breath. He would need to stop before he finished his task. The rags were removed and draped across a stone to dry. I will leave them here, he thought. I can get them on my way back. His people rarely protected their feet. He had grown up on a river and used canoes to go long distances. It was a shame the water was not deep enough for a canoe...

Leaving his feet to dry and pointed uphill, the boy in dark clothes slept; exhausted from the distance he had come. It was the first time he had gotten to close his eyes since he has set out...

All the men whore the dark amber stones around their necks. Some wrapped theirs in the same fine leather that the stones dangled from, while others kept theirs in pouches, and away from common view. It was becoming popular for the new men to make metal claws that held the smooth stones in their grasp, and then it was worn around ones neck. How would he wear his? In a small pouch, like the old way perhaps...

He awoke and the sky was still grey. Now, I will go and see what is above you, he said to the clouds. His feet were dry and solid again. Much of the swelling from the walking had gone down as well. It was time to move. The day would not wait for him and his name beckoned. So up the hill he went.

The path was dusty and he saw no tracks. In one hand he held a fist sized stone, and in the other the cord from which the weight could be swung. He twirled it occasionally to make sure he still knew the load. He was in the clouds now; the luminous fog blanketed the area, allowing him to see only fifty feet in all directions. The ground was made up of packed orange dirt and a subsequent powder that spread across the landscape. Small pine trees that grew no more than waist high created a maze that had to be navigated on the way to the summit. The only sound was the rhythmic pattering of his feet...

He felt like a giant treading among the small pines along the gradual slope of the mountain. His feet continued to slap the solid ground, crunching slightly as they sent up small puffs of dirt. He set his gaze in front of himself and plodded his way along the landscape that was void of vegetation, except for the trees. How long would this take?

He walked like this for a long distance, until the ground began to level out and he wondered how high up the mountain he had come. The subtle change in the sound of his footsteps came to the forefront of his mind and his heart rate accelerated beyond what he ever anticipated. How long has this been going on and I have not noticed? He kept his gaze fixed forward continued to walk. The only sound was the slapping of his feet, and now possibly another pair matching his own...

Through his fingers he let the weighted cord fall, the striking ball hang free. He took a breath, a normal breath in reality, but to him it felt like the slowest he had taken in his life. At the peak of the breath he moved.

In a fluid motion, he dropped his non-dominate knee and turned on the ball of his lead foot, making it the trail base. With the hand holding the end of the looped cord he struck out at the towering dark beast trailing behind him. The sudden turn added to the centrifugal force that both surprised the black, stinking creature and sent the accelerating mass into the side of its relatively small head. In one move, the beast was taken down, letting loose one final cry.

The nameless one stood in shock as the dust settled around the black haired monster that walked on its rear legs. He had only ever seen crude representations, that were usually quite abstract, painted by men who had came back from their name-quest. This was real. This was nothing like the tales told around the fire to scare the young boys before their time.

It had the head of a dog, and the body of a bear, but it was much larger and the fur was very long; matted in some places. Coming to his senses, a short bladed knife was drawn from the bandolier and the kill was made certain. So close to a name, the young man looked around to make sure he was alone, and cut into the chest of the beast.

The smell was awful. It seemed to be coming from a scent gland on the belly and coated the fur around the area. The smell was coating the inside of his nose and making him nauseous, but he kept on with his task. The blood from the creature was black and sticky and the heart did not free itself easily from the beast's chest. Finally it was free, and the young man held his name in his hand, letting the blood drain onto the ground. With a final look at the beast, he walked away, back down the mountain holding the heart in one hand, forgetting all about seeing the sky. This time he moved with intent, not allowing himself to be stocked again.

He clamored down the last stretch to where he had left his feet wrappings and set the black heart on the rock beside them. From around the slope, dried grass and sticks were gathered and placed near the makeshift camp. Once enough fuel was gathered, the proper stone was selected and the spine of the knife was scraped across it. On the third attempt, a spark caught the tinder and smoke heralded tiny flames.

The heart was of a good size, and would make a medium length name. It made the young man smile as he squeezed at the cartilage-tough organ to purge the remaining blood. Once the fire grew to a large enough size, the heart was placed on the pyre. The heat boiled off the remaining blood and the heart began to melt in on itself. Smaller and smaller it grew until it was an oblong lump sitting in the coals. The nameless youth could barely contain his long awaited curiosity. He fished the burnt gem from the fire and brought it to the water's edge. He washed the stone and rubbed it free of soot. Holding it to the light, he could see the tiny imperfection of bubbles trapped in the stone. Sectioning the stone off and allocating the dots of bubbles to letters, he read his name for the first time. Four consonants were left for him in his peoples writing, and he would add the vowels.

"Seprig."

Seprig smiled and was content at his name. He had come a long way and not imagined the way back would be easier now that he had come this far. He took a deep breath and prepared to take to his feet.

Above the clouds, a deep roar pounded the ground below. Seprig clutched his name stone in his hand and looked to the heavens. Off in the distance, well over the shallow sea, a thing like none on this world had ever seen, descended through the clouds. Shaped like a huge arrowhead and with yellow lightning crackling from the back and bottom, the spacecraft dipped below the clouds and made its way in the direction of Seprig's home.

Having no idea what he was seeing, Seprig tied on his foot cloths and splashed into the water and went in pursuit of the flying mountain he had just seen drop down from the heavens.

A Deep Dive

The view from the top of the cliff, of the body plunging down through the sky, was a sight Quinn would never forget. The splash was almost too small to see, and the dark silhouette against the deep blue sea made tracking the impact even more difficult. Tracing the direction of the fall, there were no airplanes, anywhere in that corner of the sky. In fact, there was no logical place the falling body could have come from. Unless it was an astronaut or a rocket-man...

Divemaster Quinn Cray always gave a solid briefing before each dive he led. He had dove with the French geologist, Marco, a few times before and trusted his abilities, but of his two friends he was skeptical.

"Tell me about your diving capability," Quinn said to the two Canadian women on the drive over to Portrush.

"Well," Alyssa said, "Hanna and I were both certified in Belize two years ago, and we try to go whenever we get a chance. We did some islands in Southern California last year with Marco."

"What was the water temperature like out there? I have never been to the states."

"It's in the low twenties," Hanna answered. She was the thin blonde compared to her shorter, dark haired friend.

"Well, here in Northern Ireland, it is much colder. You did say it was your first time wearing dry suits?" Quinn said, keeping his eyes on the road while his passengers sat behind him in the small van.

"Yes. I'm pretty excited to see what it will be like. We got the little class back at the dive shop, but I'm still not totally convinced I won't break a seal and get soaked!" Hanna said.

"I thought the same thing when I first started diving here," Marco said in his thick French accent. "As long as you are gentle getting everything on, we will be dry."

Quinn pulled off the main road, down a pair of ruts toward the ocean. Castlerock was an intermediate site that he had dove twice before, and figured it would be a good spot to take his group. Quinn was employed by his home shop as a small group guide, and he had the pleasure of taking experienced visiting divers to see the wreck-laden coast of the Atlantic, when he was not assisting with training. This was how he made extra money on the weekends, when he was not working as a janitor. They unloaded the van after checking out the shore conditions and got into their dry suit undergarments. Around the back of the van the group gathered and Quinn got into his brief.

"The name of this site is Castlerock. We will be walking down that staircase and making our entry across the rocks. It is important to keep your balance and take it slow. Select your foot placement carefully and when a wave comes in, bend your knees and move again when you are ready. We will put our fins on once we get to about waist depth and then start our swim out. The area is covered in kelp and sea grass, but we should avoid most of it as long as we follow a sand channel away from shore.

"Water temperature is forecasted to be around twelve degrees, so stick your face in before you start out, so you are not shocked by a unexpected splash while swimming. Once out to a good depth, we will drop down and go out for our tour. We can run a big triangle from our starting point, to get a good go round of the place. I will let you know each turn, but each of you must signal me when you reach the air allotted turns."

"What do each of yer tanks pressure read?" Quinn asked.

"I have 210 bars," Marco read off his gauge.

"208," came from Alyssa.

"Me too," Hanna said.

"Right, so we want at least fifty left over when it is time to come up. Call it one hundred fifty bar of usable air once we first go down, and three legs of the triangle. Therefore we will make our first turn when the first among us hits 150. Then again at one hundred, and begin our surfacing when we reach fifty. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, and Quinn finished. "Maximum depth will be twenty-two meters, and some spots go to thirty or deeper, so watch your depth. Visibility should be at least 8 meters. There are plenty of skate, dogfish and lobster to see out here, as well as pinnacles that have complete ecosystems' worth of life crawling on them, so take your time. Enjoy the sights. If we have any emergencies, look to me and follow all instructions."

The group got into their dry suits, being careful to not tear any seals, and donned the rest of their gear. The heavily laden figures looked clumsy on the land as they performed buddy checks and waddled down to the surf. The two teams entered between a set of waves without incident. The girls were enjoying themselves, laughing about the cold and throwing floating chunks of kelp at each other as they followed the men out into deeper water. After a longish swim with their faces in the water and snorkels in their mouth, the group came to a stop around Quinn.

"Alright, we should be good here," Quin said, giving the thumbs down and placing his regulator in his mouth. A hiss of air erupted from around his body as he let some of the air from his buoyancy compensator that had been keeping him floating easily on the surface. The other followed suit and they slowly descended like freefalling parachutists into the depths.

Below the surface, sound becomes meaningless. There is no point in talking, or hearing of laughter, only the cycle of air flowing from the regulator with every inhalation and a torrent of bubbles to complete the phase. Hand and body signals are the primary method of communication, while underwater writing slates are reserved for last resorts. The group slowed themselves in the higher pressure depths by incrementally adding air to the insides of their dry suits, reacting early to obtain neutral buoyancy, like a hot-air balloon coming in for a landing. Once hovering a few feet from the sandy bottom, Quinn asked with his hands if everyone was ready to proceed. After a positive answer from his flock, Quinn took a bearing with his compass, confirmed with Marco and ushered the group forth.

The diving off the Atlantic side of Northern Ireland was fantastic. If one could deal with the cold and sometime rough conditions, it was different side of diving that few tropical resort divers ever venture to see. Fields of rocks, serving as anchors for kelp, gave the area the look like an underwater forest with the 'trees' swaying in the gentle surge. Quinn felt completely at home under the water, relaxing into an easy kick cycle. He looked over at the Canadian buddy team, who swam in line with him, and watched their air consumption. He could tell by the amount of bubbles being expelled that their breathing rate was a bit faster than his. But that was to be expected. They were in a new environment and the stress level was higher for them. He knew that it would end up being one of the two that reached the remaining air level first, and would prompt the first 120-degree turn.

Cruising over the rocks like helicopters flying nape-of-the-earth, one of the girls (the two were nearly indistinguishable from each other in all the dark gear) signaled that she had reached 150 bar of air remaining in her tank. Quinn nodded and rotated the bezel on his wrist compass and chopped a hand in their new direction. The pack turned and set off, kicking with their feet and using their arms only in the event they needed to part kelp strands from their path. Reaching one of the promised pinnacles of rock that extended almost to the surface, the divers stopped to change depths and inspect the various aspects of the towering stone.

Once the girls had lost interest, Quinn tapped the geologist on the shoulder and signaled their departure. Checking his gauges and being satisfied, Quinn took the lead across a wide expanse of sand that separated them from the barely discernable wall of kelp that they would enter following their path. The water brightened as the sun broke through the clouds for a brief moment, and Quinn flipped on his back, looking to the surface while he skimmed along the sand. When he turned back over to normal swimming position, his senses were assaulted with unexpected stimuli.

In a circle the size of one of the divers, the sand suddenly sunk down into the darkness like a rapidly occurring sinkhole. Quinn's eyes went wide as his brain tried to interpret what he was seeing so close to his face and he was sucked down into the vortex. The divemaster was not the only one to be swallowed up suddenly. Marco was taken directly behind his dive partner and another vortex sucked both the girls in. In the expanse of sand, some particles were kicked up making a cloud over the sites where the vortices appeared, but after a few moments, things settled back leaving the area as it had been moments before.

Quinn was inverted. His legs became filled with the air in his dry suit and he was out of control with his buoyancy. Unable to dump the air due to a lack of releases on his legs, Quinn went into automatic problem solving mode to correct the potentially life threatening problem of an uncontrolled ascent. He tucked his legs and rolled into a ball, forcing the air into the main body of his suit. He then used his finned feet and arms to upright himself and used the dump valve on his shoulder to stop his gaining positive movement. Once he was stopped, he trashed around in the water to orient himself and look for the others.

Marco was attempting the maneuver he had just completed, but seemed to be having only minor difficulty. This was not his first time in a dry suit and standard training for the equipment always included what to do in the event of air being trapped in a un-dump-able region. Looking further for the girls, he finally found them, much further towards the surface than they should have been. It seemed that one had not been able to control her ascent and the other had gone after her. This was not good.

Quinn looked to Marco, who was now under control, pointed to the girls and gave the signal to surface. With a nod, both divers kicked slowly to the surface. Deciding to ignore the safety stop for himself in order to more quickly attend to the other two divers, Quinn looked to his instruments, before giving instructions to Marco. What he saw shocked him.

The first thing to jump out at him was the water temperature. For his situation it was not important, but he noticed it nonetheless. Twenty-eight degrees? How had the temp jumped fifteen degrees that quickly? Had they entered a thermocline? And then the depth! It was no wonder he had had a brief uncontrolled ascent. He had been in twenty meters of water and now he was in eight! He could feel the water warm on his face as he signaled to his partner that he should still hover at five meters for three minutes of decompression before surfacing.

The sun was too bright as he watched his bubbles grow larger and escape to the surface. He came up beside the girls who were floating life rafts on the small waves. Adding air to his suit to keep him afloat, Quinn pulled off his mask and checked in on the girls.

"Are you alright? Both of you?"

Alyssa was floating on her back with here mask and hood pulled off her head. Hanna floated beside her, feet down, mask on her forehead.

"I just shot to the surface!" Alyssa sobbed. "I don't know what happened, I didn't even have a chance to slow down!"

At least she is talking, Quinn thought. That meant she probably didn't have a lung over-expansion injury. Hanna was more in shock than her crying friend. She stared blankly at the coastline as she bobbed gently up and down.

"Where are we? That is not our coastline..."

"I don't know..." Quinn answered, perplexed himself. He was going to have to monitor all of them for decompression sickness. They were done diving for the day, and needed to get to the shore and to a doctor. Who knows what had happened to their dive profile...

And the coast! It was a cliff face of light brown stone... Had an underwater current pulled them? And why was the water suddenly bath water warm? They couldn't have lost consciousness because he still had almost one hundred bars of air and they were nearing their final turn before... something... had happened. Quinn took a compass reading for the direction of the cliff and checked the time, storing the information it in his memory. The water around the trio stirred as the bubbles from Marco's safety stop reached the surface. The Frenchman surfaced and Quinn got the group moving to the cliffs.

They had to climb the cliffs, so they left all of their gear but the dry suits they wore down in the water, BC's inflated and tethered to a line anchored at the cliffs.

The way up was moderately difficult for the non-climbers. Marco kept commenting about the content of the cliffs and how they were remarkably different from the land they had left. Quinn paid little heed and was more concerned by reaching the top and getting some help for his possibly bent divers.

Reaching the top fixed none of their fears. As far as they could see was a barren rocky landscape stretching until the land became a haze. Quinn thrust the implications away and started removing his thermal protection. The others did the same and examined their physical situation.

Marco felt fine and so did Hanna. Alyssa complained of a headache and a slight discoloring was found on her chest. Quinn knew she was bent, however it was pretty slight. As for himself, he told everyone he felt fine, and even tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the slight twinge of pain in both elbows whenever he moved them said different.

Quinn plopped down on a rock, looking out at the ocean, and tried to come up with a plan. Where the bloody hell were they? Deep down he knew something was very wrong. The water should not have been that warm! They were not in Ireland anymore, and that was the hard fact he had come to. And then he saw the falling man.

They all saw it. Quinn sat silent while the others whipped themselves into a slight frenzy behind him and didn't quiet down until Quinn announced he saw someone. Someone was swimming towards them from the open ocean.

He approached from a different direction and was on a bearing to hit land a ways up from them, but the groups shouting changed his course. He reached the cliffs at a more difficult place to climb than the group had used, but began to scale the stone at a good pace even so. The group looked down at their visitor and noticed his features. He had close cropped hair; a bristle of black, even length across his scalp. He had light skin and no clothes to hide this fact. He looked up at them halfway up the cliff, smiled in a somber way and nodded his head to them.

The girls noticed this fact and backed away from the cliff to give the man some modesty. Quinn stayed to greet their visitor and Marco stripped off the shorts he wore under his dry suit undergarments. The man coming up over the edge had a handsome non-descriptive face and was built solid, but slightly lanky. Marco threw him his shorts and the man half-bowed to him and pulled them on. Now that he was decent, Quinn took the lead.

"Where did you come from? We saw you fall through the sky!"

"Ahh, English! Where are we?" the man said, speaking in perfect English, but with an unplaced accent.

"That's what we'd like to know too!" Hanna said. "Did you jump from a plane or something? How do you not know where we are?"

"Why weren't you wearing any clothes?" Alyssa demanded. You could tell she was not feeling well by the sound of her voice.

"We don't know where this is," Marco tried to help. "We were at Portrush diving and then here. Where do you think we are?"

"Portrush?" the man said. He mimicked the pronunciation of the Frenchman.

"Northern Ireland," Quinn said.

"Earth?"

"Yes, Earth!" Alyssa said. "What planet did you come from!? We didn't see any planes, did you jump from space or something?"

"Like that Redbull guy?" Hanna said to her friend. "That makes sense. Maybe why he had to abandon his space suit... Where are the people that are going to pick you up?"

"Oh, it's just me. What year is it, may I ask? This may sound crazy, but I just want to be sure. It has to be somewhere in the two thousands by the look of your gear."

Now everyone was quiet. They were all perplexed by the strange person that had suddenly appeared to them asking what planet they were on and what year it was. Furthermore, his accent seemed to change as everyone continued to talk. At first he sounded like someone from the southern states of America and shifted to a more South African sound.

"Twenty fifteen," Quinn answered quietly.

"And is there a Tsar ruling Russia? Or another form of government?"

This prompted glances between the divers. "I think it's a capitalist system now..." Hanna said.

"Excelent!" The man said.

"And what is your name, friend?" Quinn said.

"Ahh. Since you all come from Ireland, call me Aeongus."

"Angus? Aye."

"So I fell from a the sky, it seems. How did you arrive here from Earth? Because this does not look like the Northern Hemisphere..." Angus said looking around.

The divers told their tale and Angus listened.

"We need to get back, directly," Quinn said in a low voice once their tale had been told.

Angus took a seat on the rocks next to Quinn in contemplation while the others went a small distance inland to scout their surroundings. Angus looked at the shorter, thick divemaster and nodded.

He has purple eyes? Quinn noticed.

"You are worried about the health of your divers. I understand. Sudden pressure changes... I think the best way to get us all to Earth would be back the way you came," Angus said, "through those Mermaid holes."

"Mermaid holes?" Quinn said. "Funny name. But you don't have any equipment. And I don't know if we have enough gas left to do that."

"You told me yourself that time is of the essence for treating your pressure illness. We have to make it work. Finding another way may be possible, but could take a very long time. In my experience, take the way back you know."

"In your experience?" Quinn questioned.

Angus smiled, but sadness could be seen beneath the expression. The others returned to the cliff's edge. Quinn continued to look at the mysterious man and made up his mind.

"We are going back the way we came," Quinn announced.

"What about air?" Marco argued. "I was quite low once I surfaced. How are we to find that spot and have enough air left for all of us? And he does not even have a mask!"

"That is true," Quinn said. "I once tried to make a full dive with no mask and my eyes were ruined for a week. It is impossible in saltwater. You will have to keep them closed. Will you be able to dive with us blind?"

"Of course."

"We have to do this," Quinn said to the others. "Try at least. What other choice have we? I have a reciprocal direction and a time for the swim. I think I can get us close to where we came up. As far as air, this will be the ultimate test for air consumption. We are going to have to buddy breath and even share air. I have more left than all of you, so Angus here will accompany me."

The others were forced to agree. They put back on their dry suits and found their way down the cliff to their gear. Quinn continued to prep his divers for the challenge ahead as they recovered their kits and made the swim out.

"Watch your gauges closely. Calm yourself and take slow normal breaths. When you are out," he said, focusing on the two less experienced divers, "signal to Marco or myself. We may end up with thee of us sharing off the final tank. If you reach your final breath, remember your emergency swimming ascent."

"And you," Quinn said to the purple eyed man, "Any experience diving?"

"Some. Different than this, but I know the physics and can handle myself in water."

Quinn nodded. He looks comfortable in the water, so at least there is that. Quinn explained to the group how they would proceed to look for the holes once they reach the approximate spot they surfaced from. Everyone was nervous, but on board with the plan, putting their faith in the confidence of their divemaster. Quinn hoped their faith was well placed as he had doubts they would find what they were after. But what other choice did they have?

The group descended together. Angus, eyes closed, gripped Quinn's BC and breathed off his emergency air hose that attached to the single tank. He would be burning through air twice as fast now, but luckily he had extra compared to the others due to his efficient intake rate honed by years of experience. They reached the bottom at a depth of thirteen meters and began the search for the vortices on the sandy, featureless ocean floor.

Angus was doing amazing as a piggybacking diver with no gear. He had little trouble staying down with no additional weight and did not encumber Quinn's movements as much as the diver expected. After a handful of minutes of searching, Quinn began to worry, as no suddenly appearing sinkholes had been found. Then, in the soundless world under the sea, a burst of whale like sound came to his waterlogged ears.

Quinn looked around for a source. He looked to his flock and saw that they had heard the burst of sound as well. And then came another, this time from the body holding on to his gear.

Angus opened his mouth and emitted a call, nearly matching the first, and then he was finished. Eyes closed to the salty water, he waited for a brief response and then slapped his host. Pointing in a direction away from the search area, Angus motioned they should swim.

Looking at his remaining air, Quinn agreed on a last gamble and lead the group in the advised direction. Out of the haze that marked the limit of their visibility under the water, a figure coalesced. When the figure gained more detail, Quinn began to shake with excitement. A mermaid, like Angus had said! He had communicated with her! The two speakers of the underwater tongue communicated briefly again. Quinn forgot about the rest of his group, unable to take his eyes from the half-fish maiden. She pointed to a spot near them and Angus again slapped Quinn's shoulder.

The group made their way over to the indicated spot, and the sand fell away. As before, they were sucked in. Quinn found himself inverted once again, but no longer overly buoyant. He added a burp of air to his suit and corrected himself. The water is freezing! He looked around and found the other three divers. One of the girls was sharing air with Marco and the other had started for the surface. Quinn looked at his air, which was in the red, and did the same.

The break to the surface seemed to be a sprint for the finish line. Quinn abstractly noticed his passenger break away from his spare air, but continued to upward with him. There was no time for a safety stop; Quinn could feel his tank emptying as he worked to suck the last of the gas from his tank. He broke the surface directly behind the other in his group. They all erupted in laughter.

It was almost full dark as they bobbed on the surface, but they knew they were back home despite the time discrepancy. Angus shook in the cold water, but his eyes were open and he beamed with pleasure at their success. A boat was a quarter mile off, and Quinn produced a flashlight, waiving the beam in their direction to alert them they needed help.

The boat turned out to be an Irish Coast Guard cutter on patrol for the lost divers. Hauled aboard, the divers were given blankets and hot tea while the boat rushed back to the dock. Quinn's wife and two young daughters were there to meet them, along with the dive shop owner and a plethora of other people concerned with having lost divers off their coast.

Getting off the boat in a flurry of activity, the divers were welcomed by the relieved crowd with a barrage of questions. After a minute of madness being embraced by his worried family, Quinn turned to find the fifth diver and thank him for his assistance. But the purple-eyed Angus was nowhere to be found. Disappearing in the confusion of their rescue, Quinn never saw the man who fell from the sky, and spoke to mermaids, again.

Vega's Lullaby

Aros sped along the winding mountain pass on a black, stripped-down looking motorbike, making his way toward the summit. It was a warm summer day and the cool patches of air hiding in the shade of the huge redwoods blasted the fully protected rider, cooling him after the stretches of bright sun. The way was wide, but the road twisted on its bridge-like path through the forest. The natives of North Colombia had allowed roads to be built through the protected lands, as long as the wildlife would not be cut off by unnatural boundaries.

Aros loved this part of Tellus. It was still wild, with cities like islands nestled in the untamed country. Like two ribbons winding close and again away from each other, a tram, for those who did not dare brave the uncertainties of manual road travel, paralleled the raised highway. This was the natural west, governed by the native councils of the people that had lived here for generations before the Europens had come to the continent. Now cities and development were limited to select areas, unlike on the eastern coast, where the fifteen states managed their land much more loosely.

The fresh air made Aros smile as he sped along on his cycle. Presently, he reached his exit, rounding the small off ramp to a gravel road past the exit sign that marked the summit. He road the ridge top road for half an hour, until he reached a parking area that marked the end of the way. He cut the engine and coasted to a stop. Aros dismounted his bike, adjusted the straps on his pack, and left his full-faced helmet behind as he walked up a path toward the mountain top temple.

The way was difficult and took some time. It was made to detract all but the most serious visitors. The somber, yet beautiful Asian temple was built high upon the granite peaks. Narrow paths, rope bridges and tiny steps cut into the stone comprised the way to the front gates. Aros, dressed in black leathers, knocked with a gloved hand on the wooden door. A monk with a shaved head and green wrapped robe answered.

"I have come to meditate," Aros said in the Chinese dialect of the monks' order. He was sure the gatekeeper would know Latin, but this would impress upon him the seriousness of his request.

"We do not take guests. Please go away," The monk responded and stayed in place.

"I have come a long way to center my mind," Aros argued.

"We are not a place for tourists."

"I have trained my body at Shaolin on Mount Song years ago. Now I wish to realign my mind."

"You would not like it here. There is no speech inside these walls. The beds are hard and narrow. Food is meager and tasteless. Can you say you want this?" the monk said.

"I know how the Chan like their beds hard and narrow. I would relish it."

"Fine," the monk said without expression, and opened the gate to the visitor.

Things were stowed on a promised bed. Aros clothed himself in the garments of a visitor and went to the stone floored meditation room. On the walls, written in the flowery language of the monks, were message and principals of meditation. Aros sat and began to unwind his mind. It had been a long time.

He had been through a lot, and meditation in a place such as this helped to bring him back to himself. After all the distance he had come, sometimes he forgot his past, the achievements, trials, and wisdom he had gained. In this type of environment he could bring it all back. It was a revitalization of the soul that few other places could facilitate. Aros cleared his mind, followed the words of guidance written by the silent monks, and let come what needed to come.

A time from his recent past surfaced. This was not something that he needed to dwell upon and he attempted to clear it, to let his mind sit empty for the first span of meditation, but it would not go. Rather than fight it, he let it wash over him. He accepted it as part of the process. This retreat had no agenda anyway...

They had just made it out of one war and found themselves thrust into another. Vega did his best at the controls, but the spacecraft was intent on going down hard. Aros, shut down the damaged central reactor and prepared for the crash landing. In all the chaos, Vega shouted over to Aros, showing him his upturned hand crackling with electricity, "Look! My magic works here!"

The fiery heap of spent metal made a brushstroke of red across the light blue sky. They crashed into white sand; a plume of dark smoke marked the place. The two men crawled from the wreckage. They were unhurt but stunned nonetheless. Vega sat on the ground as Aros mutilated his thick armored uniform down to something more functional and comfortable in the humid desert landscape. Vega got up and dug into the wreckage, bringing out a few emergency supplies and a blocky rifle. He tossed the firearm to his partner and they departed the site of the crash.

The landscape was flat. Hard packed white sand spread in every direction with the occasional mountain of clumped stone peaking up in isolation. Aros and Vega made their way to the closest island of brown stone and attempted to gain a view of their surroundings from higher ground. The view was much the same.

"Where do we go?" Vega asked.

"Food, water, shelter, people, whatever we can find. Did you get anything on this planet before we came down?"

"No. I'm not even sure how far between Thraz and the In Base that we got pulled from the stream. I wonder what happened to the rest of the battle group..."

"Over there," Aros pointed out. "You see those dark spots? They are moving slightly."

"Yeah, I have no idea what they are. Go around?"

Aros nodded and they went back to the rippled surface. They made their way to the next island, looking for signs of people or anything else of use. Vega stopped after an interval to cast a spell which would search for anomalies. The orb remained pink without a hint of blue on an edge indicating something of interest. Vega was happy to be able to cast again. It was strange though. His abilities had been inaccessible while in this universe, but now on this planet it had come back? They walked on.

Reaching the next island, the two skirted around the base. Aros slowed down and signaled Vega to stop. They did this wordlessly for they had been traveling together for long enough to not need words. Aros peaked around a outcropping. They had run into one of the swarms they had seen.

Crabs.

Huge crab-like creatures, with flat brown bodies supported by six spiked legs and large pincers, swarmed the area. The individuals in the pack were of varying sizes and shades of brown, but they were all easily larger than the two former spacemen. One look at the beady black eyes told Aros all he needed to know about the creatures sifting through the white sand beyond.

"Beasts. We need to remain clear of them."

"Too late!" Vega shouted as several of the invertebrates became alerted to their presence and started to attack.

Aros put the rifle to his shoulder in an attempt to cover Vega as he started to climb the stone structure. White tracers leapt from the gun, striking at the oncoming onslaught. The high velocity metal ricochet from the sand crabs chitin exoskeleton. Secured in place a ways up the mountain, Vega reached out with a thin blue arc of electricity. The bolt split the air, setting the small hairs on Aros's arms on end as he scaled the smooth brown stone. The struck crab collapsed to the sand from the sudden shock, but the others swarmed past him; the crabs were great climbers. The two men raced for the higher ground while passively attempting to push back the creatures hunting them.

"Great," Aros said, joining Vega on the summit. He let the rifle crackle away, aiming for the presumably vulnerable eyes.

"Plan?" Vega said between bolts.

Aros kicked a stone downhill that was dodged.

"Hmm..." he answered.

Song came from below the defenders feet and a large stone rolled a single turn. A pair of children came up from where the boulder had been, motioning for Aros and Vega to follow them. Without a better option, the two men leapt away from the incoming tide of hungry creatures.

There was a girl and a boy. They had washed out hair and golden skin. Vega faced the entrance, concentrating on defending the opening when another song rang out. The stone rolled back into its place. The group was left in darkness.

"Did they just do that with the music?" Vega asked his companion. Aros gave no reply, as they were lead down the meagerly lit tunnel, deeper into the mountain.

Vega despised this part; he never knew what was going on when it was happening. He always had to get second hand information from Aros, who had to translate what was going on to him. Vega was at his mercy until he could learn enough words to get by himself, if that happened at all. Listening more to the children talk back and forth with Aros, Vega came to the conclusion there was a slim chance he would pick up any of this language. Hitting patches of light, he saw both carried musical instruments, and their language sounded like a song to match.

They arrived at a well-lit cavern and the children ran off, leaving Aros and Vega time to converse as they walked down into the dwellings.

"All I see are children," Vega pointed out.

"I notice that too. Those two do not act like children in their first few years. They may be in the peak of their lifecycle."

"What else did you find out?"

"They are really excited to find us," Aros said. "They seem stoic enough, but I could tell they were almost relieved to see off-worlders. I just know they are going to ask us for help of some kind."

Once on the cave floor, many more children, all looking similar to the pair they had first encountered, came out from various styles of apartments to view the much larger newcomers. Despite Vega's own young age and appearance, he felt like he and Aros were now the only adults surrounded by a children's refugee camp. An apparent leader came forward, wearing a blue long stocking cap. Aros spoke with the group and Vega observed.

There were two dozen of the youngsters, all in pairs. Two held infants wrapped in cloth slings and carried on their chest. Vega smiled to himself at this, as he had been told that this was the way Tarkin children were carried for the first three years of their lives, until they were ready to start walking. The faces were young, but held great intensity. Vega began to like these people already.

One more thing he noticed, they all carried some sort of musical instrument. There were pan flutes, straight woodwinds, stringed harps, small guitar-like creations and everything in between. Some even had a second or third holstered in a rig on their person. Vega started to reach out to a nearby child in a questioning gesture when Aros drew his sidearm in deliberate demonstration and shot the tip of a hanging stalactite. The children all nodded somberly, and Aros spoke to Vega.

"Show them your magic. Something simple."

Vega nodded and extended an arm up to the ceiling. With fingers held like picking fruit from a branch, he sent out a stream of fire into the air. His audiences' eyes went wide and they clamored around him after he put his arm back down. Little hands looked over his body for clues to the trick, but none were found. The leader took a pan flute from a pocket and played a song. Several notes into the song a ball of fire erupted well above his head and grew in size as the song progressed. With further notes, the flames shot up into the air similar to the way Vega had done, and the song came to an end.

"They use music to summon magic here," Aros said. "You don't, and they find that really interesting."

"So what's going on? They looked strapped for war. Is it more than just the crabs?"

"Yes. Some sort of invaders have been hunting them to extinction recently. They fly and can also cast magic. I'm not clear on all they mean, but they have offered us protection from the outside for our help."

"Any clues about exits?" Vega asked. The crowd broke up and they were lead to an empty apartment. The beds were too small but the food was edible and very tasty.

"Not yet," Aros said. He sat and worked on his rifle, checking ammo and brushing off the sand. "They have no written books. I gather that histories are made into song and turned into spells. The more meaningful, the more powerful."

Aros and Vega enjoyed the company of the colony of musicians for three days until they had the chance to pay for their keep. In those three days, the two travelers found out much about their hosts. Once, the people were far more numerous and could be found across the land. Then the invaders arrived and could not be stopped. This group was surly not the last, but they knew of no other. As a human species, they grew from infants to children and had a life cycle of around fifteen of their planets years. At the end of their life, they became like young again, helpless and wrinkled, like an old baby. They called it their arc.

And now they were afraid that their kind were reaching the back end of their arc. With the arrival of Aros and Vega, a brief hope was gained, but they were still not sure it would be enough to ensure their survival.

Aros tried to get a better picture of the foe they were up against. A transparent floating cup was the best he could translate to Vega. It was soon that they got to put a 'face' to the unclear description. The invaders attacked in the middle of the day through the small passages that gave the main cavern light and air.

Open air jellyfish, was the thought Aros had when the first swarm squeezed down into the cave. The creatures closely resembled the sea animals Aros had seen before on another world. The half-sphere bodies pumped through the air and long translucent tentacles streamed behind until they were used to attack a victim.

The first minutes of the attack were madness. Clashing music calling forth roaring magic filled the cavern as the musicians retreated from their overrun home. The explosions of Aros's firearms added to the confusion and many times broke the concentration of the musicians' spells. Noticing this, he refrained from firing unless it was in time with the tune of whatever musician was performing.

Vega also let loose with more of his exotic magic, mostly in defense from the summoned creatures called by the Jellies. The invaders had their own songs, songs produced from some unfathomable organ. They called forth creatures from the rocks and sands that would subdue their prey while they swooped in to finish them off.

Many of the musicians fell to these attacks, being gripped by the tentacles and life drained from their bodies. The initial battle was spectacular but brutal, full of dazzling effects and harsh realities. More than half the group escaped with the aid of the new fighters, and they began their retreat down escape tunnels to the barren surface of the world.

The group of musical children streaked across the sand, seeking refuge in a distant smaller island of stone. Aros was amazed when the crabs reappeared and were easily turned away by a focused sandstorm. Halfway to the destination the Jellies emerged from the musicians' previous home and came in pursuit. Vega accompanied the main body while two guitarists and Aros laid down suppression. With the sandstorm protecting the main group, Aros and his two warriors had their hands full repelling a two-sided assault of flying Jellies and scuttling crabs. When Aros ran out of ammo, he dropped his rifle and they took flight.

Vega had everyone in the cave when Aros brought up the rear. A small girl was tugging on the non-musical magician's sleeve, trying to communicate, when Aros arrived. The group was exhausted and scared. They feared this was the end.

"She wants to know if you know anymore magic. They don't know anything else to do," Aros translated. They were effectively trapped in the cave, with only one entrance and no exit. They had chosen this fall back position as a last resort due to its lack of porous entry. One of the dozen played a tune lighting the room, while the rest took turns keeping the sandstorm raging in front of the entrance.

"As long as they keep that up, the Jellies can't get through," Vega pointed out. "Bet you wish you had that key again," he said to Aros who was studying the solid cave walls.

"I do, indeed. I don't think they can keep that barrier up forever. They will grow exhausted after a time. We can only hope the Jellies will relent."

"They will not," the blue hat told Aros. "Look, even now they make sand monsters to attack our shield. They have our taste in them and will not stop until they finish us this time. And the crabs wait as well..."

For hours they held off the attack. Two musicians at a time had to play to keep the spell working. Everyone took their turn and rested, but the group was running on a negative spiraling loop of hope and energy. Aros was out of personal weapons and was unsure what to do next. There was always the purple cloud...

In his desperation, Vega looked for comfort inside himself and thought of other options. He found little, but began to hum the lullaby his mother had sung to him as a child. It always helped him make up his mind. The musicians turned to him in wonder.

They caught the idea and played along. For them, music was as natural as speaking or walking, and so they expounded upon the melody and the song grew. Soon it was a wall of power and the ground in the middle of the cave floor grew a pool of water. Aros stepped to the edge once it stopped growing and peered inside. It was deep. He touched the surface and his fingers came back dry.

"Everyone in!" he commanded.

The song continued but dwindled in intensity as the musicians jumped into the pool and out of their world. The two guarding the entrance were the last musicians to leave. That left Vega and Aros to jump into a shrinking pool, leading to a dimension that existed between worlds.

Aros opened his eyes. It was dark in the hall. He sat in the same position on the floor, coming back to himself. Rising to his feet, his joints creaked and popped as he exited the hall. He rubbed his right thigh absentmindedly, and got moving. He felt infinitely tired as he found his way to the promised narrow bed. There was a meager bowel of rice and wooden cup of water by the head of the bed, but Aros ignored these things. He lay down and felt the enormous weight of his body holding down his tired limbs. He slept without dreams until he was met by the dawn.

