

### ________

### THE

### BIG

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### THE BIG HUG

Fiction

Copyright 2009 by Tom Schimmel

Paperless eBook manuscript

Second Smashwords edition

Copyright 2012 by Tom Schimmel

All rights reserved.

This ebook version of "The Big Hug" may not be altered, copied,

Distributed, reposted, or reprinted and shared. The reader is charged to access this work.

Cover design by Tom Schimmel

Email: schimmel_tom@yahoo.com

### ALSO BY TOM SCHIMMEL

1500 MILES ON A SCOOTER

THE CLEAN ENERGY REVOLUTION

QUIRKS AND CHARMS
CHAPTER ONE

Venetian Blind

March 20, 2012

Kirsten Morris was lying prone in her bed when the reign of electricity ended. Clad in a knee-length silk nightgown reserved for solo business trips, she had not noticed the interruption of the power. She, like most residents and visitors to Venice, was fast asleep in her bed. The window was partly open and the breeze off the water cooled the room long after the ceiling fan had stopped turning. Only those about in the night witnessed the darkness and quiet which settled over the city as the lighting grid quietly dimmed. Moonlight glinted off the water, bright enough to let those who found themselves walking find their way home. Wispy cirrus clouds hung high in the midnight sky, adding brushstrokes that hinted of the coming dawn.

The residents of Venice slept. Like many of them, Kirsten was lost to the material plane. While her tan and shapely robot was recharging under a thick cotton sheet, her subconscious mind had made a very interesting connection with the Land of Nod.

She was dreaming about the Sun. Shortly after her body found sleep, Kirsten found herself in a dream world that was far above the Earth. The golden gnome who greeted her at the gate explained that this was an entrance to the palace of the Sun. He gestured beyond to a long gilded pathway. The road was not covered with metal, but a result of an opulent light. Kirsten was surprised to look down and see her bare feet. Her skin prickled as she realized she was standing in her nightgown. Far below the gate and pathway was Earth itself. The planet was visible as a luminescent blue marble. Ninety-three million miles away, her body lay resting.

There had been many doubts among parapsychologists that the dreamscape – the land of delta/theta – was an alternate universe. Kirsten had also been skeptical about lucid dreaming. Her perspective was certainly not that of the parapsychologists; but over the course of a few decades, some of them had developed the language to facilitate interfaces. Then her sense of fairness as an independent had led her to the coaches. They had taught her what they knew of the craft.

Never, in any of their wildest dreams, did they ever consider that the Sun was a conscious entity. That it was nurturing them, observing them, and most importantly, judging their actions.

The meeting in Venice had been arranged with haste, following satellite confirmation that a large coronal mass ejection was heading toward Earth with a zero percent probability of missing the magnetosphere. The theory of the collective was that more were on their way. Kirsten had felt that her ability to remain lucid was greater in this sinking Italian city. The grid did not hum so loudly in Venice. The buildings were built of stone and wood, and kept a low profile. Most importantly, she was surrounded by water. Venice was low on psychic static. The water would keep it that way even after the CME hit.

Before she had gone to sleep, Kirsten had thanked Mother Earth for the cool breezes off the water, which would be the best air conditioning anyone on the planet was likely to enjoy for awhile. Then she had drifted off and waited for the dream train to arrive. When it did, she knew that this was no alternate universe; but the way it traveled was certainly making use of a wormhole.

The golden gnome confirmed that the distance of ninety-three million miles was accurate. As he spoke, Kirsten could see that the gateposts were inscribed with symbols that appeared as a Mayan-influenced hieroglyph. Still these were neither the writings of ancient Egypt nor primeval Mexico. The symbols had an animated quality to their intricate structure. She reached out to run her hand along one of the deep lines in the structure and felt a powerful tingle resound through her body. In response to her touch, the lines crackled with heat and power. Kirsten placed both her hands and the energy and felt a connection that was pure energy. She was unable to speak, but the energy read her mind and answered her question. Earth would not be destroyed; but humans in particular would be humbled. Visions passed through her mind of floods, ice storms, and a worldwide blackout.

Her mind resonated with related questions. Fragments of her inner-voice bounced around and echoed. Then they stopped. She already knew the answers to them. Humans around the globe were acting like chimpanzees on LSD. The tide had turned against human enlightenment. World War Three had been publicly fought now for over thirteen months. During that time, many dirty facts about her planet had burbled into the public knowledge. Not the least of them being that the war was well over a thousand years old.

The energy flowing through her palms ceased, and Kirsten found herself standing on a bridge of light. The golden gnome approached her quietly. He stared intently into her eyes for a moment as if making up his mind about something.

"You must go now", he finally told her. "Return at the summer equinox".

Her body jolted and Kirsten Morris was sitting up in her bed. The room was dark

CHAPTER TWO

Dirty Little Secrets and the Supposed Art of War

The collapse of the Catholic Church turned out to be far more literal than anyone had expected. Fortunately for most practicing Catholics in the world, their local churches and Archdiocese were left intact, and able to continue business as usual, which they did. Vatican City however, had been neatly jilted into piles of marble and gold. No one was surprised that much of the gilded interior from the Basilica of Saint Peter had been picked clean by looters long before any military or police force could assess, communicate, and respond. The very large and heavy buildings had made a mess too big for machinery to traverse.

Italy and the rest of Europe should have responded with border controls, air surveillance, and a complete quarantine of the area which would have prevented the escape of stolen gold and relics. But Europe, along with the rest of Earth, was at war. There were simply not enough soldiers, police, and helicopters to spare during the time of the earthquake. Seismographs suggested Richter scale magnitudes between eight and ten. Yet geologists were heavily perplexed by the intense localization of seismic energy. By what any of them had been taught, the resulting aftershocks should have leveled most everything in central Italy. But the disturbance had neatly contained itself inside the political boundaries of Vatican City, which were less than a square mile in total area. Very old buildings had been bounced upwards with enough violence to tear apart their foundations and create a large heap of ornate and expensive rubble.

But even the isolation of the earthquake and the spectacular damage were not the focal points. The Basilica of Saint Peter was certainly one of the most opulent structures on Earth. It had been oft reputed to stand over the grave of its namesake. For centuries, a great debate had raged over authenticity, carbon dating, and in some circles, a Vatican conspiracy theory.

In less than five minutes, the Earth showed everyone that the headquarters of the Catholic Church had indeed been hiding something for a very long time. It was a tomb alright, but not of a man.

World War Three was a slowly escalating conflict which consisted of small-to-midsized skirmishes around the entire planet. The idea, according to the ones who lit these fires of warfare, was to overcome neighborhood dissatisfactions through the use of fear. By offering the "solutions" to those dissatisfied (money, weapons, the usual), the powers that be made shiploads of money. A global war, among many other things, allowed the cabal to devalue stocks and currencies. This insured that no others would accrue enough money to challenge their throne of shadows. Fear was their most powerful tool.

Following cleanly in the footsteps of the first and second world wars, a rogue attack had escalated into an invasion of some of Earth's most treacherous country. Nearly every country allied to the United States of America had rejected the effort. Casualties began, and injuries were hideous. Citizens supported these efforts with tax revenue.

Tens of thousands living in Iraq and Afghanistan were slaughtered by invading soldiers. America had been rich and arrogant when the war began. Now she was middle-class at best. Her withdrawal from the Middle East was finalized during Ramadan in 2010 when a series of nuclear attacks from Iran had decimated American positions in the Middle East.

A privately-funded clandestine operation had devoured the paper trail of the secret Skull & Bones fraternity at Yale and revealed with indisputable truth that members of this group were responsible for arranging the attacks on the Twin Towers. Their membership, which ensconced most all failing financial institutions and corporations, was exposed as having attempted to rob the United States of America.

In the wake of this new information, many members of the Skull & Bones were eager to talk. Some of their members had already been killed. Not by snipers or SWAT teams; but by normal everyday citizens. Even police forces had gone public to state that they would continue to keep the peace; but by law, they could not protect anyone who had conspired to destroy America.

Things went from bad to worse for the Skull & Bones. The Catholic Church had finally spoken up regarding Vatican information on the occult practice of Freemasonry. Included in their report were notes about the 2004 U.S. Presidential Election (Kerry/ Bush – both Bonesmen), and the fact that a Freemason bible was often used to swear in American presidents. When the five thousand page report had been dissected by the media and brought to the public in digestible chunks, people were stunned. A new set of facts about their supposed reality was staring them right in the face.

Donald Rumsfeld died at home in his leather recliner after shitting himself during a nightmare. No foul play was involved. The incident was simply an old spy with a guilty conscience having a bad dream. It was also a smelly mess for whoever cleaned up. After leaving the White House, the Bush family had purchased a home in Dallas and then quietly fled to Portugal when it became evident how unwelcome they were even in Texas. Dick Cheney was rumored to be in Dubai; but an international manhunt for these treasonous commanders was both delinquent, and severely hampered by the war they had begun.

Pictures of the Basilica of Saint Peter were circling the globe before the first police forces from Rome arrived at the scene. A journalism student from the University of Colorado at Boulder had been nearby with her Japanese friend. They were well-armed with digital cameras and wireless laptops to record what would stun most everyone. Kirsten Morris had followed her friend intently to the site. Most everyone in Rome had heard the noise, and many – like Kirsten and her Japanese friend – went to investigate.

There was no plausible way for the Catholic Church to deny what was made evident on MySpace, YouTube, and a myriad network of blogospheres around the world. Besides, everyone who might have played commentator was already gone. Flocks of Cardinals, hosts of acolyte accountants, and tireless translators had left Vatican City twelve hours earlier under the cover of night.

Accompanying the obscurely marked luxury tour bus was an all black assortment of armored sport utility vehicles _,_ driven by stoic men and lethal men who spoke into their lapels. Unsurprisingly, the highest ranks of the Holy See were more concerned about their money and passports then with preserving the written archives of their faith.

A Haliburton subsidiary named "Xe"– once known as Blackwater Security – had been named as the operation manager; but the company denied it through a low-resolution video of their director's head bobbing up and down. As usual, the soundtrack would be slightly out of sync with the heads' moving lips. The few individuals, who personally knew this lone ninja leader, were also aware that he recorded his public statements in the nude. One of them had apparently been upset and leaked this strange fact to the news networks. When this bobble of bizarre bullshit floated to the surface of the mainstream, the Blackwater Security Corporation (now spelled Xe) was surreptitiously unavailable for comment. Building and training facilities on American soil were found empty and deserted.

Like a ninja at dusk, the world's largest private army did not merely escape, it dissolved into the night. American leadership had a new concern for sure; but everyone was glad to see them go.

Meanwhile what really had the attention of people everywhere was not the war or the abandonment and then destruction of Vatican City. People had been fed movies and stories of world wars and secret wars. They even had movies about archeologists who sniff out ancient secrets.

There ain't nothing like the real thing baby.

Kirsten Morris and her friend Mayuki had found it first. Within an hour, they were each five million dollars richer. Mayuki was from a sleepy Japanese town called Bear River (in English). She moved to San Francisco with her family when she was fourteen. Her personal energy put a wonderful spin on her international English accent as she calmly sold the first North American and first Japanese rights to their twenty pictures. To be precise, Mayuki had accomplished this amazing feat of earning them ten million dollars in fifty-four minutes. Then they hugged, screamed, jumped up and down, and then looked again at the tomb of what appeared to be an angel.

At the sound of the first siren, they wisely fled the scene

Kirsten Morris had impulsively grabbed a manila envelope that fluttered past her feet as they ran to the border of Vatican City. A temporary cease-fire in Rome allowed for the departure of many tourists and well-disguised officials of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. The Cardinals were already airborne in a series of obscure corporate jets bound for a series of obscure places that were located very far from Italy. Kirsten took the train to Brindisi and a ferry boat to Corfu, intending fully to relax in the sunshine, sip delicious beverages of her choice, and contemplate whether or not she should finish her journalism major at Boulder; or simply lay on the beach in Greece until the war was over or the world ended. Whichever came first was fine with her.

Mayuki had been right that they should get out of Rome before the paparazzi caught their scent. She hadn't mentioned any other interested or informed parties. Their confidentiality was assured.

Kirsten enjoyed her morning in the sun, and was careful as always to apply sunscreen generously. She swam and then napped. She ate a large club sandwich, drank a Red Stripe, and slept again. She and Mayuki had been stuck in Rome a week too long because of a skirmish in Tuscany which shut down international train and air service. They could not afford hotels. They stayed mostly awake at night, sitting inside the train station gates and chain-smoking Parliaments.

Mayuki had left her a voicemail this morning. She had arrived safely in the states, and was moving her family to a cottage on the Oregon coast. They were the last words Kirsten heard from her friend. As she closed her phone and settled back into her beach chair, a woman's voice asked her by name if they could talk.

They talked well into the night. By the end of the evening, Kirsten had made up her mind that some things were far more important than a master's degree in journalism. But she still wanted to sleep on it. The next morning, as Stella had promised, a very exotic watercraft was waiting for her near the beach. The tinted windows revealed nothing from the outside. Inside were lavish racing restraint systems which allowed passengers to stand weightlessly and still have use of their arms.

Stella had explained:

"We call it a hydro craft by design since it travels easily above or below water. The ship's name is Astrophil. It means "star lover", and she is very fast. Come on I'll show you how to buckle in to a vertical chair. You'll still be standing; but there will be no weight on your feet."

Kirsten followed instructions, and found that it was exactly like a stand-up roller coaster, except a lot more comfortable and much more peaceful. The engine wound up with only a faint whisper, and the power was clean and crisp as they moved away from the dock.

"Ástrophil uses hydrogen-power derived from seawater."

"Electrolysis?"

"That's right, very good. Most young ladies your age think electrolysis is an outdated method of exfoliation"

"I shave my legs with a razor, how about you?"

"Keep the walkers mowed is what I like to say." They both laughed.

Astrophil left the no-wake zone of the bay with an enormous surge of speed. Kirsten could feel the skin on her face compress against her cheekbones. The view through the windshield was spectacular. The hydro craft floated and skipped across the waves. Long pleasurable floats through the air would lead them crashing into the next wave and skipping up again.

Kirsten Morris was definitely not returning to the University of Colorado-at-Boulder to complete her Master's of Journalism degree. No longer would she face the bleak future of nervous press rooms and endless freelance queries to editors who really didn't care anymore. She would not face prospect of payment by the number of web hits on her stories.

Astrophil slapped a wave and streaked through the air. Kirsten already knew she had made the right decision. If what Stella told her was true, then she would soon be matriculating in the obscure scientific discipline of parapsychology.

It was an impulsive decision, and Kirsten knew Stella had arranged it that way. But she was twenty-eight years old and had slightly less than five million dollars left in the bank. This was more money than she would likely earn during fifty years of slaving for web hits.

Astrophil plunged into the next wave and remained below the surface without losing speed. Kirsten smiled. Now this was living. Her mind flashed suddenly to the tomb and its contents. Now, thanks to herself and her friend, the world finally had proof of angels. The blogospheres had ruptured themselves with speculation. Angel? Devil? Giant? Cherubim? Seraphim? What was the real story? Bloggers were engaged in a hyper-spastic frenzy of guesswork. Everyone did at least seem to agree it was some kind of very significant sign.

Kirsten Morris was ten leagues under the sea and traveling ahead with both style and speed. They were headed to a place where she would learn the answer. She was a pirate now.

CHAPTER THREE

Dream Surfing Around the World

A sales man for commercial solar panels splashes water on his face at a truck stop in Racine, Wisconsin. While he dries his face, the man is imagining himself delivering his sales presentation. He sees himself, not drying his face in front of a mirror, but standing in a conference room half a mile down the road and twenty minutes into the future. The man hears himself speaking with confidence as he explains to the home-supply cooperative of Racine how his company's tubular solar cells can sustain their operations entirely. Thanks to progressive government intervention, the costs of solar installations are now included in property loans and tax assessments. The average cost is three thousand per year residential. The average savings is equivalent. Corporate and warehouse settings save even more money.

The man does not think anything about his journey to the future from a truck stop restroom. He is thinking, like most sales men, about commissions. Tubular solar panels were great business in 2011. The boom in sales began when large scale blackouts across the globe helped America and the rest of the world understand that local energy independence was the way to go. The new U.S. president had explained to the world that a series of solar flares had disrupted Earth's magnetosphere. More were expected within twelve months. The president had declared a national energy emergency, which had moved faster than anyone expected to dismantle the national grid, manufacture, and install local alternatives which functioned independently of one another.

Commissions, as of late had been fantastic. The man's company also provided excellent capacitor storage and panel-shielding equipment to support the continued use of sunshine even when the Sun chose to disrupt the magnetosphere. These days it was a great selling point. The man leaves the restroom and climbs into his company-owned zero-emissions Honda Clarity FX. He starts the hydrogen engine and quietly hums into the future he has recently visited.

* * *

A woman in a Wall-Mart, standing in the checkout line behind three teenage boys, travels for a few moments to a universe where she is naked, covered in honey, and these boys are licking her clean.

One of the boys drops his car keys in the aisle, and the sound snaps her out of it. She is ashamed.

* * *

Lying in his doggie bed in Missoula, Montana, a golden retriever is dreaming. His body lies warm and comfortable at the foot of his owner's bed; but his consciousness has traveled into the not-so-distant past where he recreates the events of yesterday to include the successful retrieval of three grey squirrels, two birds, and the discipline of a foul-mouthed Bichon who pissed on his mailbox while his own master held him tightly on his leash. The dog's glorious dream world moment is revealed while the offending neighborhood dog is busy sending his golden stream into enemy territory. In this dream, his master clicks off the leash and whispers in his ear to "git 'em". The sheer jubilance of being released for the purpose of justice is then overwhelmed by the total pleasure of running across the cul-de-sac and scaring the little white dog into pissing on itself as it runs away. The Bichon eventually remembers again to bark, as do most little white dogs do once they are finished running away.

It is a good dream for the dog. He drifts back gently into consciousness when the clock strikes three.

* * *

A young Laotian boy stands in a rice field. He is barefoot. The soil is a bit mucky. He looks up at the sun and stares. His retinal perception dissolves into white; but the boy continues to stare. He is pressing with his imagination to see further inside the Sun. Fortunately, the young boy's sister notices what he is doing and yells at him to get back to work. Because he is young and strong, he can see normally again within a few hours. But he feels different forever, and returns to the fields the following week with cheap polarized sunglasses, so he can travel there more often.

* * *

An old man in Barcelona dreams that a supermodel is touching his penis, and it grows erect.

A sheep in New Zealand has a nightmare about being eaten by a fox. A race car driver in Monaco continues to drive in yesterday's race as she lies in bed with her eyes closed.

* * *

A Japanese businessman has escaped the confines of his sleep cube and is soaring happily as a bird over the Andes Mountains in South America. He is thousands of miles from his human body and his current body is not human. Imagine what he, or any of the above examples, might do with a little training.

CHAPTER FIVE

Boys and Dangerous Toys

Since the invention of the wheel, people of Earth in all shapes and sizes seem to find a regular delight in crashing this thing into that thing. It begins with boys and girls, but mostly boys. They have plastic cars and model trains which they often seek to smash into stationary and moveable objects. A teenage boy left alone with an electric train set is likely to create barricades and jumps which will provide exquisite pleasure when the train either blasts on through, or de-rails in stunning fashion. Laughter is likely to follow. Unless you are the family cat or a glass knickknack in the wrong place at the wrong time, everything is cool.

People like things that go boom. From gridiron football to fireworks to demolition derbies, Earth plays host to a vast array of high-impact toys. Some of the more extreme things - like U.S. Air Force ordnance and nuclear fission reactors \- are dangerous beyond the point of being called a toy. Even with the exclusion of modern weaponry, there are plenty of dangerous toys.

The Large Hadron Collider was a particle accelerator located in Switzerland. The basics of the LHC are simple: big and expensive. The leaders of the modern day were not ending starvation and disease. They were locked in their own version of Babel. These were the times of the machine. These were the times of the computer. These were the times where humans were being coaxed out of their souls.

The Large Hadron Collider had been fired up in September of 2008, where it promptly leaked twelve thousand pounds of liquid helium. Some things do not change whether the universe expands or contracts. The original tower of Babel had also been an effort to understand God. _Build it to the sky, and you will know God._ There had been many engineering failures and human disasters; but the leaders had pressed on with their efforts. Apparently, they never once considered looking inside their own heart and soul for God. Instead, they ignored the sick and hungry in the world; and then paid the price for their delusion. It is enough of a bummer when a gas-powered hobby car smashes into a curb and breaks off a wheel. Bigger toys tend to cause larger problems when they break.

LHC is a particle racetrack. The object is to accelerate invisible particles to ludicrous velocities; and then smash them into one another. The track is almost twenty-miles long, and its speeds result in crashes so spectacular that entirely new types of particles and radiations are sometimes created. Liquid helium is needed to maintain the cryogenic property of the race track. Scientists were trying to recreate the Big Bang, which had been more than a little toasty in its original form. In order to contain such a feisty experiment, serious refrigeration is required.

One of the obvious problems regarding the particle velocities attained within LHC is the creation of powerful electromagnetic disturbances which distort time, gravity, and everything in between.

It is everything one would expect to find and experience at the event horizon of a black hole; or, while approaching the speed of light in a vacuum. Temperatures are kept very close to Absolute Zero. This is beyond frostbite by a long shot. Anything capable of feeling cold will go numb and die long before reaching zero degrees on the Kelvin scale. Absolute Zero registered about four hundred and fifty degrees below zero if you lived in America and judged temperature by the Fahrenheit scale. Should you use metrics like most of the world, absolute zero is two hundred and seventy degrees Celsius below the freezing point of water.

Absolute Zero is a condition of complete stillness. There is no movement of protons, electrons, or anything else. All life and motion, even at the subatomic level, is nonexistent. Some claimed that Hell was fire and brimstone. Complete stillness seemed more likely.

It would seem obvious to most people that chasing a subatomic particle with billions of dollars is a poor use of money. However, boys will be boys. Given the time and the funds to recreate the Big Bang, they will approach the process with giddy enthusiasm and disregard for all but the most obvious vulnerability. Spokespersons for the Large Hadron Collider project insisted their work was not dangerous either to the local environment or the space-time continuum. A few tons of liquid Helium spilled perhaps, but no time quake or meltdown hazard. Such is the job of a corporate spokesperson.

Of course this is unknown territory. And as most everyone suspects deep down, there are agents of dark forces at work whenever anything of a magnanimous magnitude is constructed. More than anything, these agents work through people by tempting their greed and vanity. This in turn makes the agents themselves even more wealthy and influential. Often, the agents themselves are merely unscrupulous slime balls with deep pockets. In other cases – the very dangerous ones – the said dark force is an individual or group of individuals who have secretly taken it upon themselves to do something that has never been done before.

Like simulate the beginning of the universe.

Or manipulate time.

Fortunately there are always balancing forces on Earth when sinister projects grow too large. Engineering miscalculations and cost overruns can lead to delays and repairs of ridiculous scale. The international team had gotten very lucky on September 10, 2008. The fusion process they sought had blown a hole through their electromagnetic racetrack during warm-ups. Another hour of particle racing and they all would have fried like bacon when the magnets failed.

George Wisely knew all this and much more about the activities at LHC. He knew that while most of the international team was genuinely interested in the betterment of humankind, there was also a clandestine effort to turn back the clock and "fix" a few things. After nine months of repair, the team had created a small time quake in the summer of 2009 which had made them even more certain they were on the right track. Like most sinister groups of power, they were afflicted with a single-mindedness that allowed them to ignore the panoramic arrays of uncertainties around them.

It had been Wisely who saved them that time. He had cut the power before the fusion process passed the LHC's ability to contain it. They had no idea that they had nearly unleashed baby sunshine into Western Europe. Fusion is containable in very small areas, which makes the possibilities very exciting as a sustainable energy source. There were two working prototype reactors in Zambia and South Africa which already were producing loads of power from self-contained systems. But the working fusion reactors did not require a twenty-mile racetrack.

There was more to the purpose of the Large Hadron Collider than the public statements. Beyond even experiments with time, there was the shared hope among a quiet few that they could successfully produce and contain the dark essence of anti-matter. They sought a dark and terrible power.

Wisely always enjoyed setting off the security systems as he left the premises. It kept the operators paranoid, which George felt was a good thing. Had they been able to see or hear or touch him, any one of many security forces would have happily shot him multiple times with plastic ammunition before tazering him into unconsciousness.

After his successful scuttle, George Wisely had returned to his fifteen acres of paradise along the Oregon coast. The return journey was approximately ten minutes long, with the final five consisting mostly of yawning and stretching. Then it was business as usual. Shuffle to the kitchen. Turn on the coffee pot. Feed the cats and dogs. Visit the bathroom.

The first time quake had been a tiny incongruous ripple which mostly had the effect of resetting digital clocks in Greece and southern France. The news would get buzzed around the world by bloggers as a refreshingly lighthearted coincidence amongst the early events of World War Three.

Shortly after, Stella had called him on the phone.

"George, I think you should come and stay with us for awhile."

"Why?" It had been a long time since he heard from Stella.

"I can explain in person. It's the only way in this case." Her voice sounded concerned.

"Well my schedule is looking pretty empty right now. How long should I plan on being gone?"

"A week. Maybe more, but it's hard to say for sure. Better plan ahead."

Stella paused for a moment and listened to George Wisely sigh his usual sigh of agreement. She felt a twinge of caring beyond her professional demure, and the sensation of her heart beating against her ribcage became more acute. Stella knew George Wisely as a soul mate, and did her best to cover it up.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock."

"Since you realize that your request is in no way hampering my lifestyle, I will now proceed to hang up the phone and take my four-legged children to stay with their foster mother."

George was doing a poor job at masking his enthusiasm; and also his latent thoughts. Stella was struggling with the same problem as they hung up. She spoke playfully now into the phone.

"See you on the beach sailor. Go buy some gum." The call ended.

George Wisely was confused, aroused, and fighting to think about the rational logistics of a week-long departure. He didn't know what Stella meant about the gum; but eventually he concluded that he would find out tomorrow. Meanwhile, there was packing to be done, online business to attend to; and a phone call to Annie.

"Annie, it's George. "

"Hey! How are you?"

"Well I'm leaving for a little while, and I'm wondering if you could help me with the kids."

"Really!" Annie was jubilant. She cared for her mother and her young boys and welcomed the distractions of cats and dogs. "I'll pick them up if you want."

"No that's fine. I can load them in the truck and be there in twenty minutes. That ok with you?"

"Perfect. Oh I'm so glad you called George, I can't wait to see them!"

"Thanks Annie, see you in a bit."

Rounding up his furry friend's for the ride to Annie's was a piece of cake. George Wisely had been blessed with unusual pets. Twiggy was a whippet/retriever crossbreed. Her mother had descended from a great line of Italian track dogs and, upon reaching the age of fertility, was sloppily impregnated by a golden retriever in a horse stable. George told people she was a whippet with muscles. She loved to run with Annie's boys while Snowball – George's other mutt - nipped at their heels. Snowball pulled like his Siberian Husky mother and herded like his Australian cattle dog father. The boys would hitch him up to their wagon and Snowball was in heaven.

George yelled "Annie's House" and dogs and cats alike came crashing into the kitchen from their various points around the cabin. As much as they loved George, it seemed they loved Annie's house even more. Feline and canine harnesses were quickly attached and he brought the dogs through the mudroom and out to his truck. The dogs had a crate strapped down tight in the truck bed. The feline duo of Sancho and Pancho rode in a soft carrier behind the seat. George had rescued the cats along with Twiggy from abandonment. A home foreclosure forced their original owners across the country into a one bedroom apartment. George had explored their small farm one day from idle curiosity. He heard barking from inside the house. After concluding the two cats and the strange-looking dog had been left for dead, he promptly removed his boot and smashed a window. Twiggy, Snowball, Sancho. and Pancho had been his best mates ever since.

Great acts of heroism and wonderful miraculous endings were also part of the times.

The right people often seemed to be in the right place at the right time when things went bad.

A U.S. Airways jet had landed safely in the Hudson River in January of 2009. The pilot had trained and helped develop standards of emergency situation management for the aviation industry. On that frigid winter day, Captain Sullenberger realized a situation for which he was well prepared. Every single passenger onboard survived; and he was said to have waded back and forth through the aisles twice to make sure no one was left onboard in the icy water. Initially, people marveled at the poise of the captain and crew; but eventually, as the stories of miraculous escapes piled up; people began to buzz up the blogospheres with a new subject. It related to a sense of calm and certitude which survivors had experienced even in the worst moments. Bloggers found the subject especially satisfying because it was a very easy word to type.

God.

CHAPTER SIX

The Fall of The Taliban

At three-thirty in the afternoon in local time, Osama Bin Laden scratched his balls and grunted. He then reached for the remote control and turned off the sound to his flat screen. The TV went mute, and he realized too late that some sweat from his crotch had attached itself to his clicker thumb. He sniffed the remote control and winced at the piquant odor. As all spoiled cowards tend to do, he used frequent outbursts of anger to compensate for acts of stupidity.

The remote control was not designed to fly, but it managed to survive a direct hit on the far wall of the cave. The batteries would need to be picked up. Ishwar could do it after he returned. Bin Laden was eager for the next load of flash drives. The new Western technology made it even easier for him to poison the infidels with fear and infect their personal lives.

Bin Laden was not a man with a personal taste for killing. In fact he could barely stand the sight of his own blood. This, along with the fact that he never felt loved or accepted by his father, may explain why he had chosen the career path of a cave-dwelling antichrist.

Through many years of meticulous study and research, Bin Laden had done two very important things for the people of Earth. First, he had revived a scholarly interest in the Koran. Muslims who had strayed long ago from their faith began in difficult times to pray more often, and even to read more of their holy book. The Koran gave people hope, which they needed to survive.

Osama Bin Laden was born into wealth. He did not rebel against it until his teenage years, when he decided once and for all that his father did not love him. He did not like sports, or really any form of anything which required too much physical effort. Reading was his thing, and his anger found a root to grow with him over the years. He found his socio-religious arguments to be well absorbed by angry men and women with laptops and cell phones. Many were willing to train at his camps and form his army. It was his destiny to lead this jihad, this holy war.

Bin Laden had hated America since he could remember. Every despicable and wasteful point, from lawns to late-night fast food, to Las Vegas caused him to seethe. They were heathens playing a façade of following Jesus while they consumed twenty-five percent of the world's energy growing fat. Through his eyes, the West was the whore of Babylon. She had corrupted the world with her lust, deceived the world in her greed, and led people astray with her mockery of Allah.

One of the roles of an antichrist on Earth is to catalyze growth. The same is true of a messiah of life. It is their means, and not their ends which make them mirrors of one another. Osama Bin Laden truly believed he was fulfilling the prophecy of the Koran. He believed himself to be the iron fist of Allah. Years passed, and he had argued his common sense into a small dark corner of his brain.

Also hiding in that small dark corner was another truth about his life. He was born wealthier than most any child on Earth. Also, he was a sissy. That is why his father did not love him.

Many a vile and murderous leader throughout history has been unloved by his or her father. Many were not sissies like Osama Bin Laden, and many enjoyed the dark ecstasy of spilling blood. Psychologically, the closing of the mind to affection produces the same effect regardless of what factors are involved. It is always an open invitation for demons to enter. Adolph Hitler was a perfect example. Between his regression hypnosis and the psychedelic drugs, one of the most powerful demons on Earth had crawled into his noggin and taken over. While the group called Nazis were stopped, it wasn't before that antichrist had caused so much havoc and disarray, that over ten million people had died.

Bin Laden had studied Hitler a great deal. He knew a great deal about the strategies invoked by the former Chancellor of Germany, including those which had not worked. The Taliban leader understood American tendencies and had capitalized mightily on the cowboy ego of a former president. America had almost been finished, and quickly at that. The United States of America had overextended herself dangerously; but she had not sunk. She had righted herself, and in the process, was cleaning up her act with amazing speed and magnitude. A large portion of Bin Laden's genuine complaints about Western wastefulness and arrogance had been eliminated by the Western people in recent years. Truth be told, America was stronger than ever, and engaged as a country to protect and promote peace for all. Her people's spirit and ingenuity seemed unbreakable. Even her leaders now conducted their business in the light of day. Their willingness to place aside personal and political differences had caught on quickly throughout Europe and most everywhere there was an internet connection.

In a manner similar to Hitler, Bin Laden was responding to the impending and total failure of his militant ideology by launching an all out attack on anything and everything. He was having more and more difficulty convincing people to die for his cause. It just didn't make sense anymore to commit suicide and take a bunch of innocent strangers along with you. Even in his own country, violence was increasingly frowned upon. It threatened his popularity. The tide of humanity was turning; and was demonstrating an increased resistance to fear. The people of Earth now proclaimed often across cyberspace that they were no longer afraid of Osama Bin Laden.

Unknown to Bin Laden, his mission as an antichrist had already been accomplished. His forces of fear and destruction had successfully catalyzed the improvement of humanity. In the process, the demon had consumed him. Osama Bin Laden found himself obsessed these days with a single, dark purpose. No ideals remained, only hatred. His fate was that of all other vermin who has played the role. He had become the one he was fighting. He was the demon.

When Ishwar returned with two thousand flash drives in thick, waterproof cases, Osama Bin Laden patiently prepared a multitude of files for distribution. He loaded each group of flash drives separately. The video messages were themselves a blasphemous interpretation of the Koran; but they brought obedience. Within his recordings were other messages. One handful of flash drives contained ultra low-res video and disinformation. These would be leaked to the Western media.

Bin Laden would not accept help in loading the data files. He was meticulous about his authority and willing to scream at anyone who questioned it, or even offered to help.

This time, even his own terrorist army would not understand what they were about to do. Hundreds of redundant trigger codes lay hidden among the other messages and instructions. Dispersed to India, Pakistan, Palestine, Israel, Syria, and North Korea, these digital storage devices would change hands many times. The information within would be viewed by all along the way.

Bin Laden's paranoid state was indicative of the heinous act he was attempting to orchestrate. The demon inside him would only accept total violence as a final outcome. Arming codes would contain only two targets: Afghanistan and North Korea. The target to the North was the U.S.-led coalition force. Missiles and rockets would arrive there from all directions. The unidentified attack on North Korea would provoke a hasty launch of their short-range nuclear warheads; which would veer off-course and destroy every ship in the Mediterranean and Persian Gulf when they landed. The water from France to Sicily would boil and turn to blood. The oceans would die. The Earth would die.

Watching from the astral plane, Mohammed had kept his patience for a long time. But now the demon had his human. He watched the human smile as he thought of the destructive legacy he was about to leave on the Earth. His evil smile was the proverbial straw which broke the proverbial camel's back. The people of Earth had suffered enough already. Their faith would be severed with this act which vilified the prophet's loving message. After conferring with his younger brother Jesus, the prophet Mohammed paid a visit to the material plane. His most promising leader of the new age was now attempting to nuke countries, oceans, and even densely populated cities in Europe and America. The good words of Allah had been twisted into sadism. Old stories of jihad in the last apocalypse had been plagiarized and then distorted to map the way for cruelty and discontent in the modern age. Jesus had expressed similar anger over Zionist aggression in his name.

Even as the third world war showed signs of escalation, neither of the brothers had interfered; and for good reason. Simply put, if either or both of them had appeared in public, they would be met with every form of resentment, doubt, and hostility that humankind had to offer. And as a rule, each of the brothers had already spent their time on Earth, enlightening a generation or two back in previous millenniums. Their words had allowed humanity to grow in the centuries that followed. Even two modern wars had not failed to derail their guidance; nor would the third, which would be followed by a unification of human perception.

Osama Bin Laden sealed the multitude of flash drives in labeled plastic bags. The waterproof bags were them placed inside larger heavy-ply plastic bags and then covered with simple burlap. Anyone watching Ishwar leave the cave entrance would assume he was a simple Afghani peasant, making his way through the mountains.

Realizing that Ishwar had not fixed the remote control, Bin Laden rose from his pillows on the floor and mended the thing himself. When it was finished, he again reclined in the large array of pillows and clicked on FOX news. He watched a bushfire in Australia consume a large home, and he began to fiddle himself under his robe. Then an ice storm sent by Allah to cripple the infidels precious electricity. He began to grow erect, and began fiddling faster when an explosion of light and sound smacked him upside the head. Bin Laden hit the far side of the cave wall with his semi-hard penis still in the grip of his fingers. He awoke to find an extraordinarily strong man standing in front of him, looking very pissed off.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" screamed the man in Arabic. He reached down and scruffed Bin Laden like a kitten. This time, the question was repeated at an even closer distance. The leader of the Taliban was both terrified and confused; and demonstrated this by urinating and defecating on himself. He remained several feet of the floor, dripping like a dysenteric whelp.

"Who are you?" cried Bin Laden, and felt the grip on his neck change to include his throat.

"WHO AM I???" screamed the giant. "WHO AM I???" He dropped Bin Laden to the floor, who mistakenly interpreted the action as a good sign. Then the dark, muscular figure spoke, he spoke in a voice that had once belonged to an inquisitive teenage boy named Osama. Through the mouth of a glowing giant, his own adolescence quoted the Koran.

" _Then evil was the end of those who did evil, because they rejected the communications of Allah and used to mock them."_

Mohammed grabbed this hapless traitor by his robes and inflicted a type of discipline which requires very high status on the astral plane. In the mind of his captive audience, memories were coursing though with mystifying speed and power. The demon screamed, causing his body to thrash. The arm of Mohammed did not tremble at the demon's resistance, and merely waited for the demon to flee, which it soon did. They always did once their host remembered love.

Had there been a camera of any kind watching the event, the comic book and _anime_ industries would have had enough creative raw materials for centuries. Fortunately, there were none. Through a camera it would appear that a very tan and muscular man was strangling a man and also zapping him with some kind of special power. Hence the potential boom in the cartoon world. Perhaps the characters would have had special zap energy powers. It's hard to say exactly how many new characters might have sprouted, and easy to remark on the good fortune of its non-occurrence.

They would have missed the truth. In this case, the truth was that in a span of about a minute, Osama Bin Laden had taken a high-speed journey through his memory banks. The chronological path took the antichrist through decades of affections and kindness shown to him by others. Juxtaposed with precision were paragraphs of his hypocritical poison. He saw himself speaking falsely of Mohammed's intentions to destroy the infidels in the west. A lot of memory in a very short time, which, if aligned more closely with the actual experience would read like this:

Father kisses baby. Young boy screams at father. Father reaches out. Boy withdraws. A young woman offers her hand. A rocket launcher. A sister gives him a necklace. He breaks it in front of her and smiles. Reading the Koran. Hating the purity. Ashamed of masturbating. Terrified of women. A car bomb. A training camp. Forest arson. A schoolteacher smiles and pats him on the head. He hides a snake under a maids desk, and then spies on her while she changes. Jihad. Groups chanting and screaming. Fire, smoke, screams, explosions, and finally, again his father holding his infant self above him and smiling proudly. When the memories are finished, the demon and the prophet are long gone. He is a shamed and failed shell of a man.

When the coalition force arrived, they found the Taliban leader in the same position. He was awake and mostly unresponsive as a Polish special forces grabbed his hair to sit him up straight. The commanding officer (a Canadian) confirmed that it was the computer's GPS beacon which they had been following. Within an hour, they had packaged up everything and begun their ten mile jog to rendezvous with transport. The leader of the Taliban was treated with indifference by the team. They worked calmly and quietly, and with a purpose that all of them would later describe as otherworldly. The soldiers splashed water on his face when he would not drink, and then duct-taped him to a lightweight stretcher. He was not dropped, slapped, taunted, or treated with any disrespect; but he died in the helicopter. Generous efforts to resuscitate him were not successful, and twelve hours later, the American president told the news to the world.

This great evil which for so long has plagued our world is dead. Let his fate be a clear message to the darkness before it would return again. We will not be broken. Our spirit is stronger than yours.

We will always defeat you!!!

And then later is the same speech,

I call upon ALL people of the world to come together in generosity. If you are the enemy, place down your weapons and unclothe your trickery, and we will accept you also as our family. This is a time for humanity to create a new world of awareness. We shall remember the pitfalls of history, and we shall step around them as we walk together to a place where our children may grow without war. If we are to survive our future, we must prepare for the threats outside ourselves. To accomplish that, we will all need to work together towards that goal.

Later, many, including the president, would agree that he got a bit carried away there, but they would be laughing and enjoying a glass of champagne. Tears of joy and amazement would also be shed. As most intelligence around the world predicted, matchsticks flared around the globe for a few months. The end result of these tiny but many conflicts was in fact a stronger peace, as the locals worked together to stomp out the fires.

The Pentagon was quick to rife through Bin Laden's computer. The specialists determined that since the man never left his cave, passwords must have seemed unnecessary. Slews of arrests were made when INTERPOL received the extraordinarily precise details of briefcase dirty bomb strikes around the globe. The final report was slowly digested by the media, who had a lot of backtracking to do once they understood they had been getting duped for over a decade. Nonetheless, the leaders of networks and journalists concurred without argument that they should admit their embarrassment in a series of letters from the editors of major publications. Also, the public needed to know the details of their deliverance so that the stories could be shared through generations. It turned out the corporate cynics were actually deeply caring idealists. They quickly became inspired by the idea of working together. As people around the world quickly discovered, it came quite naturally.

"Almost" wrote one editor "as if this is what we were meant to be doing all along".

CHAPTER SEVEN

Water, Water Everywhere

March 14, 2012

George Wisely was waiting on the beach when Astrophil slipped past the surface like a whale at dawn. The hydro craft was nearly invisible at three hundred yards even to his trained eye. At 7:30AM sharp, the vacuum-sealed hatchway opened with a hiss of escaping air and spray that sounded very much like a blowhole. He carried with him two large waterproof duffel bags which combined to weigh over a hundred and fifty pounds. The stone pathway was uneven and headed downhill, and George had to concentrate on his footing and his balance. Very soon he would see Stella's face. Before that however, it was wise not to faceplant.

When he arrived at water's edge, he heaved the bags out as far as he could. They waited quietly for him as he extended the fins of his amphibious footwear and waded. Once deep enough, he flipped unto his back and swam with his gear like a sea otter. It was not exactly a fast swim, but the stubby flippers gave him some decent kick power. He looked back at his front yard, wondering, as he did every time Stella called, if he would ever return. Ninety seconds later, his shoulder would brush against Astrophil's smooth hull; and he would promptly forget about home for awhile. He always did when Stella called him.

He fastened the quick-clips to the handles of the duffel bags and watched as they were hoisted inside. Then he began the challenging task of finding the ladder. The hydro craft was designed with a liquid crystal "chameleon" coating, which allowed it to blend into any color water. Her ladder was extended only for invited guests; but even a veteran like Wisely had to feel around a bit. The hatchway was a telescoping extension which was imperceptible from the shoreline, even with high powered binoculars. The reflective cloaking techniques were way beyond his scientific capabilities; but George knew that by entering seaside, he was invisible to anyone who might be watching. This was a thought that always made George happy.

The water and air had been chilly. In the warming chamber, a swimmer's chamois towel and a dry set of clothes were waiting. George smiled as he toweled off, his heart racing a little thinking of Stella in the cockpit. He pressed on the cologne dispenser with the ♂ mark and was pleased to know she'd stocked his favorite Bay Rum. She had missed him after all.

Wisely took a deep breath as he open the portal to the cabin. He had good reason to be nervous.

The last time George had come aboard Astrophil, he was greeted by three adolescent orangutans that Stella had "liberated" from a poacher off the coast of Liberia. The sister and her two brothers had decided instantly that they liked George Wisely very much and attached themselves to various parts of his body. He wondered if Stella was still angry with him for leaving them at the doorstep of the San Diego Zoo. Now was the time to find out.

The portal whooshed open and he found himself face-to-face with a very tan young woman dressed in jeans and a dark grey t-shirt. The girl's face wore a friendly smile.

"Hello" said the young woman.

"Who are you?" George replied.

"George!" Stella's voice rang over the uncomfortable silence that followed. "I'd like you to meet Kirsten Morris."

The young woman offered her hand with a smile while Stella explained.

"She's the one who took the famous Vatican pictures."

"The tomb?" George accepted her handshake with interest.

"That was me. But really, I think I just got lucky."

"Luck is in the eye of the beholder."

"Really? Like beauty?"

Stella stepped into view and the conversation paused. She was a sight to behold. Long brown hair, and a lightweight body suit that flattered her hourglass design.

"Don't let his guy into your head Kirsten. He's just playing with words." She smiled at George and he felt his heart skip again. Of all beautiful women in the world, there were none in his mind to equal Stella. He was slightly saddened to see they would not be sailing alone; but this young woman seemed both friendly and sincere. Besides, he knew that Stella did not bring anyone on board the hydro craft unless they were to be trusted. George moved past Kirsten and embraced Stella with a smile. It was a short squeeze; but he did enjoy wrapping his arms around her and briefly nuzzling her hair.

"It's good to see you again."

"You too"

"So what sort of fun do we have planned on the Pacific Ocean?" He knew, from experience, that she would never tell anyone anything important unless they asked.

"Our business, I'm afraid, isn't local."

"It usually isn't my dear. But why are we meeting in person then?" George was being playful; but he thought he saw a flash of sadness pass through Stella's blue eyes. She paused for a moment before answering.

"Let's have breakfast first, and then I'll show you everything."

George's face lit up with a mischievous smile.

"TELL you everything. Seriously you never change do you?" Stella's expression was scolding him; but George knew her better than that. She was a master of expression, and he, a master of reading them. He was quite thrilled at her Freudian slip and content to defer as Kirsten Morris announced she was also hungry.

Breakfast was quick and suited better, Wisely decided, for a different time zone. Still, the cold water had made him very hungry, and he munched along quite happily through an oyster po' boy and a bag of potato chips. The ladies did not seem to notice it was morning until Stella mentioned that they had been sailing for the last four days.

"The fact that Kirsten knows how to cook is a huge plus! We've been eating better than usual, as you can see." Stella raised her glass of papaya juice towards Kirsten. "A toast to Chef Morris!" Glassed were clinked and Stella settled into an explanation, which, by her usual habit, began with a question for Wisely.

"Do you know what a CME stands for?"

Wisely wiped his mouth with a napkin and, by his usual habit, avoided the question. He turned towards the young Kirsten Morris.

"Where did you learn to cook like that?"

"My mom."

He looked at her closely. "Really?"

"Really. I've been cooking since I could say 'food'."

"Wow."

"Seriously George, we don't have a lot of time for jokes."

"CME...hmmm...Capable Man Eating?" He smirked as Stella frowned and Kirsten giggled.

"How about Curried Mandarin Elk? Sounds delicious to me!"

Stella scowled.

"Better yet, CME stands for Cranky Moray Eel. That's my final answer. Now my dear, are you going to tell me what I am doing aboard an invisible ship eating an oyster po' boy for breakfast not a thousand yards from my very comfortable bed?"

It was Kirsten who broke the ensuing silence between them. "Are you two always like this together?"

Stella answered no. George replied yes. They both smiled. Privately, Kirsten decided for herself that these two were a peculiar match; but one made in heaven. Stella got down to business.

"A CME is a Coronal Mass Ejection. Essentially, it's a large magnetic fireball that our Sun occasionally sees fit to produce. Until very recently, this type of solar activity has been almost non-existent. However, the Japanese satellite HINODE has been reporting massive gains in solar storm activity for over a month now."

"This is not the first time this has happened."

"No, and the incoming CME is expected to be more powerful than last year's."

All three of them frowned. Last year's CME had turned off two thirds of the world's lights for almost a month. A lot of people around the world had ignored U.S. government warnings to disconnect all sources of electrical generation. As a result, a great majority of the world's electronic devices – from the mundane to the fabulously expensive – were functionally useless.

The winds and tides went limp for a week following the readjustment of Earth's magnetosphere. During that time, the skies were sunny and the polar icecaps were silently buttressing the ocean level in response to the heat. The weather then proceed to picked up right where it had left off; but it took four months for the effects of the solar shockwave to be remedied by human ingenuity.

"You're telling me another one is on the way and it's going to be worse?" George Wisely's greatest lament during that time of crisis was the severe shortage of ice and refrigeration with which to cool beer.

"Like about a hundred times worse!" Kirsten startled herself with her outburst. Still, she had spoken what Stella had told her. The three of them pondered the silence.

Outside of Astrophil's hull, there were indeed watchers along the shore. Three of them, armed with grenade-launching M-16's; and high powered binoculars. Both the woman and the two men were experts with this ninja/wizard/grenadier weapon. However the Sun from the East drew a tricky reflection. The man who chose to ignore the uncertainty and fire at the hydro craft was a former employee of Dick Cheney.

Three sets of alarm noises penetrated their moment of brooding. Stella sprung up and dove into the cockpit.

"Forget the dishes! Get into your seats."

George and Kirsten obeyed without question. Strapping into the vertical chairs, Kirsten was thankful for not having to clean up. She was a pirate all right; and avoiding the mundane had always been her intention.

Astrophil thrummed to life and began a twenty meter descent along the coastal waters. Stella was thankful for their quick response. The deflector shields were disarmed when the hydro craft detected incoming projectiles; but Astrophil was programmed to dive without a pilot at the helm. By the time there was an audible target for the hostiles, the hostile folks on the beach were wasting their ammo on the waves. Stella nudged the throttle forward and continued her North by Northwest heading. Her body tingled with the thrill of Wisely onboard. He was going to flip when she showed him the Aleutian deepwater channel. George was a talented dream surfer; but he had never piloted a hydro craft at fifty knots through an underwater tunnel. The polar sea passage had been carved by laser-equipped submarines, which melted through the ice to create powerful navigational currents to the other side of the planet.

The main cabin in Astrophil was separated by an open hatchway. George was seated to the port side, and so had a glimpse of Stella's shoulder and her beautiful long brown hair. Kirsten meanwhile, was happily content to be silent and look around. Sea skates, sea turtles, volcanic reef, and the wonderful ability to see in all directions. The hydro craft offered a 360 degree view. The hull was some kind of crazy liquid crystal chameleon thing. All Kirsten had understood of Stella's explanation was that everyone inside could see out; but to everyone outside, they were invisible.

"Picture a cigarette boat , Wonder Woman's invisible jet, and a submarine happily existing in the same skin. Now pinch yourself, because it's true!"

Wisely had never manned Astrophil's controls; but he had spent many hours in the twenty first century watching Stella pilot the hydro craft. Stella had called the helm "a Frisbee of thrust". On that particular evening, nestled under the waves in the South Pacific Ocean, her simple utterance had led to a flurry of undersea lovemaking. George remembered her scent as if it were yesterday; and he knew that Astrophil's steering wheel would respond to pressure along the disc at any angle. When deflector shields were online, the hydro craft was essentially immune to anything besides a direct frontal collision. Stella had been wedged between the crow's nest and the dashboard. Though heavy breathing, she had murmured something about the inter-coastal waterway at 100 knots and then succumbed to biting on his ear as they rode the waves of ecstasy and love.

Snap back to now. They were sixty miles off the Pacific Northwest coast. Stella guided her hand low on the helm and pressed with her palm. George and Kirsten held their breath as Astrophil exited the water like a jubilant porpoise. For a few glorious seconds, they were airborne. George had traveled most of Earth's oceans with Stella and Astrophil; but he still braced for the impact that never was. The vertical chairs made the experience effortless. Astrophil plunged into a fifteen foot wave and continued below. Over the PA, Stella's voice rang clear.

"All hail dolphin mode".

And hail they did, as Stella piloted the hydro craft through the substantial seas. Diving thirty meters below the water, and then jumping twenty meters into the sky. Dive, swim, leap, dive, swim. The restraint systems allowed the three to feel only a gentle bump during the dive stage. Astrophil was swimming at nearly 100 knots, and the rhythmic motions of their travel lulled her three passengers into an alert, but zen-like trance. Cape Hope was four hours away. Nothing to do now; but plunge through the waves until they reached the ice chunks that were certain to be floating around Vancouver Bay.

The vertical chairs were truly comfortable. George loved not having to wear a headset and shout. The cabin had the equivalent soundproofing of a high-end Lexus. Still, the sheer beauty and pleasure of the hydro craft's dolphin mode made the use of spoken words unnecessary. He thought for a moment about the snipers along the beach. The dogs and cats were safe; but George cringed at the kind of mess that a grenade launcher would make of his log cabin. Before his imagination took him on a high speed tour of log cabin 101, Astrophil surfaced and began accelerating at full plane. Stella's voice filled the cabin.

"Rogue wave in ten seconds. Hold on to your cookies."

Kirsten Morris looked forward and saw only a wall of water in the horizon.

George Wisely groaned.

Stella was never one to do things the easy way. He wished they were diving instead of accelerating along the surface towards a wave that appeared to have no crest.

Kirsten Morris managed to take a deep breath before the climb. Even with the vertical chair's ability to reduce g-force, the sudden climb squashed the air right back out of her lungs. The hydro craft was climbing a rogue wave, which grew steeper by the second. Her exhilaration turned to terror and the crest of the wave revealed itself and began to curl toward their approach. Had she not been breathless, she would have screamed loudly as the pitch of the wave turned Astrophil completely vertical.

George Wisely was sure he was going to die, and signified this by contorting his facial muscles into a painful and confused expression as Astrophil inverted and accelerated through the much less-resistant air. He knew what Stella was doing; but he did not like back flips even off a diving board; much less a two hundred foot wave. In less than a second, Kirsten Morris would regain both her bearings, and her ability to breathe. Then she would discover that they were hundreds of feet above the ocean surface; and about to succumb to gravity. The clock ticked, and a decibel-shattering wail filled the cabin as the hydro craft plunged downward and splashed again into the sea.

Stella eased back on the throttle and began a quick system check. Her heart was racing and she was giggling to herself as she pressed buttons and checked readouts. She set an autopilot course to the Northwest which would pass them over the Aleutian Trench and into the Bering Sea. Astrophil would now travel at a depth of one hundred meters, and at a speed of fifty knots.

Stepping out of her vertical chair, she was pleased to see that both her passengers had contained themselves. She hated cleaning up after wimps, and tried to never bring them on board. Wisely was laughing and crying at the same time. Kirsten Morris, still clutching the armrests, was beginning to develop a smile along her clenched jaw. Stella couldn't help but grin at them. She spouted her own "Woo-hoo!" and planted a wet kiss on Wisely's cheek. Eventually, all three of them were giggling hysterically. When Kirsten finally caught her breath, all she could say was,

"Wee-Hee I'm a dolphin!".

That did it. A few minutes passed before anyone could speak again. George fell out of his vertical chair and flopped about in spasmodic guffaws. Stella was slumped against the galley door, unable to do anything besides shake. Kirsten found that her mouth would not close. All hail dolphin mode.

Fortunately for Wisely's stomach muscles, he was the first to snap out of it and notice the navigational monitor. Pinpoints of blue light were flashing on the flat screen, and Astrophil was closing in on them. Stella regained her composure quickly and returned to the open cockpit.

"Icebergs?" Kirsten had also regained her equilibrium. Apparently she was a quick study too.

"Dead ahead", Wisely replied.

The third world war was a wet one, for sure. Most humans on Earth did not fully appreciate how water was saving them and their planet from radioactive catastrophe. Icebergs were no exception. Naval combat anywhere north of Vancouver had become impossible since 2010. Nuclear submarines could travel the Polar passage around Canada; but they could not surface without being easily spotted. The icebergs were small and constantly on the move. Targeting systems for launches below the surface would strain away without being able to lock on clear launch coordinates. Simply put, any submarine crew that launched an undersea ballistic missile would be vaporized if their weapon so much as nicked even a small chunk of ice. Submarine nukes had become highly unpopular.

The same had proven true with missiles from land. ICBM test launches were discovering all new sorts of hazards in the weather. Three hundred mile per hour crosswinds at re-entry altitudes made commanders around the world think twice. Nuclear silos and even underground protected sites were discovering that water has its ways of finding you.

Secret weapons were either foiled or grounded. Tunnels were flooded. Even those tunnels which were secure at each opening found that even a slight shift in the crust can crash the party. Simply put, the great majority of the world's most terrifying weaponry was currently buried and flooded. The Middle East as a geographical region had recorded four hundred inches of rain in September 2011. The resulting sinkholes and quicksand revealed an underground transportation system from Libya and Syria to Jordan, Egypt, Israel, Iran, Iraq, Qatar, Kashmir, Afghanistan, India, and even China.

Tunnel-digging machines had permeated the Earth's crust over forty years.

Record flooding and seismic activity collapsed the entire antlike network in less than forty days.

You didn't even need to look at satellite photos to recognize the truth. A person could photograph the sunken trails from a passenger airplane window. YouTube and the blogospheres were alive with these recalcitrant images. When a few of the giant earth-movers burbled up to the surface, United States' intelligence had breathed a sigh of relief. Finally they had an answer to the enigma of their enemy's supply methods. Floods wreaked havoc in America too; but her enemies' means of attack were largely unavailable to exploit the issue.

NATO and Europe had the most historical experience operating in highly adverse conditions. These leaders were aware of the risks to their personnel and their capital. Unlike most of the world, the countries of the North Atlantic were well prepared for ice, floods, wind, earthquakes, volcanoes, and even meter showers.

George Wisely scowled as he imagined another CME hitting the Earth. He was happy that many people in his country had been smart enough to unplug and disable all electric devices for a week. Unfortunately, he had been at sea with Stella; and returned home to a dark cabin that smelled like rotting food. It's no fun to clean out your refrigerator by candlelight; and even less so when all you have to drink is warm beer. Now another wave of warm beer seemed looming again in his future.

Astrophil dipped and dove to pass between the undersides of two twin icebergs. The water was bright and blue and very clear. From below, the ice formations reminded him of stalactites inside ancient caverns. He could also see why an unprepared sea captain would have a devil of a time navigating the slurry of ice which had spread rapidly around the extreme Northern and Southern longitudes. Australia had recently begun harvesting icebergs to reverse the desertification process in her former croplands and give her marine industry a much-needed boost. Except for a few lucky farmers, they were many years too late.

Kirsten called up at Stella. "This is beautiful! How much farther to the trench?"

"About another hour."

Stella's voice snapped George out of it. Her beauty was so alluring to him. He let his eyes drift along the ceiling of ice and let his love for this woman fill his heart. George Wisely had already gone to the ends of the Earth for his love. Judging by his current situation, he was prepared to do it again.

"Are we going to dive into the trench Stella?" Kirsten was excitedly curious. Stella laughed.

"Even the mighty Astrophil dares not venture into such depths. Between the pressure and the giant squid, we'd meet a worse fate than Captain Nemo himself."

"How deep can she dive?"

Ah, the young Kirsten Morris had asked the inevitable question. George sucked air through his teeth. Except for the three orphaned chimpanzees, everyone who had ever set foot in Astrophil eventually asked that question. Stella's answer was always the same.

"I don't know."

Kirsten giggled and stretched her tan legs. Wisely already knew her next question.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know."

"Well haven't you ever tried?"

"Tried what?"

"Deep diving." Kirsten sounded less sure of herself.

"Sure. Many times. George has too." George confirmed this to her with a nod and wide smile.

"Well, how deep have you gone?" George hoped Stella would relent, which she did.

"We've gone as deep as twelve hundred meters in Astrophil. The problem with determining maximum dive depth is to actually dive to that point; you get dangerously close to the edge of implosion."

"You mean where the ocean crushes us into putty?"

"Exactly. And besides, we are circumnavigating Canada on a very strict timeline. There are powerful undersea currents that travel North across the Aleutian trench. We've been lucky enough to map a few. I think you'll like the ride. Astrophil isn't the deepest diving vehicle in the world; but she may be the fastest."

"Promise me Stella. No more dolphin flips." George was not negotiating here. He had a vision of Stella jumping a wave in Hudson Bay with porpoise-like abandon. He didn't trust even the deflector shields if they happened to land on an iceberg.

"George, I solemnly promise. No more dolphin flips. At least not until our work is complete."

Wisely smiled and relaxed in the views surrounding his vertical chair. All things said and done, it was a stylish way to travel. The ventilation system brought him a waft of Stella's hair. He could see that the young Miss Morris was also enjoying the journey below the sea.

It was good to be a pirate.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Universal Expectations

The Universe gave up on growing bigger in the twenty-first century. Creative impetus had gone limp like angel hair pasta in boiling water. History had rounded the crest of the hill. Now it was a roller coaster gaining speed. Collective memory was passing through itself ungracefully, like a hambone forced through a colander. Time was moving backward to re-experience itself with new baggage.

The human imagination has long-pondered the nature of creation. Life itself seems to be resonant harmonics of energy. More and more, science was finding common ground with poetry. There were some accomplished academics who believed that God was singing. Others, more mechanical in their thinking, had taken a practical approach. Engineers, scientists, politicians, and taxpayers had built machines – both useful and ridiculous - in the effort to discover the nature of the God.

Known also as a Higgs Boson (bows-on), the "God" particle is nothing, if not elusive.

The irony was that of El Dorado, or the fountain of youth. False images lure men forward into murky depths and away from the intended way of life. Monies spent on the Large Hadron Collider project were substantial. Many interested parties had contributed. A substantial portion of investment had come directly from the International Monetary Fund; who judged the potential discoveries to be of the utmost significance.

Theologians were understandably nervous. They couldn't see or understand what the scientists were talking about. Following the Vatican City earthquake, the majority of religious leaders had either clammed up or quit the profession. People were looking to them for answers; and they didn't have any. They knew about the Big Bang, but the Big Hug was an enigma. Meanwhile, the winged skeleton under the Vatican defied any public record.

Experienced conspiracy theorists suddenly found themselves in high demand around campfires. During the times of no electricity; most people eventually read a book or two. They also talked a lot. Given the times, a lot of interesting ideas about the New World Order began floating around campfires. Without television to tell them what to think, all sorts of ordinary citizens began to take note of how machines had been creeping into their lives. There were those in the world who literally died of shock when their machine world was deactivated.

Word traveled from campfire to campfire. Most everyone knew someone who had totally flipped out when they grasped the full extent of their dependence on electricity. The resistance to the machine multiplied many times during those simple conversations. The machine had done its best to distract humans through radio, TV, internet, video games, Personal Digital Assistants, GPS, satellite roadside assistance, and the like. Mostly, it had worked

Many people had apparently not considered their cell phones would be rendered inoperable when the geomagnetic storm hit the Earth. There were other problems with TV and internet, and especially GPS. These larger problems were complemented by the local difficulties of buying food and gasoline without the aid of computers and electricity. Some were prepared. In fact, a lot were prepared; although they did not represent the majority of the population. Not even close.

Until the electricity was gone, humans never understood their enslavement. For many, it was far too late to correct the misunderstanding. For the body to survive a shift of the Earth's magnetic poles, the brain must be open and available to the positive and negative thoughts tearing through the memory banks like a corkscrew. The end of times, the day of reckoning, was December 21, 2012. Anyone not capable of surviving the event was doomed. For those in places of starvation and war; death was welcome respite. However, in most cases, people were just trying to survive the elements. Urban areas suffered the most, as people there were more dependent on the machine.

Many people had cracked up in the twenty-first century even before the first CME hit Earth. Between chemical foods, dirty air, and marginal water; there almost was no need for modern Earth to have either TV news or handguns. The smart ones around the campfires decided early on that the media was more of a problem than a solution. Early skirmishes for position and power in the electronically disabled world were quickly stamped out. People had had enough of self-interest. Now, more than ever, the company of others was appreciated. Friends and strangers alike showed basic respect for one another. People spoke and listened, sang, and danced like the flames of their campfires, dancing with them.

This was the human tradition. This was the intended outcome of God's love.

Where it remained, it would flourish.

Those with hatred and violence in their hearts were torn apart in different ways by the convergence of space, history, and memories. Justice was being served.

A child abductor was burned alive over a bonfire by the parents of his victims. His ashes were scattered to make sure the same body could never again, host a demon. A Florida real estate developer who drained the Everglades was pulled out of a restaurant, drugged, driven to an undisclosed location, and locked in a small room with an adult panther. County officials who had failed to be just, were being herded in droves and torn apart by citizens. Those who had lived far above the rest were now experiencing all the hardships their greed had created in others. Crooked people of many professions were being dragged through the streets, locked in basements, enslaved, tortured, starved, raped, humiliated, and often killed.

Dick Cheney himself was water boarded by a group of Iraq war veterans until his weak heart gave out. Rush Limbaugh was attacked by a group of gay war veterans, who glued his lips and mouth permanently with Krazy-Glue. Buckingham Palace in London was stormed by over fifty thousand armed citizens and disgruntled soldiers. They took everything. The details were difficult to decipher or report. Shock jock Howard Stern was hung by his penis from an electrified crane outside Sirius Radio headquarters. Senator Tom DeLay was tossed down the steps of Capitol Hill, with Bibles stuffed into every orifice of his body. Mark Sanford was duct-taped to his office chair and desk, and mounted on the roof of the South Carolina governor's mansion. A sign was placed next to him, which read "I am not leaving office, no matter what". The will of the people was stronger than his own. They just left him there, duct taped to the roof of the governor's mansion - like a scarecrow - to enjoy the company of the local carnivorous insects, birds, and rodents.

Corporate offices in major cities were deserted. Entire boards of directors had been removed physically by their shareholders. Elected officials who had built wealth based on hatred were now subject to the hatred they had built. Corporate jets exploded on runways, automobiles disappeared, mansions burned to the ground, yachts sunk inexplicably. Good was turning on bad, to give bad a taste of its own medicine.

Justice was being served, and the people of the world had quite the appetite. In many cases, the fish, insects, plants, and animals of the world were hungry too.

Condoleezza Rice was abducted and led on a blind date with a Komodo Dragon named Ray. Kenneth Starr was tied to a statue of Ronald Reagan and eaten alive by turkey buzzards. Scooter Libby went down in a plane crash caused by a flock of starlings, and John Boehner died of complications from swine flu. These events passed unnoticed except by the locals. Life in a contracting universe had proved challenging enough.

The Bush family men escaped Texas before their true story of their Nazi monarchy went public. King George Herbert Bush had taken the boys to their well-armed compound in Portugal. He had also, in earlier years, run the Republican National Committee, and the CIA. He and his son had run the White House for a total of twenty years. The disastrous results of their economic war machine were now turning on them. Neil Bush had almost bankrupted the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation in the twentieth century. Jeb Bush presided over the state of Florida as governor; and left office as his state was sinking, burning, and dying. This family had been responsible for more death, murder, destruction, suffering, and hardship in thirty years on Earth than any other ruling family in the course of world history. Just like that, the throne of the Bluebloods had collapsed.

This ruling family had finally been removed by the will and the words of the people.

In late 2010, the skull of Geronimo was returned by Yale University officials to a descendent of the great Native American leader. Skull and Bones was no longer. Founder of the Yale chapter, and thief of the skull – Prescott Bush – was finally convicted by the Justice Department for war crimes and high treason during World War II. The conviction was posthumous. Grandpa Bush was long dead. But this acknowledgement by the courts served to explain the oil-guzzling, bloodthirsty history of the last hundred years.

Yale officials and FBI agents had known about occult practices and reputed orgies for years at the Tomb. The stories were the same about places like Bohemian Grove; but no one was interested in Henry Kissinger's sex life. Now people were listening; and the reaches of the false god Isis in this world were dismantled and destroyed. Purification rituals of all sorts were performed.

Even the District of Columbia was part of the design. In that case, Nature had her way with the symbolic structures of power. The President and his family returned to Chicago when it became evident the snow and ice were not going to stop for awhile. Secret Service created the necessary security and communications; and for the first time, the people of the free world had a leader talking to them from home. The family said hello from time to time online. It became easier for all types of people to relate to a president who was not sequestered in a huge mansion. The president and his family still had a beautiful home; but it did not suggest unwanted royalty of any kind. The president and his family were of the people, by the people, and for the people.

Citizens of the United States and beyond were surprised to learn that the White House had been destroyed once before. Fire had taken it the first time. Now water – lots and lots of water – was having its way with the traditional presidential residence. The blogospheres, meanwhile, were having their way with the general public. No one could deny the graphic overlays: Washington D.C. itself was a monument to the Egyptian god Isis. Constructed across powerful ley lines; the occult secrets and symbolism of the city had been discrete. Most god-fearing citizens of America wanted nothing to do with the occult. They had been taught not to dig for secrets. As a result, most of the general public was ignorant to the truth. This had been the power of Skull and Bones. This had been the power of the Freemasons. They had kept many secrets hidden from the people since the foundation of the United States. Now the secrets were burbling to the surface. Upon hearing that the truth was unrequited among the people whom he served, the president issued an immediate recall of all American soldiers around the globe; and requested support for a new currency design, whose imagery would pay tribute in its imagery to Nature and the beauty of God's creation.

This was a new age for sure. A powerful force of light had appeared on Earth for the first time in many centuries. Amidst chaos and ruin and darkness, the truth was being revealed. True believers could see all around them, the discerning wrath of God. Faith and hope was renewed almost daily among survivors. The time of reckoning was upon the world. God was providing what had been promised all along.

Justice.

CHAPTER NINE

Let's Give 'em Something to Talk About

_Schaüinsland_ , Germany

June 20, 2012

As they were picking her up and dusting her off for the third time, Kirsten Morris was becoming understandably nervous. There really wasn't much daylight, and the psychic energy was both terrestrial and intense. Her body was handling the hike well; but her mind flashed with images of a thousand years ago. This forest was alive in a vibrant and potentially dangerous way.

Modern human elements of logging roads and deforestation actually served to numb her awareness.

George straightened her backpack. Stella picked a chunk of toadstool from her bangs and looked her in the eye.

"You ok?"

Kirsten responded without words. Just a nod and a few tears.

"You know it was George's idea to camp out here right?"

Kirsten Morris nodded and smiled. George handed her a bandanna to wipe her face and smiled at her.

"You've seen the Blair Witch project haven't you?"

Kirsten nodded sadly, wishing she had never watched any kind of horror movie.

"Alice in Wonderland?"

A second wave of tears appeared to be on the way.

"Hansel and Gretel? That's the one that got me. I felt like I was back in time, looking at a place before bulldozers. The trees had eyes. You're not taking any drugs are you?"

Kirsten shook her head. Stella dropped two ibuprofen tablets into her hand and offered her canteen. "I stocked up on Advil; and it turned out to be very helpful".

George nodded his approval. "You understand what you are feeling is Earth magic?"

"Yes".

"This is a very powerful place; but at least the weather turned out. The first time I was here, I made the mistake of hiking in a blizzard."

"What were you doing here?"

"I was about your age at the time. I had a freelance assignment to write about flying saucers in World War Two. Unfortunately, the blizzard made any sort of topographical assessment impossible. C'mon lets walk. Think of yourself as Alice in Wonderland. Better Story. Better ending too."

As Wisely had promised, the looming canopy of trees gave way to afternoon sunshine. Kirsten was breathless as she first saw herself standing above the clouds and looking over the mountains.

She heard Stella's voice over her shoulder.

" _Schauinsland._ It means "see the land."

George Wisely had already called the squat, and was preparing a fire circle.

"Not for anything creepy. Just for light and warmth. You had water to fall asleep in Venice. Now the fire and the elevation will make your journey safe."

Kirsten felt better, as she almost always did when George Wisely spoke. At least for a little while. Now that she knew what to expect, visiting the Sun again made her scared. She was clinging, she knew, to past memories. She needed to just relax and breathe. Alice in Wonderland. Venice was Venice. Now is now.

While the fire crackled away, Wisely assembled his cooking tripod over the fire. He was quick to skewer the chickens and potatoes they had bought in Freiberg. Stella cracked beer for each of them. George produced a hand-rolled cigarette of tobacco and hashish, which did a lot to improve everyone's mood and appetite. Kirsten was famished by the time food was ready. Chicken was golden, crackling, and juicy. She ate, and began to notice the clouds again below her. Water vapor was floating, as a tabletop joining the mountains. Iridescent purples sparkled. The last rays of the sun dotted the sky with tangerine oranges. They were far above the world.

When she tuned back in to the conversation, George and Stella were arguing some very strange points with one another.

"How can you possibly steer a flying disc traveling at five thousand miles an hour?" Wisely was concerned with water towers, power lines, and skyscrapers. He was skeptical that 1950's technology could have safely guided Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun to the undersea world of Atlantis.

"They steered into the water, or skipped along the top like a Frisbee until they slowed down."

"And then? You are the one who thinks Atlantis is under Argentina." Stella remained a scientist of optimism regarding conspiracy theory.

"I think they flew to Argentina and dove. The big question is whether they live under the continental shelf; or deep below the Antarctic ice."

"The big question is how their flying machine could survive saltwater. The propulsion system wouldn't stand a chance with an internal combustion engine."

"Maybe the idea was to sink!" Stella winked at Kirsten, who smiled. George Wisely grinned at both of them. Stella did have a point. A sinking saucer could travel a long distance in a deep ocean, even without thrust.

"Upon entering the ocean, some type of rudder system is activated; and the angry guy with the funny moustache slips and slides all the way to the legion of doom? Explain the pressure then."

Stella frowned, and Kirsten spoke for the first time since George handed her a plate.

"Maybe the water changed for them. I've read that the Nazi elite believed they were in communication with ancient water beings. Some historical accounts also claim the Nazis were very interested in Tibet, both for sorcery, and for contact with Shiva."

Stella nodded. "The Nazi's wanted the psychic power at the bottom of the ocean and the top of the world. And let's not forget that Rommel and his Panzer tanks were in Ethiopia and Egypt. The armed forces were present to insure the success and privacy of museum raids and archeological digs. They also sought after objects of power from the cradle of civilization."

The sun had set. Stella's words trailed off in a wisp of smoke. The fire quietly whispered and licked at the night air with its many tongues. Only a few hours now, till the solstice. Kirsten drew a deep breath to ward off a wave of fear. Stella put her arm over the young woman's shoulder.

"Remember, we need all the information we can get. If for any reason, we are interrupted here, we will do our best to wake you up gently. If you feel anything tugging at you when you're up there, it's probably us." Stella ran her fingers gently through Kirsten's hair for a moment to soothe her. "You have a lot of courage. Truth be told, I'm jealous I can't be up there with you."

Kirten smiled. "Thank you Stella." Wisely's voice ended the moment.

"Ladies, we have about ninety minutes remaining until the summer solstice. Kirsten, I think it would be a good idea if you relaxed in your sleeping bag now and let the fire charm you to sleep. We will be awake and paying attention to the outside world."

Kirsten removed her boots and socks and crawled into her sleeping bag. George was right. A quiet campfire always lured her into drowsiness. She closed her eyes while her mind's eye relaxed and soothed her with wispy visuals of color. These were the energies her mind was releasing. Stella had taught her the process. When the colors passed, there was clarity, and she was again staring into the flames.

Elemental forces could not be simplified by the human mind. They could not be truly understood either. A person could stare at flames for hours without ever comprehending the nature of the flame itself. But with Stella's help, Kirsten had learned to relax her mind from judgment, and focus instead on perception. In this way, a person could stare at a campfire, and the fire would reveal itself as a manifestation of the spirit world. A glowing bed of campfire coals could mesmerize the imagination and, in some very special cases, transport the mind.

Stella and George were standing together quietly, as the fire opened its portal to her psyche. Her eyes closed and her body fell into a deep sleep.

"What do we do now George?" Stella leaned her head on his wide shoulder.

"We watch. And we pray." She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I love you George. You know that right?"

"I love you too Stella."

"Whatever happens, we are going to be alright."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do. Even though I have no idea how it's going to play out."

"Then I am going to quietly pack up, in case we need to move quickly."

"I hope we don't."

"Me too."

George Wisely remained close to the campfire, walking in circles and stopping to scan the area for visitors. He couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched. Stella moved quietly around the fire, arranging their gear.

And Kirsten Morris slept. While her body glowed gently in the firelight, her mind was already ninety-million miles away.

CHAPTER TEN

Fire and Ice

The internal combustion engine was the global standard for engine power. Earth had supported humans over a century under this precept. Fossil fuels were combined with air and introduced to an electronic spark. The spark ignites the fuel and creates an explosion. By containing the blast in cylinders and turbines, a piston or turbine can convert the energy into kinetic motion. As a by-product of the internal combustion engine, hot toxic gas is released into the atmosphere, and labeled as exhaust.

Oil found deep in the Earth is (in theory) remnant of the Carboniferous Era of pre-history. The prevalent human hypothesis holds that the dinosaurs were killed off in an ice age, caused by a meteor shower. The dust cloud froze the planet's water, and the ice squashed them into the Earth's crust. Add extreme heat and pressure, cook for a million years. V _iola_! Dead dinosaur juice.

### The following is a reader comment string from Yahoo News 04/18/2008

### user screen name : 666World666

THE REVENGE OF THE DINOSAURS! DRILL BABY DRILL!!!

### Response from: UrMyBitch69

Its sick fux like you who make David Icke look good. Go back to hell where you belong

### Response from: KittyWhip

and bring a few books so you can learn something.

### Response from: 28JumpstreetRulez

Did McCain really say that?

### Response from: greenrepublicans4obama

Not the part about the dinosaurs, but yeah.

### Response from: 666World666

I would let Sarah Palin sit on my face

### Response from: Renaissance101

How about we shove a wind farm up your ass instead?

### Response from: Kitty Whip

Need lube. Lots and lots of lube.

### Response from: greenrepublicans4obama

We need votes to make the wind farms first.

________

Dead dinosaur juice is not the easiest thing in the world to come by. In most cases, the oil is located far below the surface of the Earth's crust. The petroleum deposits are located in many places around the Earth. Extraction of this raw energy material can be gruesomely complicated, especially when the oil field is at the bottom of an ocean; or in frozen, remote wilderness.

Tanker ships are filled with crude oil and motored across the world's waterways using internal combustion engines running on diesel fuel. When there is a problem with a tanker ship, the result is the destruction of natural ecosystem. Beaches across the world had been coated with the juice of long-extinct reptiles. Oil has been called "black gold" for over a hundred years. The Bush family empire began with sweet Texas crude in Beaumont, Texas. Grandpa Prescott wasn't a particularly charismatic or intelligent man; but he did manage to ensure that the Federal Highway Act was created and signed.

The interstate highway system paved the way for oil profits, political dominance, and environmental destruction. It wasn't just the human world who suffered; but the world as a whole. Dead dinosaur juice was an exact remnant of historical greed. The predatory dinosaurs would stop at nothing to devour Earth. They murdered countless species of all living kingdoms.

For a hundred years on this Earth, the juice of these ancient reptiles has been creating a time bomb for most living things on Earth. Humans had become aware of the problem through the nagging of activists and also the fits of Mother Nature. But most felt increasingly trapped in the economic systems of their time. The internal combustion engine has been the essential tool of building modern cities.

The continued discovery and extraction of oil was necessary to keep the internal combustion engines running. Humans were thus able to pave and build on a grand scale. Conquest was fueled by the black gold. It darkened the skies, the sea, and also the hearts of man. Nature had been trundled in man's greedy quest for fossil fuels.

The great irony of the situation was most; and the tide of human momentum continued to do the work of ancient alien reptiles. It had been this way on Earth for over a thousand years.

Now the soot from the burning of oil and coal was in sufficient abundance around the world to absorb a larger majority of infrared radiation from Sun. Heat from the machine world also raised temperatures. Ancient polar and glacial ice was melting. The water was evaporating and being relocated by wind. A massive amount of previously frozen water was spreading itself around the world. Winter snow and freezing rain had been upping the ante with humans year by year since the industrial age began. Modern civilization had created its own demise. Three inches of ice in a major city was a big problem. Ten feet of snow almost anywhere was a problem. Needless to say, there were a lot of problems.

Kirsten Morris arrived at the Sun to find herself in a square room, covered on all four walls with antique clocks. Each one displayed a time, different than the rest. Their ticks and tocks resonated off the walls, melting the air with their multitudes of iniquity. There were no whistles or bells to be seen or heard. Timepieces remained calm and intent on their alternating action. A percussion like the wings of doves, in which there is little empty space between the sounds.

Kirsten opened her mouth to speak, and a tongue of fire appeared on the wall.

"Hello?" She was more than a little scared now. The fire was spreading from one clock to the next until they were all on fire. Kirsten watched them burn, afraid to move. Then along the upper corner near the ceiling, the flame began to fail. A blue vein of ice began to glide the walls between the fires; which deferred to the presence of water.

The chill tugged at her psyche. Her misty breath was no consolation. The tick-tock was winding down. Kirsten Morris soon found herself standing in a frozen stillness. The emptiness had no motion, contained no life. The pull on her psychic mind was like that of a wraith upon the soul.

She tried to scream, and the stillness stole her breath. Time was still.

Ceiling and walls let out a mighty dead crunch, and fell away one by one. Only the floor remained, and she saw it now to be a hand of Sun, which was holding her at a great distance in outer space. Fingers of fire danced across her form, while a face larger than the Earth looked into her soul. Visions of an apocalyptic machine world filled her mind. They were memories of movies like The Matrix trilogy, Dark City, Terminator, and a slew of science fiction recollections. The anti-matter of her fears was fused with suggestion to create dark and cloudy visions. Suggested futures of humanity, where freedom had been quietly usurped by machines and reptiles until there was no need to pretend anymore. Robotic tanks patrolled city streets. The Earth was scorched and burnt by radiation and pollution. Humans were now slaves.

" _This is the future you fear most?"_ Sun's voice was deep and strong.

Kirsten's inner voice answered for her. "Yes."

" _Then look into my eyes for the remedy."_

Sun fixed its stern gaze on her and she was absorbed into the fire. Her vision spanned a metropolis of broken buildings across the globe. The San Andreas Fault was collapsing. Tidal waves were washing over broad coastlines. Entire cities were shown to her, buried under snow and ice. Mudslides screamed down hillsides. Sinkholes gulped roadways. Blackouts covered entire continents. Pipelines exploded in geomagnetic storms. An earthquake jilted Hong Kong into the sea. Beijing was destroyed by a meteor shower. Venice was swallowed by the sea. Texas was carpet bombed with falling space junk.

The scene ended with the entirety of metro Las Vegas falling into a very deep and dark hole. When the view changed, Kirsten witnessed a crowd singing around a campfire.

She saw a small group of families working on a farm.

The scene changed again. Kirsten found herself in a sea kayak, holding a paddle. She floated quietly in cold water along a rocky beach shore. In the distance was a small human settlement with a fire burning. A man was carrying what appeared to be a large fish towards the fire. She tried to yell out and could not. She tried to paddle and felt the oar bumping across her rounded belly. Looking down, she discovered that she was very much with child.

Before she could scream, the star called Sun spoke to her mind again.

" _You cannot join them. This place is only for you to see."_

Kirsten found herself again, being held by a hand of fire.

" _You must leave. Do not return here. I cannot welcome you again._

Soon I shall sing. You must remember this future you have seen."

The hand of flame flickered out. The Sun spoke once more.

" _Time is of the essence."_

A powerful force grabbed her by the knees and she fell towards Earth. Kirsten Morris woke up to find George Wisely tying the laces of her hiking boots. His eyes were wild and worried.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Shift, Drift, and Ride baby Ride

source URL http://news.yahoo.com/article aspx=contentid1073249

December 25, 2011

by Michael Row

Associated Press Correspondent

The New London Glacier isn't stopping. I've been stepping out the window of my third floor flat onto ten meters of ice. I've seen no one else alive for over a week. The sounds from the ice are terrifying. Cracks, hisses, crunches, and ghoulish groans fill the air day and night. When buildings fail in the distance, everything shakes violently. This ice flow is heading out to sea, and taking the city of London with it. We are on the move. I've been collecting food and furniture for burning. Ironically, the sky is now clear and the sun is bright. My solar panels are charging my storage batteries; but it is little consolation amidst the screams of frozen water. About an hour ago, I spotted a polar bear in the neighborhood breaking windows and foraging. This of course has prompted my immediate evacuation of the area. This is my final update. I will abandon all my electronic equipment. There's too much else to carry if I hope to make progress against the southward flow of the ice. God willing, I will survive."

Michael stood up, stared at the screen one more time, and left it there as he crawled out the window of his flat. His crampons dug into the ice and he began trudging north.

______ ______ ______

The following are randomized entries and excerpts from the blogospheres during the last few months of the World Wide Web. Web-crawler data verifies the dates of the postings from December, 2011 through March 19, 2012. Following the geomagnetic disturbance of March 20, 2012; the World Wide Web was destroyed. These contents were transmitted to outer space in a desperate effort to preserve any accurate information about Earth.

"The Mayans were right!"

"This happens once every 25,000 years; and I'm living it!"

"This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius \- the water bearer."

"...NASA has confirmed the high probability of polar reversal and axial reorientation..."

"Weather sucks in London. Everything's stuck in snow and ice."

"Weather sucks everywhere."

"Shape-shifters hate water. Ha you alien fuckers!"

"Love is the answer."

"Repent ye sinners, for the end of the world is nigh..."

"If I were God, I'd kill us too."

"Love is the answer."

"If we survive, will we be able to fly?"

"The ruling planet maintains an elliptical orbit around Earth. Its chosen path has made its existence mostly unknown to any civilization, and prime fodder for skepticism. Until now."

"Oh bull shit. We did this to ourselves."

"...The day of reckoning draws near. _The Lord will judge as the Lord sees fit_..."

"Love is the answer. Love is the answer. Love is the answer."

"Physicists say it's a black hole. Mystics call it the underworld."

"Can't they be one in the same?"

"I thought the souls of the dead were stored in the moon."

"That's why George W. Hitler wanted to build a moon base. To let them out."

"...And the sea shall give up her dead..."

"Let me guess. Souls go into the ocean and then to the moon by way of the tides. The moon is actually made of green cheese. When the cow jumps over the moon, she moos and all the lights go out. Then she sprouts a dinosaur head and fights God."

"That's totally like religious fusion."

"The alignment of Earth will soon be in a straight line with the Sun and the center of the Milky Way galaxy. How freaky is that?"

"What does "Day of Reckoning" actually mean anyway? I thought we were all sinners. What's the point?"

"... _each shall be judged according to his own_..."

"The underworld awaits us."

"Time to PAR-TAY!!!"

"...and Earth shall be cast into darkness..."

"Is it possible to survive?"

"No one knows."

"... _and the meek shall inherit the Earth_..."

"It should read ..."And the meek shall inherit a big fucking mess".

"Yeah what's the point of being gentle anyway? What are you going to do, float around on oil slicks and drink polluted water? Sounds like a raw deal to me. A raw sewage deal."

"NOAA advises boiling all water."

"A lot of bodies are floating around. You have to pick out the chunks too."

"It's called a black hole you dumbasses. It's here to suck up bad people."

"... _and the hand of Justice shall rule with an iron fist_..."

"God's got himself a Shop-Vac. Prepare for suckage."

"Major suckage."

"Like there hasn't been enough of that already?"

"The fact that you can type should make you think except your too frigging stupid to figure it out people are dying everywhere so if your still alive maybe there's a chance."

"Forget the inspirational speech. God will kill us all dead because we suck."

"Then God sucks, for not showing us what to do."

"God sucks because he's got a giant Shop-Vac."

"God doesn't suck. He's just mad about what we did to the Earth."

"I'm glad God is finally ending this mess."

"Maybe God isn't doing anything right now except watch what we do."

"It doesn't look like Jesus is coming to save us after all."

"What is wrong with you Dorothy? We're not in Kansas anymore."

"I'm in Kansas, and the weather sucks."

"The politicians really weren't trying to kill us weren't they?"

"It was the evil alien race that tried to kill us by industrializing our own demise."

"At least they're gone now to let us die."

"Fucking reptile shape-shifter shitball alien fuckwads. I've been such an idiot all my life."

"We've all been idiots."

"I'd spend all my money; but I don't have any."

"... _it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, then for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God_..."

"I hope there's lots of sweet stinky weed in heaven. I don't give a shit about money."

"Money is what created this mess in the first place."

"... _thou shall have no other God besides me_..."

"I hope God is happy to see me."

"I hope dying doesn't hurt."

"Shield your solar panels and batteries, just in case you don't die."

"Farewell internet porn."

"Geez, I'm really gonna miss that."

"Me too."

"Me three!"

"You people are so shallow!"

"I've been drinking eighty degree beer for three months. That's shallow."

"You're lucky - I haven't been warm for three months. I'm burning furniture to stay alive."

"Shit. That does suck. Sorry to hear that. Honestly I am."

"We're the last people left on Earth. We should feel fortunate for what we do have."

"I got a lot of raw sewage nearby, but I ain't complaining."

"I know my family would want me to be grateful."

"I am still alive. Thank you God."

"Amen to that. We're lucky to still have food and shelter."

"The lorries are buried in the streets. My husband and I built a hut above the ice. We pray every day in thanks and praise. We are still alive. We have enough food."

"God I'm sorry for being such a shit head. Please don't kill me."

"God please grant my sick mother peace. She is a good woman. I love her, but she is suffering too much."

"We here in Canada will pray for God to guide her soul to heaven."

"DEAR GOD My youngest son is very sick and needs antibiotics. We are above the waters in Monteagle, Tn. in the hotel. Please HELP!"

"Hi, I'm not God, but I am in Monteagle. My name is John. My family has an unused bottle of ampicillin. I will bring it to you now. Can you meet me outside?"

"OMG wow?"

"God is with us."

" _Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come_..."

"... _Thy will be done_ (ulp)."

" _On Earth as it is in Heaven_ (double-ulp)"

"Please let us have enough food and shelter"

"Please forgive us"

"I forgive everyone for everything"

"Me too, totally!. And I'm sorry for everything bad I've ever done."

"Me three!!!"

"Please don't stop protecting us. We need you now most of all God."

"After you are done being angry, if there is a beautiful place left on the Earth, please let our families live there in harmony."

"Yeah God, some of us would really like a chance to live as you intended"

"I want to grow my own weed God. Your green plant will always keep the peace."

"Lord, I'd just like to go fishing everyday. I can help feed our new world."

"Can we keep soap and toothpaste? Please?"

"Please God, let there be plenty of wine and beer left over from all the dead people."

"I'd like to cook everyday for my people."

" No rush hour traffic is fine with me."

"God, please don't kill our farm. We'll play music every weekend if you keep us around."

" _Mi casa, su casa!!!_ "

"Do onto others, as you would have them do unto you"

"That's a world I could smile for everyday!"

"I can see beautiful gardens and farmland in my mind."

"Lots of fishing!"

"Do you really think it's possible?"

"Anything is **possible** with God..."

"But few things are actually **probable**!"

"That is spot-on."

"My name is Alice. I am a schizophrenic originally from Baltimore. I have lots of voices in my head; but I can always tell God's voice because the words are peaceful and loving."

"Please God, let there be a future for my new wife and me."

"I've always wanted to have a family."

"Me too! This is so beautiful!"

"I too scared for give birth, but I want take care of kids who no more have parents."

"I'm glad things are changing. Maybe the next world will be a better place to raise a family."

"Next world is not far away now."

"My children died in a tornado. I'm praying that Jesus will take me to them."

"My father just died in an earthquake. I think he was happy to go see my mom again."

"Dear Lord, my name is Daniel. Please let my mother hear me say that I love her."

"Please bless all the animals. Please let them know we are sorry and we love them."

"And the trees and oceans too! If I get sucked into a black hole I still want the trees and oceans to know I loved them and did my best to protect them."

"I ain't no tree hugger, but I love the mountains and the stars. Frogs are neat too, but I don't know why."

"Dolphins over here. And lions and tigers and bears and horses and cats and dogs."

"They are so beautiful. Is it true that long ago they would talk to people?"

"We're about to get sucked into a black hole. Isn't it a little late to get sentimental?

"It's never too late...until it's too late. We're barely squeaking by, but we've made it so far."

"What do you think God wanted with us in the first place?"

"Love is the answer. Love is the answer. Love is the answer."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Escape from history

George Wisely had been living on Earth for the entirety of the solar system's current cycle. His current life had spanned over twenty thousand years on planet Earth. He had spent most of it dwelling happily in the ocean. He swam, he ate, and he enjoyed time with his family.

The type of life that Wisely had lived was mostly oblivious to time. The nature of water is timeless. The waves lap at the beach incessantly. Sometimes the dance is slow. Other times it can be furious. Water has no fingers, and yet it is all fingers. A fluid hand. A ceaseless motion.

The magnetic poles had reversed twice already in his lifetime. The first had tilted Earth's axis to favor the Sun. The Sun did its share by melting the ice and separating the land. Pangaea was etched by the incessant force of water and then dispersed by magnetic energy. Early human history claimed many great floods. But humans then were not linked in communications. It was the same flood, happening in individual pockets of reality. The globe had warmed. Things were relocated. The oceans and land flourished with diversity and abundance.

The second polar reversal had brought an abrupt ice age to Earth. A large meteor hurtling through space had responded to magnetic attraction and crashed into the planet. Most things living above sea level were frozen and crushed by the weight of the water. However, if you lived in the ocean, like George and his family had then, things were ok. As always, things would smooth out and normalize. Under the sea, there were many large and vicious creatures; but there was also plenty to eat. The rule was to stay away from the reptiles. Throughout his family's history, there were many tales of great battles fought among the creatures of the sea. An octopus king would triumph over a pliosaur, only to receive a mortal wound and pass his crown to the next generation. So went the stories in the sea. Mammals verses reptiles. Reptile verses squid. Jellyfish verses turtle. There was plenty to eat.

Earth continued to redesign the ocean, as she did with her land. Humans and other creatures living on soil and rock began to prosper together, until the adaptability of humans began to overwhelm the other populations. They could hunt in packs and direct prey with fire. Many predators on Earth became hostile to humans. This was an issue purely of food. Humans were taking more than they needed. They were proliferating through the unbiased consumption of other living creatures.

When humans developed abilities to forge steel and make gunpowder, their relationship with the rest of the animal kingdom was severed. Only in scattered places would the animals still communicate freely with humans. The birds and the beasts had all watched the beloved sons and daughters of Adam turn towards vile treachery. Their pagan worship spiraled downward into murderous sacrifice and bloody wars of pure conquest.

In the ocean, the dolphins knew of the problem. They had watched men with nets for many years. Recently some of their own had come under attack by these savages. The story passed from the dolphins and birds to the turtles and whales. The whales would dive deep and tell everyone in the ocean what was going on. They too had been murdered in numbers for human consumption.

A deep corner of the sea hosted an ancient reptile that had grown powerful. Beyond the simple telepathy of the ocean water, this creature had begun to infest the minds of men on Earth with greed and hatred. Many humans were simply terrified. There also were a few who knew the truth.

George Wisely had first met the Druids through their own initiative. They had succeeded in making a telepathic connection with his family. He and his kin had swum a great distance to meet these humans. When they arrived, these old men quickly shed their white robes and joined them in the water. They Druids knew their language, and they spoke sternly about a creature that had risen out of the sea to usurp the crown of the Earth and spill the blood of humans. Kings of the land had bowed before its might after watching their best swordsmen fall like straw before a scythe. They had hastily constructed a palace for this creature, to sequester its power for their own greed and vanity. Human sacrifice was becoming commonplace, as men grew more fearful and the monster, hungrier. The sky had grown dark; disease and famine filled the land. All the while, the forces of men were destroying one another for the savage glory of conquest. Rather than unite against the beast, they had turned on one another.

The Druids were ancients in their own right; and their time on Earth was growing short. Soon they would pass through the portal at Stonehenge to take their place on a spirit plane as watchers over humans and the other creatures of Earth. The time had come for the great seers to pass their authority along to the next generation. The Druids explained to the dolphin king and his pod that the crown of watchfulness was now theirs. The sons of Adam could not be trusted, but they could perhaps, be saved.

"Which of you will join us on land?" asked the eldest elder.

"None of us" replied the leader of the dolphins, with a flick of his tail. "The scourge of man upon the seas has lost our favor with them. It is only because we are wise, that we survive their indignity."

"Yet this darkness which plagues their minds has come from the sea."

"The sea is ours to roam, only because the god allows it."

"Then we beseech you to bring your wisdom and teachings above the surface of the waters; so that man may reject the evil of the monster and know the might and wisdom of the god."

The leader of the dolphins spun an upright circle and clacked his jaws at the Druid. The stars and planets in the sky had long signaled such an event. The presence of evil was unmistakable. Yet to leave the ocean was both ridiculous and unwise. The dolphin king spouted angrily at the Druid.

"You would take us for fools?"

"We see no foolishness in your existence dolphin. We believe your wisdom to be superior. Our wisdom is pale and thin while your experience and knowledge is as old as the world itself. We ask for your help on land to again establish knowledge of the god, before the monster grows victorious in its pillaging of the land. Humans are capable, but easily led astray. Your guidance in their world insures the glorification of the god."

The dolphin king slapped his tail on the water.

"The god is glorified with our without our interference. The land and sea are proof of that."

The Druid swam closer to the dolphin king. His eyes were sparking and blue.

"That is why humans need your help. Your understanding brings them closer to the god. We beseech you, o mighty king, to glorify the god among humans."

A salty tear passed from the dolphin king's eye into the ocean. "It is a job for a fool, and there are no fools among my family. However I cannot mask the evil of your world in my wisdom; and I cannot disguise the implications from the stars." He swam out to the pod and inspected each of his family whom were assembled until he found a lone male with a small crescent-shaped scar along his beak.

"I will go if you will send Me." said the dolphin.

"Then I shall send you into a new place of dolphin history", replied the king.

"You must always remember the sea and the wisdom of our family. It is your task to grow the humans toward the god. The kelp always will strain towards the sunshine. Your task will be greater."

"I accept this task my king, out of love for the god."

Swimming again to the eldest Druid, the leader of the dolphin spoke. "Then here is your savior, oh wise man. Make no mistake in your decision to accept him. This covenant between man and dolphin is not reversible except by the god himself. He shall walk among them as their teacher and their guardian. You must instruct him in all ways necessary before your departure."

"And so we shall school him and arm him for battle. When he is victorious, he will sire many children who are drawn to the sea. May the god witness our covenant and bless his new life."

The dolphin with the crescent scar on his beak swam among his family for the last time. He brushed their fins and tails, to squeak and click his love and appreciation for them. They would not forget, nor would he.

The Druids formed a circle in the water around him. Joined at the shoulders they began to spin in the water. A blue and white glow effervesced upwards from their circle, where it was met by light from above. The god was filling the circle with light, and looking with favor upon this one who would brave the land to guide the world until the new world began.

When the light finished, the dolphins were gone. In place of his tail, there were muscular legs. His flippers had grown into arms. His skin was dry and his body moved towards the warmth of a fire. For the first time in his life, he was cold, and thirsty.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Astrophil and Stella

In her natural state, a woman is herself, a clock of the ages. The moon cycle entices and enchants the ripening and cleansing of her fruit. This knowledge among humans is older than the written word. Deep in the core of every woman on Earth, there is a thought which resonates of the god.

Oral traditions of history maintained the structure of record-keeping. For a long time, all was good in the world. Even in the modern age, there are cultures, individuals, and groups who maintain a calendar of the world which is far more accurate to the natural state of being. They do not count the days and hours according to atomic standards. Rather, they watch the skies and observe the moon.

Farmers who plow and plant and harvest according to the lunar cycles enjoy incredible harvests. Fishermen who have never seen a depth chart or fish-finder can still catch their meals based upon the tide. The motion of the winds, the tides, and the woman all point back to mother Nature.

The Druids had followed the heavens for over a thousand years. Their minds were rich with capabilities which mostly exist in the modern consciousness as fiction. Their telepathy had grown powerful. They were elemental in their understanding. Modern Earth had movies of wizards and witches. These were the impressions of creative subconscious brought to light through electronic design technology. If nothing else, the modern tales of dragons and witchcraft and folklore were a ghost of past truth.

Lately, some of the truth had been slipping back into reality. A pure soul in Albuquerque, New Mexico found that she could pour herself coffee without getting up. She considered it a blessing by God to ease the pain of her arthritic hands. A young boy in Des Moines, Iowa discovered he could turn electrical appliances on and off; but only as long as they were plugged in. He conceals this ability from his father and mother, who were more concerned than ever about demons.

People only know what they know. Often there is no decent way to explain things. Even under the leadership of an ancient dolphin, early humans foundered in their ability to accept the god. They wanted to understand love; but their brains were conditioned from years of being controlled by alien intelligence. When the monster was driven back into the sea, men remembered the god. They began to praise and worship.

And there were others. Those men who had fathered offspring with the monster remained dark and treacherous. Their dark rituals and bloodlust were carried out discretely. Their core of light was wrapped with dark tentacles. Because their light did not shine so brightly, they became entrapped in a web of fear, deception, and cruel conquest. It was this fright which led men to glorify the power of reason. Those things which could not be explained through logical principles were placed on pedestals and touted before the masses to spread an irrational fear.

By these illogical means of reason, powerful religious groups have formed to oppose one another. Greedy kings and soldiers have slaughtered millions of trees, animals, and people in the name of fear. Often, they say their vile and cantankerous work is performed in the service of god. But their god is not the god. They are ruled by fear. This allows the evil ruler to usurp the wealth and spirit of his subjects. The methods of reason are conditioned into the subjects; and the true nature of the god is lost. Separated from the time cycle of nature, the human being is nothing if not far from the god.

Sixty seconds, sixty minutes, twenty four hours. These are not the measurements of the heavens or the god. These are the rules of man. These are constraints of his machine. These are the confines of his numbers. Tick tock, around the artificial clock. Evening wind or morning tides know nothing of these constraints. They remain unburdened by fear, worry, or urgency.

Like the ancient George Wisely, Stella had also once been a dolphin. In many ways, their experiences were similar. She too, had volunteered to leave the water to save what could be saved of humanity. They often joked about their multi-dimensional relationship. It was funny because it was true.

According to her memory of the Gregorian calendar, Stella was born in the year 2154A.D. She had spent her life at sea with her family. There numbers were not many; but they did maintain a small pod. Machines had won the war with humans. Microchips were placed in every neck and hand. Machines owned and operated the keys to the food supply, and every other creature comfort that humans had come to expect. Artificially intelligent machinery already dominated the land. Soulless power had mobilized into the ocean. The dolphin's survival seemed greatly in doubt, until a strange machine approached them under the waves and spoke to their minds. The only way to save the future was through the past.

Many hundreds of years had passed since they met. Stella and George had taken Astrophil around the world many times in their efforts to stall the machine matrix before they reached a future where humans were chipped and coded, and enslaved to torturous experimentation. They had worn many hats in their effort to dissuade a linear approach to thinking about the god. Imagination was required.

Neither George nor Stella had given much initial thought to the power of money over people. They had not realized that people would fight for their matrix. Their dolphin nature required human experience to understand the nuances of impulse buying; and the obscene justifications of luxury in the face of mass starvation. By the time they had figured things out, the seventeenth century of the Gregorian calendar had ticked by; and economics had the majority of the human population in a chokehold. Cities spewed noxious air and noise. Clocks appeared everywhere, ticking faster and louder. The pace of life for most became more and more frantic. The machine was growing larger, hungrier, and less patient. The dark tentacles around souls were diluted and passed around. Newspapers proclaimed that the god was dead. Movies spoke that greed was good. The digital age called everything into question. The frantic pace of life was acknowledged as a leading cause of death and disease; but few people responded. Even as the matrix had begun to fail, human conditioning had left them entrenched in fear and worry about money.

Stella had shared many secrets with Kirsten Morris. George Wisely had filled in with a few necessary bits of information. But the majority of their nature was unknown to the young woman in the woods. Kirsten struggled along with her arms around them. Her vision was blurred and she had an aching desire for sleep. She felt like her body was asleep, and somehow, still moving through the woods. She knew there was danger, but her body felt limp and powerless.

They had wanted to tell her everything. Now they were doing their best to keep her alive. Stella hoped they would still have that chance. Dogs barked, and electric torches lit up in the distance, heading towards the campfire. They were heading down the mountain at the farthest angle from the search party. Stella knew they would have infrared detection systems. They scrambled quickly from rock to tree as they descended. Fortunately George had noticed them first.

Kirsten Morris' head rolled back and her eyes followed suit. Stella looked at George and they set her down in a ravine behind a large tree stump. He pulled a syringe and a roll of duct tape out of his backpack.

"Sorry about this young lady, but you're not giving us another option." After quietly fixing a piece of tape across her mouth, he rolled her sleeve and pressed the plunger on the diffuser syringe. As Kirsten's body sprang to frenetic life, he threw her thrashing figure over his shoulder and began to run down the mountain towards the road. They crossed quickly and the hill faded into a small lake. Astrophil was waiting there for them. Like Stella, her sleek hull and invisible design had traveled from the future to help them escape yet again. Her navigation system was full of underwater and underground sea passages. Like Stella, she was a gift from the future. This was proving very helpful in the current moment.

Kirsten Morris' eyes were wide open. She was sweating from the diffuser injection. Wisely felt her muscles energize again, but he wasn't letting her go until they were diving. Stella activated the hatchway as they approached. The quiet hiss immediately prompted a new round of barking from the search dogs. The shouting grew louder and George heard the dogs being unleashed. Men's voices shouted in German. Silenced weapon fire sprayed the brush above them. Stella lunged into the hatch while Wisely heaved Kirsten in behind her.

Astrophil sealed her own hatchway and slipped underwater in near silence. She began to descend at fifty degrees to the South through a smooth-walled cave tunnel. Her deflector shields were activated at the stern; but she was already underwater and around several stone outcroppings. It was already unlikely that any type of machine would be able to target her profile. The hydro craft descended eighty meters and the narrow channel of rock opened into a large cavern.

Kirsten Morris ripped the duct tape off her mouth. Stella and George smiled, relieved that she was okay.

"What did you stick in my arm?"

George smiled. "Booster shot."

"Don't fuck with me. What did you inject me with?"

"It's okay Kirsten", Stella's voice was soothing. "Just a mix of caffeine, adrenaline, and B-12. George was worried about your glucose level and pulse rates because we woke you up so quickly. He put the tape on your mouth so you wouldn't scream when the stimulants took effect."

"I suppose I have to thank you both then..."

Kirsten smiled reluctantly. She was happy to know she could still trust them; but she also remembered now, the words of the Sun. Outside Astrophil, the underwater cavern continued to stretch further into darkness. A white shadow moved in the distance, growing larger. George shifted his gaze to match Kirsten's and Stella followed suit. Before anyone of them could speak, Astrophil had sounded an alarm and activated all deflector shields. A moment later, she and her passengers bounced off the white silhouette and caromed into the middle of the cavern. Stella whipped the hydro craft around and George plied the sensors for information.

"Unidentified submerged object approximately thirty meters long. It's heading towards our starboard bow!"

"What did you see?" George Wisely's vertical chair swiveled to face her.

"I don't know. Just a white shadowy thing."

"Tell me what it looked like!" His irritation grew to concern as he watched her eyes grow wide with fear. She pointed over his shoulder towards the bow. The vertical chair snapped around in time for Wisely to glimpse an enormous set of reptilian teeth. Stella barely had time to react. The hydro craft dropped and rolled and she instinctively added maximum thrust.

Kirsten and George were lock-jawed in place. Stella swooped them towards the ceiling and then in a sharp spinning dive. A thump resonated through Astrophil's hull and George saw a long tail lash across her bow. Stella dropped the hydro craft along the cave floor and increased speed. Astrophil was preparing her own countermeasures as her captain guided her through a wide loop. This time they all saw it from a distance. Stella's voice rang through their ears.

"Looks like Nessie has herself a kid-brother. Now that I can see him, we can play hide and seek indefinitely; but he's guarding our exit. Also, we may be his first potential meal in a long time."

Both Astrophil and Stella (and George) were familiar with a large variety of ocean predators. Many had never been witnessed by the modern world. For most of her life, Kirsten had been fascinated with the legendary creature from Loch Ness. She had even dated a guy who sold dragon portraits. The pictures and stories were thrilling in their suggestion; but in person, the experience was nothing except terrifying.

Nessie's kid brother made another pass, which Stella easily avoided. Kirsten's knuckles were white. Tears rolled from her eyes. George was not crying; but his feet were numb. Stella was rolling and climbing and diving in all directions. Finally, she smoothed out and headed towards the entrance.

"He won't follow me to the other side of the cave. This is our only way out. Astrophil is armed with countermeasures for cave predators; but we've never had to use them."

George swallowed hard; but there was no moisture left in his mouth. He already knew what Stella was planning to do. Kirsten saw the resigned terror on his face and adapted a similar expression. Astrophil glided through a wide turn and began her approach. Their captain was scared too; but her voice through the speakers was calm, confident, and hinting at excitement.

"All hail dolphin mode. Hold on tight."

Stella knew the creature would wait to strike until they were very close. At two hundred meters, Astrophil reduced speed. Two small doors opened in her hull. Kirsten watched a dark school of fish swim past them. Stella guided the hydro craft towards the ceiling of the cave until she made eye contact with the beast. Kirsten screamed when she realized they were heading straight towards its head. An explosion of light mesmerized her retinas, while her body jolted sideways and acceleration flattened her cheeks. From her dubiously conscious perspective, she saw only a swirl of stars and the gnashing teeth of a monster. George Wisely thought he was watching; but his eyes remained tightly shut until the hydro craft slowed down and the spinning stopped.

When she realized they were going to be ok, Kirsten Morris responded by vomiting gently on her shoes.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Music Matters

June 27, 2012

George Wisely hummed to himself as he arranged sticks and leaves together on the sand. Using only his hands, the fire pit was walled, ventilated, and ready for action. Astrophil rested nearby in the cove. The Sun had been up for awhile now. He was glad to be ashore. Wherever it was they were.

Stella had done her best to navigate. It wasn't her fault. Astrophil had also been confused. George understood the principle effects of magnetic drift; but he had never experienced a situation where even the hydro craft didn't know what to do.

The island had found them, to be sure. The deflector shields kept them from running aground; but Astrophil's sensors were displaying a tendency to wander off like a distracted child. Stella had shut them down. She had never been without this guidance before. George had heard her voice tremble, and hoped Kirsten didn't notice.

"I think we'll camp out here awhile. At least it's warm and unpopulated."

"Where are we anyway?" Kirsten had finally asked.

"Still on Earth as far as I can tell" answered Stella.

If nothing else, the elephant in the cabin had gone away. All three of them had been eager to find peace and tranquility on the beach. The air was warm, the water refreshing, and there was an ample amount of firewood, crustaceans, coconuts, and fish.

Wisely knew how to make fire using friction; but his stash of portable lighters was his most treasured modern convenience. His bright yellow Bic brought flame to his fire pit. Gentle crackles accompanied fresh smoke into the air. Stella was swimming in the cove. Kirsten was sunning herself near the water.

Astrophil did not have much of a galley kitchen. She was not intended to conjure up gourmet meals. Over time, Wisely had learned to stash condiments and conveniences whenever possible. His morning swim had netted four medium crabs, which scuttled nervously in a pail of seawater. When he cast his fishing pole, he had found quick luck with a sizeable pink snapper. This had been quickly gutted and placed in a separate pot of seawater. A nearby bird was happy to clean up after the evisceration.

Kirsten's eyes were closed, but the bright sunlight was unbroken by her skull. Her mind's eye danced through her memories. She was amazed to be alive, and also, a pirate. She felt a twinge of sadness for Mayuki and an ache of longing for her parents, Roy and Daphne. They had passed some years ago; but she still loved them dearly. Her smile returned as she visualized them, smiling back at her. Daphne had encouraged her psychic abilities, and Roy had always been around to make sure she laughed and enjoyed life. Kirsten was glad they didn't have to experience the recent times. Her father winked at her and smiled again. Kirsten gulped back a sob and sat up in the sand.

George Wisely looked up from the fire. A sudden brisk wind raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Stella was backstroking lazily in the water, oblivious to the ripples. And just like, that the breeze was gone. The air stream disappeared as quickly as it had shown up. George continued to stare intently between the cove, and the two women he was protecting.

Kirsten's gaze was locked again with the daystar. She closed her eyes again to perceive well. Whether it was real or not, she could see the face of Sun for a second time. Deep within her core, she felt an overwhelming connection. She couldn't see him, but whatever it was had George Wisely by the solar plexus. They experiences were separate; but they both heard a deep breath, and then music.

Kirsten tasted a screaming wave of blue light. Tendrils of pink droplets bristled and fell from the sky like autumn leaves. A purple mouth of strings swallowed a fountain of green and the orchestra was orange thunder. An ocean of indigo eyes galloped through her psyche and dissolved her bones. She was unconscious before the song had finished.

George Wisely watched the sky melt into the sea. His nose was inundated with a spectrum of sounds. He could taste them. The colors were infinite rainbow variations of sound. He did not pass out; but he fell hard enough on his butt in the sand to leave a bruise. It was awhile before he realized his mouth was still open and that he had drooled on his shorts.

Stella spotted them from a distance as she toweled off her naked body with a swimmer's chamois. She was glad to see George finally sitting down. Kirsten seemed to be enjoying some much-needed sleep in the beautiful late-morning sunshine; while Stella was feeling the invigorating effects of the cold water. Before Wisely could apologize for not getting up, Stella had yanked his shorts down and taken him in her mouth. George's mouth fell open again as her long silky hair caressed his inner thighs. The small kindling fire would need to be rebuilt; but he scarcely noticed the smoldering ashes as he rolled above her and entered her from behind. Stella's freckled bottom and shoulders drove him wild. She rubbed herself and pushed back against him as they grunted and groaned in the sand. The Sun toasted their backs as they reached their climax together. Slowly their embrace relaxed. George fell over in the sand with exceptional drowsiness. Stella reached over to tickle his ribs and ended up stroking his butt, running her fingers gently along the crease, teasing the soft hairs between his legs.

"I thought you were cooking lunch!" Stella was suddenly very hungry, and watched as her lover's eyelids closed. She leaned in to nuzzle his cheek. He smiled at her playfulness and reached for the small of her back. Stella's curves immediately began to reestablish the presence of his manhood. He could feel the tingling ache assert itself in his loins and he pulled her body closer. They moved in time with tantric whispers in the ocean. Their selves were lost and their energy was briefly joined with the Earth. Again their embrace grew rigid and their bodies thrummed with pleasure.

Even as he returned to cooking lunch, George experienced the aftereffects of the synesthesia. He heard the flavor of the coconut water as it sang with a feisty pinch of saffron threads and a barbershop quartet of curry spices. Stella restarted the fire and the seafood feast soon began to simmer.

Kirsten Morris woke up on the beach with a tingling in her own loins. Her nipples grew hard under her tank top. Laying low in the sand to stay out of view, she unbuttoned her shorts and quickly found her own orgasmic pleasure. Shortly after, she joined George and Stella by the fire.

They ate in contented silence, except to offer thanks for the amazing music.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Observation and Testimony

June 30, 2012

Not a single bit of human-built infrastructure remained after the show. The intense magnetic disturbances detonated the global network of wires, pipes, and satellites. The roots which fed the machine were torn upwards in their combustion. For awhile, the sky glowed red in the atmospheric reflection of flames... - Captains Log, Astrophil

**An old man** in Amarillo curses the fucking communists for killing his TV. He gulps the rest of his warm Stroh's and throws the empty can into a tangled mess of shrubbery and garbage. He grinds his cigarette butt into the dirt. These are his last words and actions before a rusty Soviet-era tanker module lands on his head. His dog is nearby, infested with fleas and emaciated. The impact of space junk flips the double-wide, and breaks the animal's leash. The dog is free. He responds to his freedom by devouring his dead owner's face and one of his legs. The canine pisses in a circle around the body and drops a turd to tell his story to any inquiring noses. His hindquarters kick dirt over the corpse, and the dog lopes off into the green and purple horizon. Possibly he is searching for water, to take a bath. The ocean is only a mile away. The saltwater will take care of the fleas.

**In Siberia,** there has been little food for the animals since the permafrost began to melt. The surviving creatures are miserable, and hungry. The Sun's voice brings them solace. The subterranean methane ignites and flares in a superheated whoosh that no one witnesses, or remembers. Just like that, Siberia converts into a flash pot.

**An old widow** in New York City is alone. She is cooking a can of soup on her gas range. She has no lights or electricity, except for the quiet glow of candles and the stovetop. She has been afraid for most of her life to die. But lately, God has been speaking to her, calling her home. At first she was afraid of the voice; but she has never felt such love in her heart. She smiles as she stirs the soup, thinking of rejoining her family and husbands in heaven. The building rumbles and her kitchen sink explodes. She continues to stir her soup and smile. She will be home soon.

### "After The Show"

by Marlene Weinberg

music writer for the stars in the sky, because nothing else is left

Monteagle, TN

I live in the mountains. Or at least I used too before the ocean came to town. I once owned a pickup truck and shopped at Wall Mart for groceries. Now I have a sea kayak and a fishing pole stashed in my backyard. Things have changed. Besides my own voice and the almost incessant birdsong; there is nothing left of my past as it resides in music.

Yesterday the sky turned from green to purple. Now the glow is deep red. You can't beat a show where the lightshow lasts for three days. I am reminded of movies. Particularly, I picture a medieval battle scene at dusk. The aura of the sun glows crimson, and the color of the sky becomes indistinguishable from the fury of warriors. In our case, the machine is dead. The best singer has won.

This morning, I drew water from a nearby well. My former self would laugh if she could have seen me. There I was, trying to balance the jug on my head as I walked. I've read that my skull will eventually, flatten out to better accommodate the jar. Not that it matters in a world without hairspray. The ocean has kept me clean now for two months. I have dreadlocks. They taste salty. My house doesn't even have plumbing pipes or electrical wires. I'm lucky for that too. On another note, I used pay big bucks to have my pubes waxed. Now I trim my bush with a scissors. Whoever you are, if you should read this someday, don't ever wax your pubes.

The music scene in Nashville is still smoking from the show. The pyrotechnics from the Sun concert took it all down. A few desperate promoters tried a floating stage last year after the flood; but the performers wouldn't get near it. Electrocution is no longer an issue. Now it's hard to know if there is any music left to play. I only have a pen, some paper and hope that a two liter Sprite bottle can securely deliver a message to anyone who might read it someday.

It is now three days after the show. The machine is dead. The sky is red. Music has fulfilled its destiny and returned to Nature. Now there is only the songs of birds, the chatter of animals, the wind in the trees, and the eternal water against the shore. A fire crackles as insects strum their wings. The music is theirs to own again. My own voice seems a pointless intrusion. After the show, I prefer to listen.

(this message in a bottle was discovered on the beach by survivors of the big hug)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Autumnal Equinox: (air)

September 22, 2012

Stella was totally wrong about their current heading. She thought they were heading down the Suez Canal. Instead, they had bumped into Madagascar's undersea ridge at fifty knots. Astrophil had automatically veered to avoid a direct impact; but Stella had her back turned to the oncoming seascape.

Her confidence as a pilot was shattered. She was slumped in a corner near the gallery, sobbing, unable to speak. She had never failed like this.

George Wisely was doing his best to power down Astrophil for structural diagnosis. He had experienced many concussive moments in his twenty-eight thousand years. He knew he was a bit silly; but Stella was experiencing overload.

Kirsten Morris was slumped along the dashboard and slowly finding her way into the co-pilot seat. Her nose was bleeding. She was sopping up the mess with an old t-shirt from her beg. She remembered sitting on the beach relaxing with a Red Stripe. She remembered the skeleton below the Vatican. Her mind flashed with a vision of tunnel digging machines boring explosive passages under Saint Peters.

This time, she did not throw up. Instead, her mind told her nose to stop fucking bleeding. It actually worked. The hydro craft stabilized its systems and George guided Astrophil along the Southeastern wall of Madagascar at a cautious speed, depth, and distance from shore.

Kirsten mopped up the rest of her blood and dropped the old t-shirt in the trash compactor. Inside the galley fridge were three cartons of coconut juice. Kirsten dropped one in Stella's quaking lap and kissed the top of her head. She settled in to the co-pilot's vertical chair and plopped a carton in George's lap. He didn't seem to notice. He seemed intent on mastering the pressure disk which controlled the helm. Astrophil was rising and falling in the realm of five vertical meters. She realized George was practicing his touch at the wheel.

"Just in case". George was looking intently at her now. His eyes shone a sparkle of the dolphin. Together, their gaze mowed astern towards Stella. She was not safe outside of the vertical chairs. George felt a pang of concern stab his conscience. He had gone straight for the controls, figuring Stella would be fine. Neither he nor Kirsten had seen what happened to her in the collision. George scaled down thrust to zero, and programmed an alert for conflicting tidal patterns. He had been interpreting data all day from Astrophil's navigation banks. If he had the magnetic sway figured right, they should be fine while he figured out what was going on with the love of his life.

Kirsten was already with her, comforting her as she cried. The strength of her arms and her sobs was amazing. Kirsten's eyes welled up as she felt an aura of strength amidst a flash flood of sadness.

George was less kind.

"Stella! Talk to me!"

She lifted her head towards them. "I'm so sorry".

"Stella, it's okay. You've got a helluva shiner; but Astrophil isn't leaking." George held a cold pack to her bruised cheek and eye while Kirsten wrapped it in place with an elastic bandage from the first aid kit. She stroked Stella's hair and eyebrows gently. Stella seemed ready to fall asleep in her arms.

"Not on my watch. Sorry pretty lady." George pushed past her and scooped Stella into the nearest vertical chair. He enabled the hydration straw near her mouth and fastened all the restraints. Then Kirsten made haste to the co-pilot seat. Ahead of them was deep water. To the right was a mountain of rock.

"Kirsten, what is your full name?"

"Kirsten Catherine Morris. Why?"

"Because I've never had a full name. When I was born, the god did not require a system."

"Stella's told me about the future."

"Has she told you about the past too?"

Kirsten nodded, with a choking sensation in her throat. There was a tender desperation among them. The big hug was three months away. None of them believed they would survive any longer. Even the woman from the future and a man of the past had lost hope.

"The clock of the universe is about to reset. I would have thought, after all this time, I would have something profound to say. The only words I offer are humble ones. Thank you for your faith and your courage Kirsten Morris." George Wisely gulped the rest of his coconut juice and pressed on the wheel. Astrophil increased speed and descended fifty meters. The young lady seated next to him looked over her shoulder at Stella, who was sleeping. Kirsten was ashamed of her doubts in this woman who had risked everything to keep her alive. At least her wrap job had been good. Most of Stella's skull and chin was covered with the elastic bandage. The gentle pressure would ease her into healing

Astrophil's sensors began screaming. Both Kirsten and George looked back at Stella, who was fast asleep from exhaustion and shock. She was well restrained; and didn't raise so much as an eyebrow while George delivered the very bad news.

"Tsunami alert. Fifteen kilometers and closing. Estimated time of shore break, forty-eight seconds. Tidal depth...four hundred meters." George felt a lump in his gullet. From what he could remember, they were swimming above an ocean ridge in less than four hundred meters of water. Even as a submarine vehicle, Astrophil would be swept by the low force of the rogue wave.

Kirsten's mind flooded with thoughts that were not hers.

She found she could visualize the solution.

"George we have to surf up the crest of the wave!"

"Are you nuts? We'll be smashed on the rocks!" At the moment, George could imagine no other future than being pummeled into jelly against the unfriendly sea cliffs of Madagascar.

"George, please trust me. I know it sounds nuts; but this wave is bigger than we think."

The man at the helm looked into Kirsten's eyes. The windows to her soul spoke of confidence and love and hope. He drew a deep breath and felt love from the god in his heart. A musical fiber in his soul resonated with her certitude. Stella remained unconscious. There was a sudden lack of doubt inside Astrophil's hull. Stella would have agreed with Kirsten. Twenty seconds until shore break.

Wisely spoke into the captain's microphone. He was surprised at the bass of his own voice as it rang through the cabin. "We got no season and we got no time! There ain't no reason and there ain't no rhyme! All hail dolphin mode! I love you Stella!"

Stella's head was firmly in tuck with active restraints. Her lips had sipped a little coconut juice; but she was going to be asleep for awhile. George leaned on the helm and Astrophil thrummed to life. Shooting upwards, her velocity increased as she headed towards the mild vertical outcroppings of stone. The hydrogen cell engine powered to maximum thrust. Nautical speed rose above ninety knots.

"Hold on!!! Five seconds!!! Four, three, two, one...."

Astrophil leapt into the air at an awkward angle. The wall of water blitzed her sideways, and her magnetic deflector shields attracted a low-rising updraft. Overall, the transition from water to air was smooth; but this time it was George Wisely who screamed. The hydro craft's depth meter display had replaced itself with an altimeter and a swirling compass arrow. They were upside down, sideways, and in-between as the wind and water tossed them higher in the sky. A slow twist of air aligned his view with the ocean below. It looked like a bathtub very far away. His lungs screamed for air. He stayed steady on the pressure helm even though he couldn't see anything but water.

Outside the hydro craft, a blue hand of light pushed them through the froth and onto the crest of the wave. The ride smoothed out. Kirsten Morris stopped dreaming and gulped air in terror. Astrophil was surfing on her back over the southern half of the African continent.

She felt a passing vision of rain forest trees surviving the tsunami to prosper free of human oppression.

They rode horizontally along the leading peak of the wave. George pushed the engines towards maximum thrust. His hope was to charge the deflector shields enough to survive the unknown. The mighty wave began to curl; Astrophil was flipped upwards like a pan fish in a skillet. She entered the middle of the wave upside down and boiled past the rushing water. George pressed harder on the pressure helm. His body sprawled against it. They were upside-down in dolphin mode, swimming the backstroke down a steep wall of water.

They skimmed well into narrowing the rip curl before Astrophil took over. As the water closed in around them, the hydro craft's steep inverted dive took them below and behind the aqueous shockwave. When they surfaced, Stella awoke with a gasp. She unbuckled and nearly tore George out of his vertical chair. George was forced to swat her away,

"Check the readouts Stella. My understanding is that while you were snoozing, we've traveled fourteen hundred miles over the continent of Africa." He kissed her gently on the cheek and she smiled at him. Kirsten Morris meanwhile was tearing her fingernails into her vertical chair. Through the nearly limitless forward view, the young dream surfing pirate could see they were rolling in waves the size of skyscrapers.

"I see mountains! "Kirsten's voice over the PA snapped the duo in place.

"What do we do now George?" Stella's smile lit up his world, and her sarcasm bit him on the toe.

Wisely called up to Kirsten. "Use the telescopic viewer. Do you see anything else?"

"That helps a lot. Now I can see a campfire, and what looks like a shiny silver camping trailer."

"An Airstream?" Stella gasped with hope. That could only mean one of two things.

"Kirsten honey, do you by chance see a river as well?"

"Yeah, now I see one. How did you know?" George smiled and Stella clapped her hands..

"We um...have some interesting friends that we haven't seen for awhile. It looks we've finally found them. Stella let's head for the beach and anchor away from anything made of rock."

"Aye, aye captain!" Stella clapped her hands again and squealed.

"Your friends? Who are they?" Kirsten was more than slightly confused.

George took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "They're dream surfers. Like us."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Great Symposium of the Dream Surfer Collective

All Hallows Eve, 2012

Patton Napoleon Rothschild thumped his boots on the table as he spoke. His long black jeans led to a waist which suggested the presence of an invisible hula hoop. The pewter lid on this beer stein had already been torn off and chucked against the wall in a futile but emphatic effort to recite an entire page (any page) of Finnegan's Wake. Now Rothschild was preparing a limerick on the subject of the queen. Beer splashing onto the table was politely ignored, as were the suds which lingered in his stubble. The drunken crowd taunted him and egged him forward. Kirsten was on her fourth stein of beer.

She thought he was crazy. And kind of cute too.

In the year one thousand twenty

I had plenty of food and plenty of money

My hills they were green, with no sign of machines

In my bed was a beautiful honey!

Then the spaceship arrived, from a place called Zoltar

They couldn't say where, only that it was far

On the ship was a queen, who chose Earth for her eggs

Her blue-blooded tribe, kills, borrows, and begs

A queen who could change the way she appeared

Her serpent eyes were by far the most weird

She seduced our men, and then grew a beard.

Our world became dirty and clocked and geared.

Wars fought for blood, to fill her demand.

She lived a long time in jolly old England.

Now the world's gone asunder, many thanks to this bitch

But I saw her die, in a water filled ditch.

Last week in fact, and I'll tell you today

The changeling is dead! Hip-hip hooray!!!

The room erupted with raucous cheering. Glasses were raised and a gentle shower of beer sprayed Kirsten. She smiled. It felt like she was being baptized. Here there were no blood-drinkers or death eaters. There were no reptiles either; only humans survivors with extraordinary gifts and bizarre histories. Her mind's eye held a warm embrace with the moment. Her happy buzz allowed her to pick happy snapshots for her memory. Patton Napoleon Rothschild and the rest of the collective had been sleeping well and dream surfing the globe to record what had transpired.

They had been part of the collective for over a month. Kirsten had also witnessed the bizarre accident where the queen mother had tripped over her dogs' leashes on the tarmac of a secret Welsh airstrip. As her aging body met the large puddle of collected rainwater; the old crusty lady began to gnash her fangs and scourge the air with a scaly tail. Kirsten Morris had been fascinated, watching as part of her own fabricated history was burnt into oblivion by the water.

George Wisely might have had a hand in it; but he wasn't saying anything. He pulled a fresh fig off a nearby tree and devoured it whole, smiling as he chewed. This was not an ordinary crowd, nor was this an everyday Airstream trailer. A twenty foot buffet table filled the far wall; and a stone fireplace provided warmth, seating, and beverage rests. Fifty feet past where George was standing, a flock of geese was feeding along the river. Stella was walking among them, smiling at their busy beauty.

Kirsten felt the sensation of wet steel wool against her cheek. It was Patton, kissing her awkwardly with a dripping beard. She considered kissing him back on the lips, until his eyes briefly lolled out of focus. According to their hosts, the year inside the Airstream trailer was 1756. They had been happy for Astrophil's late arrival. The flock of live geese had manifested suddenly on the buffet following Lexia Luther's comment about the historical cruelty of _pate_ _de foie gras_. Everyone seemed to blame the Large Hadron Collider for the incident. Kirsten had been relieved to know that there was a good reason why so many of the collective greeted them with SpongeBob SquarePants Band-Aids on their faces. Lexia Luther was the exception. On her forehead and cheek, was none other than Wonder Woman.

"If you want to fly tomorrow, I have an invisible jet."

Lexia was sucking on a lollipop and licking her lips playfully.

Kirsten had no idea if she was horny, or an actual pilot, or both.

A few minutes later, she watched as the willowy brunette wrapped her legs, arms, and tongue around the corresponding biological parts of Patton Napoleon Rothschild. Now it was only a question of flying. Kirsten had a jealous vision of a magic lasso tied to the bedposts. Then a wide, calloused hand smacked into her left buttock. It felt good, and surprised her so well, she responded to this random butt-swatting by turning around and smiling. A gramophone in the near corner filled the room with scratchy jazz sounds recorded on twelve-inch vinyl discs somewhere between the eighteenth century and the exterior walls of a mobile home in an unknown location. The man smiled back.

"My name is Ogmios."

Kirsten was face to face with a balding giant. His skin was deeply tan. He wore light blue sunglasses and had two seashells piercing his left earlobe. He wore burlap pants, a wide leather belt, and a sleeveless t-shirt which did a very poor job of anything apart from accenting his torso. On his body and his mind, what was left of his hair was white. Even as he moved gently, the cords of his muscles rippled below his skin.

Through the crackles in the gramophone, a throbbing, pervasive bass delivered a funk panorama. The table was free of Patton the poet. The collective had upended the furniture and stood it along obscure corners of the Airstream trailer. Kirsten watched the dance floor open up. She reached for the hand of Ogmios. His muscles were extraordinary. They gave the aura of loaded springs.

"They say you kill demons. But I don't care. Let's just dance."

The Airstream sound system was ethereal. An electronic drum solo was followed with rap and rhyme.

This was the music only you could have found. Twist in your dreams. Turn the right way around. You can be found the right way, the wrong way, whichever way. It turns out that you can you say it's punked out - gone streetwise - here is your golden vice. Now tell me you can't think twice. Push your memory. It's a strange device. Pull out your golden eye and don't tell me you still can deny. This is the show. This is the way. I know. I wish. I heard you say today...

One song was all it took. Kirsten wasn't feeling shy, and the Airstream trailer had more well-appointed bedrooms than Versailles. She led him urgently by the hand to her sleeping quarters. They spoke no words as she undressed them both quickly. She explored his loins with her tongue and then felt herself raised into the air. Her thighs came to rest on his shoulders, and his mouth quickly raised her orgasm. When she could endure no more aftershocks, she squirmed off his shoulders and backed her hips into the cradle of his knees. Kirsten gasped as his enormous hands caressed her bare shoulders and breasts. She leaned back into his chest and felt a gushing wave of warmth as he entered her and quickly found his own climax. For many minutes after, she remained in the cradle of his body, already in love with this man.

* * *

Stella felt George before she saw or heard him. She reached for his hand and they walked quietly together along the river.

"Ah to be young again in Paris. Can you really believe it's Halloween outside?"

George smiled and nodded. His features were pleasant to Stella even in the direst times. She could feel his sentimental sadness; and she expected nothing else. This morning she had found him sitting outside the trailer on a stone outcropping, staring at Venus and Mars. The planets were indeed drawing nearer. Lunar ridges were visible to the naked eye. The moon was huge, even in the morning sky. Beyond his vantage point, George could see the tides and even a few hints of land in the distance. Even the oldest human on Earth had never seen things like that. They continued to stroll gently along the water's edge.

"Stella we have to find the place."

"I know George. But we have over a month to do it." Stella stooped down and broke off a few fresh stems of Queen Anne's lace along the water's edge. She spent a moment carefully arranging the blossoms before handing them to her love.

"Look around you George. The god is with us. We'll be okay."

A startled goose left its perch in the river and flapped over their heads, honking noisily. They both laughed and ducked. When George looked up again, Stella had loosened her sarong. The silky garments fell onto the lush grass and rested at her toes.

"C'mon sailor, it's our last Halloween together. Let's go skinny dipping."

George caught a glimpse of her pink nipples and curved bottom as Stella took a running leap into the river. He struggled a moment with his belt and trousers, but soon joined her in the water.

The end of the world could wait awhile.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Generosity and Love – Forgotten Elements

December 2, 2012

Somewhere in Africa, a dehydrated elephant struggles to survive the day. He is the last of his family, and without a mate. Most of the world he knows has been taken by poachers. Wealthy hunters and local guides recently conspired to shoot his brother and his father. These humans have nothing in common except greed. For the locals, it is the simply victory of cash money. They serve as hunting guides and then poach at night for ivory tusks.

Pachyderms have a long history of remembering. They remember good times and also, the times that have befallen them since humans learned of gunpowder. Sexual conquest has always been a part of Nature; but since the dinosaurs, only humans have had the means to exterminate swathes of entire species for their own indulgence. Now, even the locals participated by guiding and protecting these egomaniacs in their bloodlust. The young elephant is ready to fight oppression and willing to die. These humans have no interest in the god. They are diluted, convoluted, farfetched, and misplaced with their reckoning. He no longer cares about their deadly bang-sticks. It is time to make a stand.

The local humans are African-Africans. Most of them have grandparents who lived in the intended way of the god. Their ancestry is of hunting and gathering. Their genetic memory is largely full of nomadic instincts. They truly have descended from a world free of money. These men are natives who support the slaughter reluctantly. Mostly reluctant anyway. The elephants have brought increasing pressure into their world. The giant beasts plundered valuable crops of sugarcane in a search for food.

It is not in the nature of an elephant to care about economics. They are however, very protective beasts. This particular pachyderm has visited the graveyard of his elders many times. He understands that running away will do no good. The hunters of the modern age take more than they need.

There were peaceful periods of history with humans. Together they had fought lions, drought, flood, and even crocodiles. Until the Aryan nations arrived on the Dark Continent, everything went quite well. The Germans, the Dutch, the British transported their machines, formed their colonies, cut their forests, hired natives as their workers and armies, built farms, and established hunting grounds. These Aryans were notoriously cruel, and irreverent towards anything but money. Like the predatory dinosaurs, they had an astonishing ability to rape, pillage, and plunder the creations of the god.

By this point, the African continent is mostly quiet. Efforts from across oceans by concerned humans have done little to quell the material greed within the human heart. The elephant knows he is being hunted, and knows further that the hunt has only to do with his ivory tusks. The humans foolishly think that by eliminating his life, they will conquer this previously unconquerable domain. But the truth is otherwise. Our protagonist is a Chinese businessman who has spent over one hundred million Chinese Yuan in his egomaniacal effort to kill an elephant.

The truth is that this one hundred million Yuan had the potential to bring thousands of his Chinese countrymen out of economic oppression. But our protagonist knows too little about oppression and too much about instant gratification. He is the type to let the starving starve, and also the type to eat when he is not truly hungry. So goes the modern world. It is a world based on economics. Even the elders of the elephant tribe had recognized this trend and attempted to educate their young to stay away. However, their land had grown smaller. Their numbers had grown smaller while the trophy cases of the über-rich humans had grown larger. People seemed to think they were both tough and remarkable for shooting down these large creatures that the god had placed upon the Earth.

Standing naked in front of a mirror this morning, Mr. Han measures a paltry one hundred forty-three centimeters in height. His body is unremarkable. His narrow, uncircumcised penis droops like a dried string bean. The only way he can get it to stand up is by snorting powder made of rhinoceros horn. When he hires expensive escorts, the women tend to giggle a lot. They also fake multiple orgasms. Word has gotten around quickly that Mr. Han pays very well. He believes himself to be a stallion in the sack; and funnier than Eddie Murphy.

Even with the world in a blackout, our fearlessly-rich elephant killer is not to be dissuaded. For months Han has worked local and international connections to arrange a camp complete with solar panels, battery storage, LED lighting, and a solar hot tub to soak his bones, weary from the hunt. His pursuit vehicle is not the average Toyota Land Cruiser of the twentieth century. Han will never compromise on quality. His vehicle was shipped on a short-sale from Dubai last March. It is a rare Lamborghini LM002. This four-wheel drive vehicle boasts Corinthian leather, mahogany accents, and a small off-road motorcycle mounted in-place of the spare tire. This alternate means of transportation is not likely to be needed, as the customized LM002 has been fitted with Kevlar reinforced tires capable of withstanding a point-blank shotgun blast to the sidewalls.

Under the hood is another custom design twelve cylinder engine which requires two hundred forty liters of fuel storage for a days hunt. To acquire this engine for his fearless elephant hunt, Mr. Han purchased a trophy cigarette boat from a Russian insurance billionaire who lost his rubles gambling against climate change. The LM002 already had a large V-8 engine; but it wasn't the most powerful available. When all steps, including shipping and inspection had been accounted for, the extraction of this single marine-grade twelve cylinder power plant for this single elephant hunt had cost over six hundred thousand U.S. dollars. Breakdown as follows...

Scarab class one offshore powerboat is purchased along the Baltic Sea at a discount price of three hundred fifty thousand dollars. The claim is freighted by land, sea, and air to Johannesburg, South Africa. There, a skilled technician extracts the V-12 engine. The power plant is cleaned, wrapped, itemized, crated, loaded, and driven by old Toyota Land Cruisers to our current location in the African bush. The technician accompanies the shipping route with a caravan of working supplies. Han's network of corporations purchased a six million dollar insurance policy to facilitate the shipping process. Accountants pleaded with his sanity to no avail. Han was steadfast.

"V-12 is best engine! Han must have best engine!"

To be an accountant for Han, male or female, was to be his spineless bitch. True that all of his crew was well paid; but the Han ship knew nothing of loyalty. It was a brotherhood based solely upon greed.

The carbon footprint of Han's quest was even more surprising than the waste of money. In the stalking of a single dehydrated elephant, this slight Asian man and his business affairs paid one million Yuan in carbon offsets. Han is obviously not worried about money or air quality. Sometimes, he tries to sound like Eddie Murphy, whose talent he greatly admires. When he is drunk on fine scotch, Han will sometimes blurt out the following...

"Eddie Mufee...numba one funny man. Mista Han numba two!"

Han is in no way funny unless you are a member of the audience. Even then, he has the ego of Africa and the body of a Pygmy adolescent. Han eats the finest of food; but the Scotch has eaten away at his stomach. This is one of the richest human beings left on Earth; but he can only digest ramen noodle soup. Han often makes a show about eating and then throwing up. How else could one survive the irony of his stunted physique?

The young male elephant raises his enormous ears. He listens to the Chinaman from afar. There are three other men with him. These are the reluctant locals, each armed with cheap Kalashnikov rifles. The elephant population was not ignorant of their intentions, or forgiving of their cruelty. From the distance of three kilometers, this pachyderm can hear each of the four doors open and close. He hears the familiar clacking of guns and the whiny whispers of electronics. He knows the local's scent; and he has smelled the butter stink of the fat Texan who shot his father.

This one smells and sounds different.

Eyesight of an elephant is nothing, if it were not for their ears and trunks to decipher. The same is true of Han's body as it relates to his stature as a huntsman. He is short, slight, and wearing the latest in customized black market Navy SEAL assault equipment. If it were not for the artificial muscle-fiber technology of his hunting suit, his body would collapse under the weight of his gear. A neck sleeve has been retrofitted to sustain the network of telescopic and thermal sensors mounted on his helmet. Around his torso are various readouts, which report every fifteen seconds on body core temperature, pulse, blood oxygen levels, glucose levels, and also the time and heat of day. It was 11:42 AM, and it was hot.

His body suit was equipped with a cooling system connected to the belt of battery packs around his waist. The heat of the battery pack usurped the cooling effect. Beads of undernourished sweat rolled from forehead to foot, streaking everything in between. His display of armor and weaponry would have looked intimidating on any man of formidable stature. This was not Han. He appeared as a small, sad Christmas tree, or a stuffed midget posing as a retail electronics display.

Two of the locals loaded food, water, and weapons while the other helped him remove his helmet and settle into the driver's seat of the Lamborghini LM002. Two years and half a billion Yuan later, Han is finally ready to hunt. He takes a moment to orientate himself with the instrument panel and then starts the vehicle's engine. Twelve cylinders roar like a pride of lions. The guide sitting shotgun points out the road and Han moves quickly through the first three gears. The guide keeps pointing forward, and the speedometer keeps climbing. Yesterday, Han achieved one hundred forty kilometers per hour down this stretch as he became familiar with the territory. Today is great adventure. His adrenaline and ego push harder on the accelerator until they briefly reach a speed of one hundred sixty kilometers per hour.

Even with solid visibility and a remarkably capable off-road cruiser; it remains generally unwise to drive on dirt roads at high speeds. Uncertainty looms over the next swale. Ambiguity lurks around the next blind curve. The Lamborghini LM002 was designed for desert use in the Middle East. In these places, there is little to worry about regarding obstacles. In the African bush however, excessive speed along rolling straight-aways can create abrupt and unpleasant realities for even the highest quality of motor vehicles, their drivers, and their passengers. Should the vehicle also be loaded with fuel, some of the visual aftereffects can be quite spectacular for any indigenous species that happen to be nearby.

Baobab trees are quite large. A broken drift often requires men and machinery to remove or relocate.

The powerful trunk and legs of a determined elephant will also perform the same function.

Boom.

Our elephant friend watches the fire slowly subside, and then finds his knees growing weak. He collapses from dehydration. A few birds land on the mammoth's body to soothe him. Beyond their comfort is a gentle breeze. He trumpets his thanks and lays his head flat on the ground, his upward eye still open. He is ready to meet the god, if the god requires his sacrifice.

Drifting between life and death, the young male elephant is awakened by the pitter-patter of raindrops along his ear and trunk. This turns quickly into a downpour which wets his skin and creates a puddle for him to drink, which he does. The God has instructed him to live. Once he is able, he stands up.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Astrophil

Deep Ocean

Haiku Poetry

December 21, 2012

"Frozen wonder bread

### Dead, calm, rigid

### We're toast, I think – in a jam"

### \- Patton Napoleon Rothschild

"Sun locks eyes with Death

### Blind, naked winter

### God hugs"

### \- Lexia Luther

"Darkest day every year

### This time – I feel

### Spring will never come"

### \- George Wisely

"Demons fly home

### Leave us to face God

### We remain faithful icicles"

### \- Ogmios

"Abyss – unseen to broken sky

### We hide here

### Specks of dust and light"

### \- Kirsten Morris

"Dolphins tails

### We followed to wager life

### A great bet – for love"

### \- Stella

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Age of Aquarius

With a gentle bump, the sea kayak slid unto the smooth rock along the shore. The water was still cold; but in the last few months, Kirsten found it growing more tolerable. She stepped into the shallows and guided the boat onto the rocks. Her young son giggled as he always did. He smiled at her and reached his arms out. Clearly, she had no other choice but to pick him up and nuzzle his cheek.

The boy's father was waving to them from the fire. He was always happy to see his mate and his son. Kirsten took Aslan's hand and led him over the slippery rocks. When he reached the dry beach gravel, Aslan immediately took off for his father. Kirsten watched him run awhile, smiling at his progress. Then she turned her attention towards the water. In a different age, she would be hauling beer, not ice cubes from the ocean. The nets unfastened easily and could be draped over her shoulders. Today Kirsten held one in each hand in front of her. Arm strength was a point of pride with her.

Aslan stood to outgrow his father at this pace. His father had never known such clean air and water at his age. Their famous joke was that Aslan would be stronger than a lion. He was a formidable cub, and a true dolphin calf in the water. Already this boy had learned to swim with the pod and learn basic dolphin greetings. His mother and father had brought him into the water at a young age, and the dolphins never forgot. They adopted this earth-child of the Kirsten and the Ogmios. The Aslan was protected whenever he swam.

Patton Napoleon Rothschild relieved her of the ice as she drew near the fire. Kirsten slipped in next to Ogmios, which drew a kiss from his lips. From a slight distance, George and Stella held hands as they watched this young, improvised family navigate the sharing of food. Patton Napoleon Rothschild divided the fish which he had caught and grilled over the fire. His mate Lexia ate with the abandon of an empress penguin. They expected twins in the next lunar phase. All around, from what the king and queen could see, there was love.

"I love you George Wisely." Stella wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek. He smelled intoxicating, full of sea salt, kelp, and fish.

"Do you think we should just go now Stella?"

The dolphin queen frowned. Over time, she had developed great love for the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. Her mind knew this history as a blip in eternity; but she had grown fond of this group. They were the survivors, and the essence of the god's purpose.

Stella did not want to leave without saying goodbye; but she knew George was right.

Without another word, George Wisely stripped naked. The air was cool, and the water, cold.

He looked at Stella who was also naked and shivering.

She smiled at him, and offered her hand, which he took.

Together they walked slowly into the water. From the shore, the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve caught the final glimpses of the king and queen returning to sea.

" _It has to be this way"_ was the conclusion of George's letter to Kirsten.

The next day, they all swam in the bay with the dolphins.

