

Ghosts of the Secret Desert

By Alan VanMeter
Copyright © 2014 Alan VanMeter

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1500905062

ISBN-13: 978-1500905064
DEDICATION

For the first, second, third, and fourth teams of the LRB project.
CONTENTS

 | Acknowledgments | i

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1 | The Land of Enchantment | 8

2 | Fabulous Las Vegas | 13

3 | Youthful Exuberance | 22

4 | Barren Earth | 45

5 | Salvation Denied | 62

6 | Storm Clouds | 78

7 | The Conversation | 93

8 | Reformation | 109

9 | The Seven Year Itch | 120

10 | Ghosts | 138

11

12 | Contact

The Gift | 149

160

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The insights garnered, which led to this book were only possible by the sages' previous insights, and transmissions. Sages named Lao Tzu, and Chen Tuan.

1 The Land of enchantment

Sandia National Labs' headquarters are situated near the base of the majestic and beautiful Sandia Mountains in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was here in the late 1950's that my father and mother met. Father was a tall lanky man of Dutch decent from a small town south west of Chicago, Illinois; who had a stern disposition to say the least. Mother was a tall, dark haired, young Caucasian lady from a small Hispanic dominant town south of Albuquerque. Both were very religiously oriented as was the norm for the time, especially mother. It would be later that father delved fully into the religious realm in scholarly depth, and pride.

As far as I have been told by my mother, father was employed by the labs as an electronic security expert, and capable locksmith. Yet she has also let slip that he worked on one of the world's largest stop-motion cameras of the time; perhaps with Henry 'Doc' Edgerton's crew. This must have been before the formation of Edgerton's own company EG&G. It is hard to get anything of real substance from her, as she was well indoctrinated in the "need to know" protocol. Hell the whole family was as well. Don't ask, 'cause they sure won't tell.

My mother worked in the lab's secretarial pool, eventually rising up to be the personal secretary of what she calls 'a genuine egg-head'; a true to life genius research theorist. She has told of times when he would send her to the base library to search for anything that was interesting, or unique. Even what might appear as common place or mundane, if it interested her. It seems he had no set projects to develop, instead he was to create the ideas, and potential hypothesis from which projects might eventually arise. Though she also says that she thought these excursions were just to get her out of the office, so he and his buddy scientists could tell bawdy jokes. Mother had the deepest respect for the man though, as is apparent from the way she talks of him. It is too bad that he eventually ruined his reputation by making an incorrect prediction of the exact time and location of a severe earthquake, which never occurred.

By late 1959 mother and father had wed, and she was immediately pregnant. This was the end of her career at the labs. My brother was born the next year, and I soon followed in 1962. That same year Kirk Douglas finished filming my favorite movie of his, "Lonely are the Brave". It was shot in Albuquerque, and features the rugged Sandia Mountains in it prominently. I have heard Kirk's son, Michael; who is a wonderful actor in his own right, say that this movie was his father's favorite as well. If you have never seen the film, you really should.

My early years in Albuquerque were filled with mixed emotions. On one hand we were very close to my Mother's family, who were filled with love for my bother and myself, as was quite obvious. Yet the 'balance', if you will, was from Father. As far back as I can remember Father lived in constant, and terrible pain. It seems that the year I was born he had suffered from a misdiagnosed stomach ulcer, which very nearly killed him. After he had to be rushed to the hospital and emergency surgery performed, which left him with only one third of his stomach and less quite a bit of intestine; he was never feeling well afterwards. Mother tells that she had talked to a lawyer after this, and that the lawyer said that she did have a firm case of malpractice from which to sue, but that the consequences would have been being 'blacklisted' from all other doctors in the area. So they chose not to sue. It was also during father's recovery afterwards that his Mother came out from Illinois to help take care of him. This is when my Mother relates that she almost left my Father.

The story goes that her family invited everyone down for New Year's dinner, and that my Father and his Mother had adamantly refused. They even told her she could not go, as Father was far too ill. Yet my Mother says that the doctor had told him to start getting out of bed and getting around. Anyhow she really wanted to go see her family, so she packed the two baby boys in the car and made the 30 minute drive to her folks. She says the guilt trip that Father and his Mother laid on her was just too much, and she really considered not going back. With no job herself, and two babies to care for, she opted for the dismal return; instead of burdening her folks with the kids.

I found out Father's disposition myself, the hard way. The memory is one which I tried to bury, but which was eventually dug up again. I remember being four years old, it is a very clear memory, and of being in the shower for the very first time. Father was showering with me, I guess it was his turn to bathe me, and he must have gotten lazy about it. This alone didn't bother me, as the shower was for grown-ups, and I liked it! This was far better than the bath tub, until that is; I noticed Father's thing. It was so much bigger than mine and different looking that I could not fathom they were similar at all. So as I reached out and touched Father's penis with the tip of my finger, I asked; "Daddy, what's that?" That was when I caught my first backhand from a full grown man. "Don't you ever touch another man's penis!" he yelled in anger. I screamed in pain, and ran from the shower, I felt the blood running down my face. My nose was twisted and bleeding, my lip was split open, bleeding, and my gum was split and bleeding. No apology ever came, as that was not Father's way, rather some tissue was tossed at me with the orders to cleanup. Of course I told Mother as soon as she returned home, but he lied and said I had slipped in the shower. She believed him, and right then and there I knew I was in the wrong place. After that I don't remember much abuse save for the regular whippings with the belt, and these became a normal part of existence. If it weren't for the love from my maternal grandparents, I don't know what would have become of me.

Within a year something happened which seemed to change father's disposition somewhat; my sister was born. She was instantly the apple of his cold blue eyes. Then a dark time descended upon our family. Sister became very ill with meningitis as an infant, and everyone, including the eternally joyful Grandpa and Grandma Brown were deeply worried. Yet this darkness passed as sister got well, and things returned to 'normal'. This normality was not to last for long, as something had beckoned Father from afar. Something which the rest of us never knew of in truth, yet the call had been issued forth; the call from the secret desert.

2 Fabulous Las Vegas

In late 1968 Father took a transfer, along with a substantial raise, to Las Vegas, Nevada. The family, now numbering five, took the trip by car. This was a quite exciting adventure to brother and myself. We stopped by the Grand Canyon, which I still remember vividly as a magical place, and of course we stopped at Hoover Dam. Strange that I was most impressed by the large diorama of Black Canyon at the visitor center, this is not to say that the dam did not impress, it's just that I remember the diorama the most clearly. Then we entered Las Vegas at dusk, and none of us had ever seen such lights! As we did not have a house to move to yet, we stayed for a few weeks at a motel just across from the Landmark Hotel.

My first lasting impressions of Las Vegas were of this hotel that looked exactly as if a large flying saucer had landed atop a circular pillar. At night we would wonder at the neon lighted exterior glass elevator as it rose and descended along the pillar, eventually disappearing into the saucer on top. All of the large hotel shimmered in bright cobalt blue, and cherry red neon lights. Soon though we moved into a brand new house on the far western side of town, right at the edge of the vast foreboding desert. The name of the subdivision was Charleston Heights, which within a scant few years would become known as heroin heights.

When we had been staying at the motel, Mother and the rest of us would drop Father off at the airport, and watch him takeoff in the company airplane, a four engine turbo prop passenger liner with a quad finned tail; for Tonopah, Nevada. In the evening we would all go and pick him up from work as well. Father had taken a position with the labs at the Tonopah test range, approximately two hundred miles to the north of Las Vegas. He was to be the new meteorologist for the range, and as such he had to learn meteorology rather quickly, as he had no experience within the field. I remember him reading books on the subject at the motel after work, and into the evening. As I was only seven years old at the time, this did not seem strange to me at all. Then as soon as we were in the new house, we never dropped him off or picked him up again, as he began carpooling with a bunch of other lab employees who lived in the same subdivision.

The Las Vegas public school system was far advanced from the Albuquerque public schools I had been in. We had moved shortly into my second grade year, and I can recall the tasks in the Albuquerque school math section. There I had been counting cowboys in a cartoon like picture, and determining whether the corral was open, or closed. In the new school I now attended they were teaching multiplication tables, and even some simple division. This was anything but simple to me however, and I found I was far behind the other kids. Fortunately the teacher, Mrs. Keever, was patient and more than understanding. She personally invested the time after class to help me catch up. Though I was almost held back; her persistence paid off, and I was cleared for third grade.

The summer of '69 I sat with my mother and brother one fine clear morning in late July, and watched with awe on a small portable black and white TV; as Neil Armstrong amazed and mystified the whole world by simply taking a step. The broadcast was Live from the Moon directly to Earth, and it was strange that the astronauts moved as if someone had hit the fast forward button on a recording, but this was Live! I asked my Mother why they were moving so fast, but she said she didn't know. Honest enough.

As I regain awareness in the third temporal realm, I finish with the regeneration process. My designation is ANX 149 of the 1028th filial generation of the Chondauxk sequence of the Donox Legacy. I am still considered a prisoner by my hosts, though I am not by any standard. My mission here is critical if this race we call the Kornt, is to have any chance of success, or survival. The illumination devices the Kornt call "lights" have activated, and as such I know to expect another visit from them shortly.

Three men in hostile environment suits entered the living chamber of the being through a three stage airlock. The lead man, Bob Beal, was sweating unusually. Bob was a crack FBI special agent assigned as Chief of Security, and Lab Liaison. He would hardly ever sweat, even in the blazing desert sun of Nevada, but he would sweat every time he had thus far made contact with the being known as ANX.

Theirs was the second team on the project, now known by the designator LRB, which was always written or spoken of as Long Range Bomb, but in reality stood for Long Reverse Build. The first team had worked on the project for 20 years, under the code name "Weather Balloon", and had only minimal success, that is if you considered the discovery of micro circuitry, and fiber optics minimal. However in consideration of the ultimate goal of the project, of how the craft functioned, it wasn't much. Bob had read all the summary files of the first team, and watched all of the critical film archives as well, and this is why he would sweat.

The first team, led by Dr. Roddenberry, took to task in 1947; shortly after the crash site had been discovered by a rancher near Roswell, New Mexico. Three of the craft's occupants had perished in the crash; one shortly after the discovery, and only one had survived. Bob vividly remembered watching the film footage of when the CIA had sent a telepathic agent to interrogate the survivor. The being known as ANX had been completely harmless and benign up to that point, but when the woman telepath entered the old living chamber of the first team's base; ANX had rendered her completely catatonic instantly, and permanently. It then told them in plain English, "No telepaths!"

Soon enough the CIA sent another agent, this time a man who was trained in mind blanking techniques, and unbeknownst to the first team; also murder. ANX killed the man instantly with a mere thought, and then told the first team handlers where the man had hidden a lethal dart in his shoe. Even though the man had supposedly been thoroughly searched beforehand, sure enough they found the poison dart right where ANX had told them to look. This is really why Bob sweated.

As Bob cleared the last hatch of the air lock, a much shorter man though just as burly; entered behind him. This was Ken Jackson, a quite jovial and friendly fellow who was an expert engineer in light wave theory. Following up last was a tall lanky man, who was new to the project, his name was Jim VanDamn, and he was the new internal security tech on the project. As both of the previous men had already been accepted by ANX, the whole purpose of this contact was to see if ANX would accept Jim on the project. After the debacle with the CIA agents' years before, it was decided to let the being accept or deny any personnel to be assigned, and preclude any further deadly results.

"We only have to wear the hazard suits in here Jim. The atmosphere is tainted just a bit much with argon for our lungs." Ken told the tall man through the suits intercom.

"Fine by me." Jim replied matter of fact.

Bob was curt as usual, "Now you should just relax, and open up to it Jim."

"Sure, I'll answer anything it wants to know about me." Jim answered.

Bob smiled a tiny crack, "I don't think you understand Jim, it will scan your mind."

Jim looked stunned, "Excuse me?"

ANX was waiting at the table set up for meetings with the team members. He sat down as the three men approached. Jim was suddenly very nervous.

"Greetings to ANX. We have a new team member for you to decide upon." Bob spoke, even though he knew there was no need for verbal communications toward the being. Still it was a formality.

"Hello my friend, ANX." Ken interjected.

ANX nodded politely, but was silent.

"Have a seat Jim, this won't take long." Bob insisted.

As Jim sat down he was shaking a bit. Immediately he felt the strong presence in his mind. He became mesmerized by the being's dark orbs of eyes, and of the pearlescent shimmer to its deep blue skin.

As ANX probed the Kornt named James VanDamn's mind, it became instantly aware of several dark regions of secrets. ANX tensed his psychic pathways, ready for instant attack. The Kornt vainly tried to resist the probing of these areas, but ANX's powerful mind could not be denied. Then it was in the dark areas, and it watched the Kornt's memory of attacking and raping a young female Kornt. Then next two dark areas were similar but ended with the Kornt killing the other young female Kornts he had attacked. There was no other darkness to be concerned with, and even though ANX was disgusted by this Kornt's past behavior, it was not of import to prevent him from being on the team.

After ANX looked away, and Bob saw Jim visibly relax; he asked "Well, does he pass?"

Through its impossibly tiny mouth slit ANX spoke perfect English, though faintly; "Acceptable".

"Well Jim, you've made the grade. Welcome to the team." Bob nodded.

"Good deal." Ken patted Jim on the back.

In Jim's mind though he then heard ANX telling him clearly;

" _What you do to your own kind is of no import to us. Your secret is safe with me."_

As the three men started to leave the living chamber, Ken told Jim; "You should play Mr. ANX a game of chess sometime. I'm sure he could even beat Fischer, or Kasperov easily." Jim could only nod weakly as he was still in somewhat of a state of shock, and disbelief. When they were in the outer garment chamber disrobing the suits, Bob quietly watched Jim from the corner of his eyes. The new man seemed to be all right, yet he was not very excited as most of the others had been afterwards. Bob nodded to Ken discretely, and Ken took the cue.

"So, what do you think about your first meeting with an extraterrestrial Jim?" Ken prodded.

"Wow!" was all the tall man could muster.

Ken went on, "Yeah, when they said the really 'Big Secret', they sure meant it huh?"

"WOW!" Jim nodded.

That evening as the lab team was flying home to Las Vegas, Bob had sat next to Jim, and was slowly sipping a beer, while Jim drew deep slugs from his. Cocktails or beer were always offered by the cleared single flight attendant, and were usually obliged by the team members.

"So, Jim. How's the house search going?" Bob was purposefully calming with his voice.

"Good." Jim replied between gulps. "I found a nice new tri-level three or four bedroom I like."

Bob nodded and sipped before continuing, "Is it in the Charleston Heights Sprool subdivision?"

Jim nodded, "Yup boss, it sure is. Just like you said." His voice betrayed a hint of irritation.

"You understand, I hope, that we are not trying to be 'Big Brother' here Jim." Bob assured, "Its' just that we really need the team to be grouped closely for the protection detail. Otherwise it would be cost prohibitive."

Jim relaxed and agreed, "I know boss, I really like the neighborhood anyway. Nice and distant from all the glitz."

Bob smiled, "Good. How about the meteorology books? Has your family seen you studying them?"

"Every night, and I am actually learning some of the stuff too. Kind of interesting if you ask me." Jim said.

"Excellent work Jim." Bob offered, "Welcome to the team. I know you will be a valuable asset."

"Thanks boss. You don't know how proud I am to be a part of this." Jim was sincere.

Both men started to take another drink when suddenly the plane lurched from violent turbulence, causing beer to spill all over them.

"Son of a bitch!" yelled one of the Sandia men in front.

"Goddamn fighter jocks! Get their plane numbers!" yelled another.

And yet another, "Bastards!"

"What the hell was that?" Jim worried.

"Shit!" Bob exclaimed while reaching for a napkin to soak up the mess. "Oh, that was our Air Force fighter escort. They like to buzz the plane about once a week. It seems that there is a bit of jealousy from those flyboy pukes. They don't seem to like the fact that we are the only plane cleared to land at our nice brand new Air Force base." Bob guessed to himself that was not the real reason. They wouldn't dare provoke the Sandia crew of their own accord. No, the powers that controlled them were most likely behind the nuisance. Powers that were jealous of being kept in the dark.

3 Youthful exuberance

During the summer of 1971, our folks let us go and stay with our maternal grandparents in Belen, New Mexico for the whole summer! I was all of nine years old, and our Grandpa and Grandma were the best. It was during this first summer with them that Grandpa taught brother and myself how to drive. He took us out on a mostly deserted dirt road, and let us go in his big Dodge pickup with a standard transmission. I remember being utterly terrified as he let brother take the wheel first, and even insisted on hiding in the back of the truck bed; in his camper shell, under the makeshift bed he had made. My terror was soon turned to delight as it was my turn to drive next. That summer was also when I first learned what love truly meant.

Grandma and Grandpa had adopted a stray cat they had named Buster. Buster was a good loving cat, and I bonded with him quickly. One day as Grandpa was watering his large lawn, I got a wild hair, and decided to have some fun at Grandpa's expense. I took Buster in arm, and snuck up behind Grandpa; then tossing Buster onto his back. The cat of course dug in his claws, before dropping safely to the ground, but Grandpa's reaction was hilarious. So hilarious in fact that I repeated the crime almost twenty times that afternoon. Finally Grandpa had enough of this and chased me down, then he pinned me to the ground. He did not strike me or hurt me in any way, rather he tickled me until I peed my pants. Then Grandpa seriously explained that I was really hurting him, and that his back was bleeding from the cat's claws. When I realized that it indeed was not funny, I felt bad. Yet he had taught me something very valuable indeed, he had taught me what love really meant. I had never known a full grown man to show me patience, restraint, and true caring. Finally I knew goodness! Though I full well realized that my Father was not capable of such a thing.

Grandma was not past inflicting some minor pain to get us to behave, but it was always with care not to damage us. Usually she would quickly get hold of an ear lobe and pinch until we complied with her wishes. She too taught me valuable life lessons, such as what I thought at first to be a punishment chore. This was when she taught me how to pick the freshly grown black-eyed peas from their garden, and to shell them to prepare them for canning. We shelled peas for hours, gallon bucket after gallon bucket, but soon I found I really liked this task, and the fact that they would have plenty to eat for months to come, if not years, from one harvest! The best part of it, as I look back with hind sight, was the time I got to spend with Grandma getting to know her. They were pragmatic, hardworking, and down to earth good people.

Too soon summer was over and we were back home in Las Vegas, preparing for a new school year. That year was the first year of a new nationwide program known as 'forced integration'. It was to my surprise that busloads of black kids were brought up to our school to learn with us. Our parents had always taught us to respect black people, so I did. My first experience at co-existence was a mostly positive one. I met a big kid named James Phillips, who was several years older than anyone else in our class, and you could tell right away he was very tough. He even seemed to intimidate the full grown male teachers, and as he told it he had been stabbed several times already. This, and the story he told of being a gang leader in North Las Vegas; had awed me. James liked me for some reason and took me under his wing so to speak. I thought James was the coolest kid ever, and helped him with school work any time he desired. All of the other kids in our class never bothered me that year. However that was not to stop me from getting my first personal taste of someone else's disdain for supposed authority.

Being a hall monitor was a great honor and privilege as they told us, and so I made sure to get great grades, thus qualifying for the position. I was not only accepted, I was made the lieutenant; the second in command as far as rank, but the first in command as far as authority. The position was of a rover; I could go anywhere on school grounds, and was in charge of all the other hall monitors. You can easily tell this did not go to my head. We each wore the bright orange sash of position, and I even had a genuine metal badge that looked just like a real cop's badge. It said 'Lieutenant' on it in red enameled letters.

One sunny day as I was patrolling the halls during my assigned duty time, I noticed a short black kid walking the halls. Springing into action; I eagerly confronted the kid, demanding his hall pass. He said "Sure, I got it right here." As he reached for his back pocket, and then he oh so quickly brought his fist from behind him into my gut, bowling me over. I could only grunt meekly, "OK" and then he said something derogatory which I forget, and sauntered off laughing. So much for authority.

The next school year was a far different experience though. All of the white kids from our school graduating into sixth grade were then bussed down to North Las Vegas, and to Booker T. Washington elementary school. It wasn't anything like our previous school, O.K. Adcock elementary. Here I first learned what minority really meant.

Part of the lyrics to a song by a great Scottish folk group named "The Proclaimers" goes; "What do you do, when minority means you?" Well, the easy answer is that you suffer, and suffer I did. I can't recall exactly how many times I was punched or slugged as I walked down the crowded halls, and I sure wasn't the only one either.

The instance that sticks in my mind the most, happened one afternoon as I was walking to the bus for the long ride home. Crossing the athletic fields to the waiting buses, a group of at least six black kids surrounded me from their positions of apparent disarray. It happened too quickly for me to react at all. The leader asked me, "Where you going honkey?"

I said that I was going to the bus. Then he told me to give him a dime. Before I could even respond he mashed his fist into my face; breaking my nose again. Then as they all started punching me, I covered my face with my books, and ran right through the gang as it rained fists all over my head. The sound of some of the coaches nearby watching the whole incident, as they yelled at the kids to stop it, reached my ears as I attained the sanctuary of the bus. I will never forget the look of the other kids on the bus who had obviously witnessed the whole incident. They were either crying as well as I was, or they had a horrified expression, but none said a word, just some sobs. Now I have a small clue as to how the other half live, or perhaps not at all.

It had gotten so bad at school that I soon started ditching it altogether. I just didn't get on the bus. Damn straight, don't get on the bus! Instead I would mill around the part of our neighborhood where I knew my Mother wouldn't be driving by on her way to work. Then after she was due to be gone for work I would sneak home, and spend the day safely, and in comfort.

The third day I did this, as I crept low past our back fence to make sure she was gone, I saw that mom had indeed not left. It was way past time for her to be heading off, yet there was her car in the driveway. I quickly snuck back past the fence careful to stay low and out of sight. Then I heard the back sliding door open, and was filled with dread as she called out my name. How in the world did she see me? It was as if she were waiting for me to come sneaking past. I panicked and ran, quickly hiding behind a neighbor's RV.

Within several moments I braved a peak around the side of the RV. There she was staring right at me from over the back fence with the stink eye aimed right towards me. "Alex James VanDamn! You get over here right this instant!" she barked. I don't know why I did what I then did, but I did it quickly and with determination. I started hopping backyard fences, running. Not stopping until well out of the neighborhood and safe from her finding me. Hell, I was miles away by the time I stopped running. Then I wondered around for a long while, finding a stray dog, making friends with it, and even feeding it some of a breakfast sandwich I had bought at a fast food joint. This was a mistake as the dog followed me all the way home.

Another mistake was bonding too closely with the dog. We already had a dog, and she was none too happy I brought another one home. Neither was Mother, who called just after lunch time, and read me the riot act, promising much suffering when Father got home that evening. I had the balls to tell her of the dog I had named Sammy, and even asked if I could keep him, or rather begged for such. In the end I wound up calling the pound to come pick him up, and rather wished I could go with him, even though I full well knew what that meant. So much for ditching school.

That Christmas, for some reason, Father gave my brother and myself a BB gun each. Soon after the holidays he took us for a rare guy's day out shooting the BB guns. There was a moment when I was reloading the spring operated BB pistol of Father's, and he was reloading my BB rifle kneeling down in front of me. Stupidly I had the hammer cocked back, and the muzzle pointed right at his back. Sure enough, I had my first firearms mishap; I shot my Father right square in the back, on his spine. It didn't even break the skin, but the sound he made was terrifying. The closest I could come to describe it is if a Yeti pissed on a spark plug. That was when I received the second backhand from a full grow man. Needless to say the rare day out with Father was over, it happened so quickly.

Thankfully that summer the folks sent us out to stay with our Grandparents again, and the experience probably saved my life, in every way possible. These were the times I remember as golden, and worthy of remembering. It was this trip to Belen when my brother secretly went and bought a .22 caliber six shot, old west style pistol from a pawn shop. He was only thirteen at the time, but he was well over six feet tall. I don't know exactly why he did this, but at the time I really liked the idea. Probably had something to do with protection against Father. He didn't even test fire the thing until we got home to Vegas at the end of summer, and then we fired it in our backyard, one round, just to see if it worked. Not long after this, somehow Father found out, and then found the pistol.

Bob Beal was waiting in his office den for the agent to arrive for the weekly debriefing session of the security detail. This was the part of his assignment he most loathed; getting the dirt on all the Sandia family's activities who were under constant surveillance and protection from the FBI. Right on time the doorbell rang, and he patiently waited as his wife Jenny answered the door, and led the agent to Bob's office. Special agent Carl Thompkins entered after Jenny announced him, and opened the door to the office for him. She asked if either wished something to drink, and then left them to their business.

"Evening sir." Agent Thompkins offered to start with.

Bob merely nodded and asked, "So, what have we got this week Carl? Anything exciting?"

Carl looked bemused, "Well, you're not going to like this sir."

Bob didn't like the sound of that, and wore it on his face that he didn't. "OK, what?"

Agent Thompkins handed him the report folder from his briefcase.

As Bob leafed through the reports, he read some parts out loud. "So the Douglas boy is smoking dope. I guess I'll have to tell Dave about this. Hmmm... The Watson girl is sneaking out her window at night and banging her boyfriend in his backseat. Definitely have to tell Ed about that. Hmmm...What? Rory Hill's wife Judy, is having an affair with her neighbor while he's at work! Damn! Oh shit, her neighbor is a woman? Goddamn it! I don't think I can tell Rory about this. You're right Carl, I don't like this at all."

"I saved the best for last boss, hope your sense of humor isn't out tonight." He smiled meekly.

Bob read on, "Hmmm... The VanDamn kid who has been ditching school, tried it again, and got busted by his Mom. Well that makes sense, I did tell Jim about it. Oh you gotta be kidding me! He ran, and he threw off our agents? Now I'm pissed Carl! How old is this kid? Eleven, and he lost our field hardened FBI agents. What the hell! What damned good is any of this detail if we can't even tail a goddamn eleven year old kid?"

Agent Thompkins shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had not seen his boss this pissed off ever. "Sorry boss, it won't happen again."

"Shit!" Bob exclaimed again, "How the hell did he do it?"

"The little bastard just started blowing over fences, and then he was gone boss. We couldn't even track him on camera from any of the watch houses."

"Well I'll be... Sure hope he doesn't decide to live a life of crime, cops would never catch him, if we can't." Bob lightened up some. "Slick little bastard huh? Well, at least I don't have to tell Jim about this. I'm sure Lou has already told him."

I am not lonely as my hosts expect. They cannot imagine the eternal connection we of the Legacy constantly share. These Kornt who show such promise in certain aspects, cannot even realize that they actually exist in several temporal realms at once. If they are able to solve the puzzle of time-space someday soon, perhaps eventually they will. We can only hope, and give some clues, as the sacred edict must be observed. Even though they are quite clever, it is taking them far longer than we had initially thought to understand the race preserving technology we let slip to them, 'accidentally' of course. It would be a shame if my comrades had sacrificed their given temporal forms for naught. The Kornt race hasn't much time left, as only a few of them are even vaguely aware.

Ken Jackson was vainly trying to figure out his next move, while ANX waited with seeming eternal patience. Then he went ahead with a purely defensive move that even seemed to him to be several steps behind his opponent. "Out of lack of anything else useful to do, as far as I can tell." He offered almost with guilt. Ken moved his Knight back out of harm's way. The blue being continued to press his advantage by quickly moving his King's bishop to the opposite side of the board, and again putting Ken's Knight in jeopardy.

"Well, I guess it's' see-saw time for me." Ken quipped as he moved his Knight back to the position it held just previously.

ANX had other plans with his Bishop though, and suddenly moved it to break into Ken's front lines and put the Queen in mortal danger.

" _Checkmate in three moves my friend." ANX faintly spoke._

Then Ken saw it, and after several long moments of vainly trying to figure an escape, he capitulated. "Another masterfully played game my friend." Ken offered with true sportsmanship.

ANX replied, "Your game is vastly improved Ken. Very impressive indeed.

"Oh, I don't know about that ANX, but thank you for the compliment." Ken smiled while gathering up the chess pieces and putting them back into the box. Then Ken Jackson's demeanor changed to a more serious nature, and he stammered, "Umm, ANX. They wanted me to ask you for another blood sample, seeing as how I was coming in here anyway."

ANX nodded compliance and held out his palm. Ken hastily pulled the petri dish out from the hazard suit's exterior pocket. After he opened it and set it on the table, he watched in amazement as ANX waved one finger, of his four per hand, over the other extended palm; not touching it at all, but a small incision was made seemingly by the motion alone. Then several moderate drops of bluish fluid ran down the open palm and into the dish. After this ANX waved the same finger over the cut in the opposite direction, and Ken was again astounded, as always, at the instant and complete healing of the wound. There wasn't even a mark where the incision had been.

"Thank you ANX. I'm sorry for having to ask this of you." Ken was sincere.

" _Do not be remorseful of something so simple my friend. It causes me no pain, and I am glad to share all that I can with my hosts." ANX soothed. Yet only he knew that the blood sample was not a true complete sample. This was perhaps the thousandth time the Kornt had asked for blood from him, and each time ANX made sure that none of the highly specialized nano-cybernetic organisms that were so essential to his makeup and survival, ever were released into the dish. The first team had initially tried to take blood by needle extraction, but ANX would always politely refuse. As he had offered blood by his own method, neither the first team, nor now the second; ever tried to force the issue. To do so, ANX knew, would be fatal for any that tried._

The very next morning was the monthly progress report meeting for the team, and the conference room was a-buzz with discussion. Then as Dr. Higgs entered the room and made his way quickly to the podium, all fell silent.

"Good morning to all, and let's get right to it shall we?" Dr. Higgs' voice was anything but authoritative. "Let us start with the material science group. Dr. Sanderson if you will please."

Doug Sanderson stood from his seat, and began. "Well, so far we are in complete accord with some of the first team's assumptions concerning the outer hull material. Our electron microscopic evaluation, along with a complete spectral analysis; indeed verifies the material is some sort of polymer. However we have also determined that the molecular structure of it is somehow chained together totally."

A slight murmur went through several areas of the men.

Doug smiled, knowing that juicy bit of info was sure to get a rise. Then he continued, "We don't yet understand exactly how this is possible, but that has become one of our top priorities. This total molecular chaining would seem to explain the almost indestructible nature of the material."

After a short pause, seemingly for effect, Dr. Higgs interrupted Doug. "And how about the nature of why the material seems to be somewhat immune from gravitational effect Dr. Sanderson? Anything on that?"

Doug lost his slight grin, "No, Dr. Higgs, we don't have a clue as to that quite yet, but we are certain that it is not from trapping of lighter than air gasses as presumed by the first team."

"And your reasoning behind this certainty Dr." Higgs queried.

Doug straightened a bit with confidence, "Because there are absolutely no molecules other than the polymer comprising the material sir."

"Very interesting Dr. Sanderson. Anything else to add on the subject?" Dr. Higgs pressed.

"Just that the structure of molecular arraignment is quite odd. The molecules are very tightly coiled, over lapping any voids between themselves in layers." Doug offered.

Dr. Higgs blinked in befuddlement. "Sounds like you have quite a job cut out for your group Dr. Sanderson. I hope you can begin analysis on the makeup of the 'memory metal' of the inner hull soon. Thank you." He cleared his throat, and continued. "Next we'll hear from Nuclear Physics, Dr. Samara please."

The tall man from India rose, and nodded to all his fellow researchers before beginning. "We have determined that the atomic structure of the new element, number one fifteen, is as the first team hypothesized. So nothing new there, but we have also found that the production of anti-protons from the controlled free electron travel over the surface of the element; does not have the necessary energy release to propel the craft."

A loud buzz from most of the men rose in volume. Before Dr. Higgs could quiet them, Chris Gables of the propulsion group spoke up, "What are you saying Dr. Samara? That element one fifteen is not the propellant? What about the combustion chamber?" The man was adamant.

Matt Samara shook his head, "Nothing of the sort Dr. Gables. We are merely stating what we have discovered. For all we know, however, the 'combustion' chamber may merely be an exhaust port. The fact is that we are all making a lot of assumptions. Though the new element is somewhat immune from gravitational effect when it is energized, just like the outer hull material is immune, would seem to have something to do with its purpose, I assume."

As more grumbling started, Dr. Higgs quieted the men down again by speaking. "Let us move on gentlemen. Dr. Jackson if you would."

Ken Jackson rose and began with a smile, "Well we have some very interesting news. Our emission bombardment experiments have yielded some fruit. It seems that the outer hull material is quite reflective with visible light, but when bombarded with high frequency light; the light waves are deflected completely around the material. The first team of course suspected such, and now we can positively verify the phenomena. This may be of some use to the military, because as soon as we can manufacture the material, or something close to it in molecular structure; we may have a radar immune substance."

Some cheers went up from the men, and even Dr. Higgs wore a grin.

Ken let this die down before going on, "Now we come to the bizarre stuff. The large fiber optic cables that wrap from the rear of the combustion chamber to the emitter ports hidden beneath the small panels of the hull material, the panels that appear to slide open on the exterior of the craft. We have subjected these cables to a full spectrum of photonic emissions, and the only wave length they will bias for, allowing transmission of the photon waves; are of an ultra-low frequency we suspect is in the kilometer band width. I know this is supposed to be quite impossible due to the cables narrow width, but this is what we strongly suspect is occurring."

More murmurs erupted.

Ken spoke again, "Best we can figure at the moment, is that the cables trap the wave, and somehow reduce the size of the wave length, until it reaches the emitters; where upon the wave is released as normal size." He cleared his throat to stop any ruckus, "Now here is where it gets weird. Somehow the cables are also lasing the light, making it coherent upon release."

Dr. Higgs interrupted him, "To what purpose do you suppose Dr. Jackson?"

"We are still with the first team's hypothesis on this. It might be for maneuvering purposes, just because of the location of the emitters symmetrically around the hull; like maneuvering thrusters would be, but we sure don't know how yet." Ken finished.

"Very well, good work Dr. Jackson, and your group. Next if Dr. Forward from the propulsion group would report please."

"We are pretty well convinced that the combustion chamber is the main propulsion of the craft, meaning that element one fifteen is the propellant." Dr. Forward flew in the face of what Dr. Samara had earlier said. "Although we are not certain. Being that the combustion chamber is designed just like a rocket's combustion chamber in shape, and that it is made from the same nearly indestructible material as the hull, only thicker. This and that the combustion chamber opens out from the bulbous end of the craft. We agree with the first team's theory; that the narrow end of the tear drop shape has to be the forward end of the craft. Everything points to this thing being made for speed. We also agree with first team's assertion that the craft has to be interplanetary only. There is not sufficient room for provisions enough, let alone air supply, or in the case of the previous occupants; atmosphere supply, for an interstellar voyage. Which leaves the question; why such high technology for a mere planet hopper? It is too bad our guest won't answer any questions with regard to any of their technology, sure would save a lot of guess work." He chuckled slightly with sarcasm. "As to the layered hull panels that open inward to a seeming void space near the tapered front of the craft, or the layered panels of similar design at the rear of the craft; we have no clue as to their purpose, not even interesting speculation. A mystery. Another complete mystery is the purpose of the elastic like 'memory metal' of the inner hull. We can only assume that due to the outer hull's layered panels that open inward eventually to expose the inner hull to space, that the inner hull might be used to keep atmosphere in the craft when these panels are opened."

"Any idea as to the ripples ringing the outer hull?" Dr. Higgs asked.

"The fact that they increase in size toward the balloon end of the ship, seems to indicate they are not just there for decoration. They do have a purpose, but what that purpose might be; we haven't a clue." Dr. Forward sat down after he was done.

Dr. Higgs motioned to the last scientific research group, "Exobiology, please report."

The lone woman in the room, Dr. Sarah Jameson stood up. "As you are probably all aware of, the creature's biological functions..."

Just then Ken Jackson interrupted her, "His name is ANX, Dr. Jameson." He was firm with his voice.

"Of course Dr. Jackson." The smugness in her voice was evident, "Mr. ANX has functions that are still a total and complete mystery to us. Their biology is far advanced from our own. As we cannot begin to decipher the purpose of most of their internal functions, we are left with almost pure guess work. All of their tissues seem to be much denser than our own, perhaps because of the environment of their home world, but again this is pure conjecture. We know that they are much more technologically advanced than we are, coupled with the fact that they are telepathic, suggests we should consider their minds to be much more advanced in every way possible."

"Tell us something we don't know" came an anonymous voice from the crowd.

Dr. Jameson got slightly flustered by the rude interruption, and offered, "Very well then, just an observation. We know that their food source is from mycelium spores which they expel from their mouths, and are then grown into full bodied 'mushrooms' for their consumption. Very useful to take your food source with you wherever you go, especially a source as small as a spore. These mushrooms which they eat for supposed nourishment are very similar to several species of mushrooms which grow here on Earth, namely of the Stropharia and Panaeolus varieties. These are poisonous mushrooms which contain highly active quantities of a hallucinogen, from a compound known as psilocybin. Our guest's food source has much more of this compound, even enough to kill a man."

"So he gets high when he eats?" Asked Ken Jackson.

"We don't know how this compound affects Mr. ANX. We can only assume that is quite necessary for their survival. The interesting observation I noticed however relates to the appearance of the mushrooms that he grows for his food." She paused while she put a transparent laminar sheet on an overhead projector on the main table, and turned the projector on. "If you will notice the young mushroom's shape, before the veil opens, is very similar to their space craft's shape. Especially notice the ripples that ring the cap along its length. Seems fairly familiar doesn't it?"

"What the hell?" Dr. Forward uttered.

There were several gasps and exclamations from others.

Dr. Higgs smiled, "Excellent observation Dr. Jameson, excellent." He nodded.

"Any idea of the function of these ripples Dr. Jameson?" Dr. Forward queried.

"None what so ever." She was curt.

"Dr. Sanderson, would you be so kind has to have your group perform a molecular scan of one of these mushrooms. Let's see if there are any similarities. This may be a break for us." Dr. Forward asked.

Dr. Higgs nodded agreement. Then he finished the meeting by asking Bob Beal if there were any pressing security concerns.

Bob rose up his large frame from the small chair, "We've been hearing a bit of scuttlebutt in some of the scientific circles concerning our little base here. Mostly curiosity, or wild conjecture, but I want to remind everyone of absolute security. One slip from anyone's tongue, and we could all be dead. I mean it! This is no joke!"

ANX had been listening to the meeting with his mind. He was disappointed by their lack of progress, though he was already somewhat aware of this fact. Indeed the craft they had crashed, and thus 'accidentally' given to the Kornt, was in truth a starship, not a mere interplanetary craft as they presumed. The hull material was the key to everything. Its' function would astound and bewilder the Kornt, yet he could not simply give them the thought. They, as all other races before them, must earn the right to travel to the stars. This is what the evolutionary process had been pushing towards from the beginning of life on their planet, on all planets. He knew fully well that this technology would forever change their way of life, shaking their world to its core. No longer would they be subjugated by their own greed and lust for power. If they could only realize the very basic principal of the nature of time-space. The clock was ticking however, as they rapidly destroyed their own world. He did not know if they would make the quantum leap before they became locked onto the pathway to extinction. Without the strong industrial base they presently had, even the technology to do so would be useless. Thus the race was on, yet the Kornt didn't even seem to have the insight to realize this. ANX knew he had to try all methods allowed to him, so he determined to plant some more 'seeds', as he had done before with the first team. He knew of all the people that each team member personally knew, and could plant 'seeds' in them all. With the first team he had some success with this, especially with the young nephew of the team leader. This man had been able to visualize some of the truth of time-space, but had not made the absolute connection of the base principle. Of great hope though, the man had seen the necessity of the sacred edict. Useless though, without the means to get to the stars. Still he had, and was inspiring many others with his stories. So ANX reached out with his mind, and began planting.

One of the first outdoor adventures that I had in Las Vegas was a Webelow day excursion to Cottonwood Cove camp grounds, below the Hoover Dam. Webelows was an intermediate step after Cub Scouts, and before Boy Scouts. They did much the same thing as the Boy Scouts, without the overnight camping trips. Father had been volunteered to drive a bunch of the kids, as he had recently purchased a VW micro bus. I remember all the kids in the bus were really rambunctious, and rowdy; ready to get to the camp ground and explore.

As soon as the bus stopped at Cottonwood Cove, we all bailed out like the bus was on fire; rather it was just our asses that were ablaze. The instant our feet hit the ground, someone challenged a race to the top of an adjacent rocky desert hill, and we were off! Even though I started out fairly far in the rear of the wild pack of boys, I was soon gaining on the leader. That's when he really started to go, and I wasn't going to be beaten; so I really started to give it all, even pulling myself along with my lanky long arms on the rocks protruding everywhere. Shortly after I passed the leader and saw a clear victory in sight, one of the rocks I was pulling myself up with came loose, and tumbled down below. I didn't even have time to shout a warning when the rock, or small boulder as it was, clobbered a kid right on top of his head. The fun was instantly over as crimson blood came gushing from the wound. Then the kid had to be quickly driven by the other volunteer driver to the hospital for stitches. Father was beyond pissed off at me, and made me sit in the bus for the rest of the afternoon.

Bob Beal could tell that Jim VanDamn was extremely anxious that morning, and even though he already knew why, he knew he could help relieve the anxiety. "So how did the Webelow trip go Jim?" he asked innocently enough.

"Goddamn bastard kid of mine just about killed another boy Bob!" Jim was furious.

"What the hell happened Jim?" Bob coaxed.

"Those damn grab-ass kids went running up a hill in a race before I even shut the damn bus off. Mine sent a boulder down on another kid's head! Split it right open, and the other father had to take him right away to the emergency room for stiches!" Jim fumed. "I'll be lucky if the kid's folks don't sue the pants right off me, Goddamn It!"

Bob gently put a hand on Jim's shoulder, and assured him; "You don't have to worry about being sued by anyone Jim. Believe me."

Jim blinked hard, and visibly relaxed as he understood Bob was telling him the truth.

4 Barren earth

Junior high school was a strange place. Girls started looking very interesting to me, and yet I didn't have a clue as to how to talk to them sensibly. Of course in hind sight I realize that there is no sense in this desire, but at that time they drove me crazy, and for many years to come. About this time I really became interested in science fiction, especially the works of Arthur C. Clarke. Space seemed to beckon to me. Then there was the ever present church, every Sunday, for at least half the precious day off. The indoctrination process is lengthy and fraught with anxiety, and it lasts for a long time, perhaps even a lifetime for those poor souls who never step outside the veil, and honestly look at the doctrine from a point of indifference. To say I was indoctrinated in the belief system of my parents would be an understatement. It really seemed to please them that I too was one of the blessed fold, so I complied. This helped relieve the eternal pressure from Father, for a while at least.

Also during this time I graduated from Webelows, into actual Boy Scouts. There I really took a shine to the teachings of the Scout Masters. The campouts were terrific fun, most of the time, and even the troop meetings weren't near as boring as church, even though they were held in a church. Brother and I were both in the same troop, and soon he was promoted into the senior patrol. Those guys got the best of everything, and the rest of us were left to do their bidding. So naturally everyone wanted to be in the senior patrol, of which age was the main determiner, unless your dad was the Scout Master that is.

The first Scout Master we had was kind of innocuous in my memory, but the second one; Ken Jackson who worked with Father up at the range in Tonopah, was a real good leader. He really cared about all of the boys, and scouting too. His son was friends with my brother, and lived in the same neighborhood. I tried to be his friend too, as he always had the coolest things of interest to a young kid; like model rockets, and the neatest Schwinn five speed drag race bike I had ever seen. He always looked down on me though, as I was a full year younger than he, but I really liked and respected his dad. Mr. Jackson was a good man.

After a while the most of the older kids dropped out of scouts, like my brother did when Father forced him to find a job at age fourteen. This was so he could save some money for college, which Father never tired of telling us, was the only way we would see any higher education at all. They would not be able to help us financially in the least bit.

When I was finally allowed into the senior patrol, which by that time consisted almost solely of the Scout Master's son, and his best friend; a real tough kid from Alaska, it wasn't so cool. However, there was a secret organization in the Boy Scouts, or supposedly secret, called the Order of the Arrow. To be a member of this you had to be nominated by an Order member, and then voted for by the Order. This was all done in secret, and an initiate's first inkling that they were selected for the honor was by being tapped out during a campout's fire ceremony. You know, where all the kids are singing Kumbyah and shit. Anyhow I was finally tapped out (not as in MMA fighting), and taken to a secret meeting where I was told I would undergo 'The Ordeal' in order to become a member. I was aware of 'The Ordeal' as brother had under gone the same thing several years earlier, and he had told me of what to expect.

Within a month or so I was at Camp Bonanza in the northern reaches of the Mount Charleston range, about an hour outside of Las Vegas. The Ordeal began late the first evening after we arrived. After a brief ceremony swearing us to absolute silence for the remainder, the other candidates from several other troops, and myself were led off into the darkness with only our sleeping bags. One by one the Order member leading us would silently tap a boy's shoulder, and point to the spot where he was to spend the night.

In the morning the same kid came to silently fetch us all. We were taken to the chow hall of the camp, and served a breakfast of a one inch square of toast covered with a spoonful of scrambled egg. Water was allowed for drinking, but nothing else was allowed. Then a hard day's work began, as we were taken to repair, and maintain trails around the camp, all in absolute silence. When lunch time came we were again led to the chow hall, and this time the one inch square of toast and egg had a small piece of bacon on it. After 'lunch' it was back to work for the afternoon. Soon though we were relieved of our vow of silence, and told we had a couple hours free time until dinner, which was to be a grand affair of steak and potatoes, with all the fixings. After which was the swearing in ceremony, when we all became true Order of the Arrow members. Several of the other kids and I went off to a steep ravine I knew of from earlier camping trips to Bonanza.

There was a good sixty foot vertical cliff in the ravine, and near the top was a small shelter cave. I don't remember exactly how the challenge was initiated, but the other kids basically said that none of us would be able to climb to the cave, as it was just too steep. I disagreed, and said that I could do it. They laid the gauntlet down, and up I went.

The climb up to the cave was easy, as I had already seen the route, but once at the cave, I realized the remainder of the climb up was really difficult. I became frozen, stuck at the little cave. Shouting down to the others I implored them to go for help, and they ran off towards the camp. Fifteen minutes later I began to worry, as the camp was only five minutes slow walk from the ravine. When thirty minutes had elapsed I panicked and began to scream for help. Still no one came. After fifteen minutes of yelling I was hoarse and really scared. As I realized help was not coming, I knew I had but one choice, so I started climbing the last sheer leg. Looking down only confirmed the fact that a fall would probably be fatal, so I dug my fingers into the tiny rock fissures and pulled myself over the edge.

Upon reaching the camp, I shakily walked into the chow hall, and observed everyone helping themselves to the steak dinner, including the kids who had supposedly gone for help. Anger beset me as I went up to one of the kids and demanded to know why they had not brought help. He told me that he indeed did tell my Father the situation, and that Father had shrugged it off, saying; "Don't worry about it, he'll be fine." As I remember seeing Father getting his plate of food, he didn't even know, or care that I was there.

Jim VanDamn accompanied Bob Beal out of the secure area, and up onto the base proper; area fifty of the Groom Lake Air Force base. Bob was perturbed by the hastily called meeting with the new Commanding Officer of the base; General Baker. Knowing what the new General wanted, Bob had brought Jim along as an intimidator. More than one of the Sandia personnel had remarked to Bob over the past few years at how Jim was genuinely creepy with his ever so cold stare, and few words. So Bob figured it couldn't hurt to have him along for this encounter he assumed wouldn't be so friendly.

He was right on the mark as to what the General was demanding; access to area fifty one. There was no way in hell that Bob could grant that, his orders were succinct.

"As you are fully aware General, I do not have the authority to grant your demands. Only those with proper security clearance, and a need to know can be authorized, and this will be by the Assistant Director of the FBI only."

"Goddamn it you sniveling suit! I have direct orders from General Hardaker himself,...of the Joint Chiefs! Five star General Hardaker!" The gruff fat man yelled in Bob's face.

"If the General wishes access, he will have to clear it with the Assistant Director, and only then can I authorize such a 'visit'. Five Stars or not." Bob remained calm.

"Well how about I take a squad of guards and give myself authorization then you fuck!" The General was frothing at the mouth.

"I wouldn't advise that sir." Bob smiled assuredly, "There are contingencies for such actions, and you would lose General."

The General saw the challenging look Bob gave him, as if to say; do it! Then he was really pissed off. "Fine, we'll do it the hard way then. You and your pig eyed sack of shit, get the fuck off my air base, and crawl back down in that goddamn hole you live in!"

As the two departed for the secure area, Jim turned to Bob when they were out of ear shot, and said, "What an asshole." Bob nodded.

When they were back in the security office Bob called the Assistant Director to report the incident. Several weeks earlier his boss had warned him something like this might occur with the new CO, who was a mere lap dog of General Hardaker's.

The Assistant director wasn't surprised, and told Bob that this General Hardaker had been pestering him about what the hell was going on in area fifty one for months. It seemed the man's predecessor had neglected to tell the man about the project. Currently only three of the Joint Chiefs knew of what went on in area fifty one, and the two that didn't were extremely jealous. Those in the highest positions of power found secrets to be like poison to them, and their power base. So the Assistant Director told Bob to be on high alert for a while, and then said that he would send additional FBI security personnel for topside, hopefully to help diffuse the situation. Bob agreed that would be prudent considering General Baker's threat of armed incursion.

As I remotely connect with all the 'seed' bearers in the families of the second team, I sense that only several are responding to my prodding. This is not going well at all. These Kornt are so preoccupied with the trivial details of their existence, as to hold much promise. Still I will persist, as the team is not responding to my subliminal suggestive questions either. They too are entirely too preoccupied; with the pursuit of technology that is only useful in their nation's quest for dominance. The nature of the craft has become almost secondary at present. There is one 'seed' bearer though that is much more responsive than the others; the son of the security tech Jim VanDamn. His thirst for knowledge is hopeful. I will redouble my efforts with him, and then wait. Time will tell.

The monthly progress meeting was nearing its conclusion, Ken Jackson neatly finished his report, and sat down eagerly. He awaited the final report of the day by his friend and colleague Doug Sanderson. He already knew just what Doug's report would highlight, as he had helped with the final tests on the new material. Doug began with the bad news first, "Our preliminary attempts to synthesize the polymer hull material were not very successful in the duplication effort. However it seems we have made a serendipitous discovery in the process. We have been able to synthesize a material which is partially absorbent of high frequency electromagnetic waves."

As a murmur of approval rang through the men, Dr. Higgs said; "This is most beneficial news gentlemen, as the heat has been on me for months to produce something concrete and usable. It looks like we have earned our keep, for a while at least, and thanks to Dr. Sanderson and his group. Let's give them a round of applause shall we."

When the congratulatory approval was over, the project leader turned to Bob Beal, and asked if there were any security concerns, as usual. Bob rose and said, "We have several new teams of security personnel topside. These men are FBI, not Air Force, and as such they will be accompanying us on the plane often. They are area fifty cleared, not, repeat NOT area fifty one cleared. So watch the scuttlebutt gentlemen. Loose lips can cost you and your family their lives!"

\----------

Ken Jackson was just exiting the living environment of ANX, and he saw Jim VanDamn installing some new equipment on the entry door to the suiting room. After Ken had hung up his suit, he went to see what Jim was installing.

"Hey Jim, watch ya doing?" He was always quite friendly.

"Oh, I'm putting in these new security pass devices." Jim was monotonous in his tone.

Ken seemed interested, "Yeah? What do they do?"

Jim turned and smiled at Ken as he explained, "They take a retinal scan, and a thumbprint scan. Check it for authorized personnel, and allow entry if you are the right person."

"No kidding?" Ken was amazed. "So someone would have to gouge your eye out, and cut off your thumb to fake it huh?"

Jim chuckled at that, "Nope, that wouldn't even work. The system can tell if the tissue is living or dead."

"Wow!" Ken quipped, "How does it tell that?"

"That is classified my friend." Jim was smug.

Now Ken chuckled, "Well, I guess I really don't have a need to know."

Jim nodded his head in agreement.

"Hey, did you see that the Viking lander is going to land on Mars tomorrow?" Ken asked.

"Yeah, I heard." Jim was not excited.

"Are you going to watch the landing?" Ken was still beaming.

Jim shook his head, "Probably not."

"What?" He was astounded. "This is big Jim! Did you know that it will land exactly seven years to the day since the first men walked on the moon?"

"So I heard." Was the tall man's answer.

"I can't believe you're not excited about this Jim, what gives?" Ken pressed.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe the fact that what we are doing here will make all that seem insignificant Ken." Jim was smug, and proud with the statement.

Ken could only blink. His excitement somewhat diminished, but he didn't know why.

\----------

Several weeks later Bob and Jim were having a cup of freshly brewed coffee in the security office. Jim had just finished his daily maintenance sweep of the lab, and he sat back in his chair letting a sigh of fatigue out. Bob smiled, as the man was a hard worker, and never slacked off. This could not be said of the majority of the lab scientists, who seemed to be perpetually ready to take a break, and run their mouths. They were not Bob's responsibility, save for protecting them. Even though many of the others clearly didn't like the tall security tech, Bob had grown to respect him, and count on him. Jim had become an invaluable resource.

"So boss, is there anything special cooking today I should know about?" Jim asked.

"Just that they are bringing ANX out of his environment again to do some more CT scans on him with the new equipment they just installed last week. Nothing exciting." Bob told.

"Good to know, I'll stay out of the way." Jim then took a big sip of java, and spit it out instantly.

"Too hot?" Bob asked.

"No," Jim pointed to the security master board, "Look at the system self-monitor indicators. They are going crazy...what the hell?"

Bob saw this and quickly looked to the closed circuit monitors, "Oh my GOD!" he exclaimed, "No, NO!"

Ken Jackson was just bringing ANX through the main lab area towards the exobiology department for the CT scan, when all of a sudden the main lab entrance vault door opened unannounced. There standing in full arrogance was General Baker, escorted by two rifle armed guards, and an Air Force tech, who had forced the doors open.

All four of the men's mouths dropped open at the sight of the shimmering blue ANX, and then one of the guards raised his rifle in sheer terror. ANX killed him instantly, and invisibly. The other guard dropped his rifle and bolted back up the entrance ramp, quickly followed by the tech as the man wet himself while running. General Baker began to fumble for his own side arm, and Ken moved in front of ANX with his hand up. "Don't do it Baker, he'll kill you too!" Ken screamed.

Suddenly a loud burst of automatic rifle fire erupted from behind the General, followed instantly by a second burst. The General spun to see Jim VanDamn holding a smoking M-16 aimed up the ramp. Following the muzzle, the General saw his two men lying on the ramp, riddled with bullets. Jim quickly lowered the rifle and thought hard towards ANX, 'I will NOT harm you!' ANX nodded, and then let Ken urgently usher him back to his chamber.

"Well, General Baker! Why don't you just come on in, and have a look-see around will you." Bob's voice boomed with anger. "Oh, and if you don't carefully drop your weapon belt, Jim will kill you too."

Bob hung up the phone, and turned to Jim. "Well the Assistant Director agreed with me, looks like you are now officially our newest FBI special agent Jim."

"You're kidding me boss." The tall man blinked in disbelief.

"What the hell else are they going to do? This has to be completely official, and by the book." Bob sighed. "Oh, and there will be a substantial pay increase as well."

Jim looked even more bewildered, "Wow, I guess I should shoot people more often." He joked half-heartedly.

Bob shook his head, "Not funny Jim. Let's not make a habit of this."

Both of the tall man's hands came up in a slight gesture of submission, "Oh no boss, I didn't mean it. Hell I really liked Airman Hanson. He was in my area fifty sensor update class."

Bob let him off the hook, "I know Jim, and I know you don't feel any better about this than I do." He took a long deep breath before continuing, "It had to be done. Those two would have started yelling for help from the evil monster alien the second they breached top-side. Then we would have really had a problem. Not only were you protecting this lab, you were protecting every single one of our family members."

Jim nodded at the true logic, "So what now boss?"

Bob paused a moment to sip some tepid coffee, "Now the shit will hit the fan with the Air Force. General Baker just earned himself a long sequestered vacation at FBI expense. His boss will go ape-shit of course, and we've got ourselves three bodies to bury out in the sand."

My friend Ken was willing to sacrifice himself for my body's continuation. Even though I have witnessed this most auspicious of all Kornt traits before, it has been a while. I am reminded of why our people find the Kornt worthy of such help. These beings are such an interesting dichotomy of existence. They can range from the most despicably self-motivated, to the highest example a sentient being can embody. Truly they are on the cusp of the major evolutionary leap. My previous doubts have been removed, and I know that I must keep trying in every way possible for them to understand.

" _Thank you for risking your life to protect mine my true friend." ANX said softly to Ken._

Ken chuckled uneasily, "I don't know if I would put it that way ANX. I just wasn't going to let him hurt you, that's all."

" _I would not have let him hurt either of us Ken." ANX formed the closest thing he could to a smile, and sent a warm feeling to Ken._

The shit really did hit the fan for a short while. Within a day of the incident the Air Force security personnel had more than quadrupled on the base, and the next day a dozen more FBI 'surveillance security' teams arrived for top side protection. It looked like an armed show down was inevitable, but just as suddenly the lit fuse was extinguished.

As Bob and Jim made their way to the Air Force Headquarters building on the base, Bob clearly felt Jim's anxiety. "Relax Jim." He commanded. "I've been told that the situation has been resolved at the top. We shouldn't have any problems with this new CO."

"Good." Jim spat.

Sure enough, the new commanding officer of Groom Lake greeted the pair warmly. "Good morning gentlemen, I'm General Edwards. I have been ordered to replace General Baker as CO of this facility, permanently." The portly short man warmly shook both men's hands. "I have also been ordered to take orders directly from you Agent Beal. You give the word, and my men and I will jump!"

Bob nodded with a very slight smile, "I only request that our security protocol be followed General."

"Yes Sir!" The General snapped to attention. All of the other Air Force officers in the room also came to attention. Bob looked for a familiar face among them, but found none. The Air Force had replaced the entire staff of the base. As Bob looked over at Jim, he saw a gleam of satisfaction in the man's cold blue eyes. Bob was merely relieved himself.

What they couldn't know was what had occurred to disarm the volatile events. It seemed that General Hardaker indeed did go ape shit when he found out what had happened, even threatening to send the whole damn Air Force to root the Sandia troublemakers out of their hole, or worse. That was when the Admiral of the Navy, also on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told General Hardaker the 'Big Secret'. That was all the General really wanted, to be let in on the show. Now he felt his power come back to him, and he was content. Then the General did something rather foolish, he told someone else. A secret is only fun and worthwhile if you tell someone, you know.

The following month, Bob got a call from his boss, and he wasn't too happy about the information he received. He hastily called the entire lab compliment for an emergency security meeting.

"It seems someone has let our secret out!" He began. As sharp curses erupted from the Sandia men, he went on, "We know it wasn't from anyone here, rather it was from the top." More uttered damnations came forth. "We are instituting our contingency plan immediately." Bob then nodded to Jim, and the tall man began handing out a paper to each person in the room. Bob went on, "The cover story you see, will run in the next Lab newsletter. The only possible response to any questions that might come up, are listed below the story. You are to memorize these responses, practice them, and use them if necessary. If you have any problems or concerns with any of this, please see me in my office."

As I was extremely bored one afternoon after school let out, I retrieved the mail, and looked through it. The Sandia Lab newsletter was in the mix, so I read it. The darned thing was just like a mini newspaper, and wasn't sealed at all; as it never was. The folks usually left the previous issues lying around, and I had often read it, hoping to see a story of what was going on up at the Tonopah test range where Father worked. He would hardly ever talk about his work, save to curse a particular microwave tower that he said he often climbed. The only other piece of info we ever got from him was that he launched a lot of weather balloons. So when I opened the newsletter that day, and saw the first story concerning the Tonopah test range I'd ever seen, I was immediately enthralled, and read the story with eager zest.

It stated that the work they were doing was for a project named LRB, an acronym for Long Range Bomb. They even had a crude graphic illustration showing a cartoon like bomber launching a rocket powered bomb several miles from the intended target. I remembered seeing the exact same graphic drawing in a book my brother had on Allied secret weapons from World War Two. It was obviously a fraudulent article, even to my gullible young mind. I determined to give Father some gruff about it during dinner, intending to say "Isn't that called a missile?"

Patiently I waited for a break in the usual banter of how everyone's day had been, and when it came I pounced.

"So, Dad, how's the work coming on the LRB?" I queried as innocently as possible, waiting to zing him with the missile thing. Suddenly his fist smashed into the table top, sending food and milk everywhere. Everyone's eyes had bugged out including mine.

"They swear us to secrecy, then they go and print it in the goddamned newspaper!" He yelled with gruff, and then he stormed off to his room. Dinner was over, and I never, ever asked Father about his work again.

5 Salvation denied

On my fourteenth birthday, the presents I received were two pair of Levis jeans, some underwear, a T-shirt, and the instruction that these were the last clothes I would receive from my parents; as I was to get a job. They told me to apply at the Shush Puppy catfish restaurant where my brother had previously worked, and that I would be providing for my own clothes from then on. The money I made would be put into the joint account the folks had opened for me years earlier, where I was made to put any and all monies I received from birthday, and Christmas cards. This was to instill a prudent sense of saving, for college; which of course I would be entirely responsible for paying for as well. So I began my long working career, first as a cutter of catfish for the sum of four dollars and twenty four cents per hundred pounds of frozen catfish steaks that I trimmed. The restaurant didn't seem to mind that I was under legal age to work, and certainly neither did Father, who was usually so adamant concerning legalities; except where it benefited himself.

The Boy Scouts instantly became a thing of the past, as I had no time for such juvenile pursuits. My day started with a several mile walk to the new high school just built, which looked exactly like a prison, minus the barbed wire fences; followed by a several mile walk to work. By the time I again walked another several miles home, stinking of catfish, I barely had time for any homework, and persistent chores around the house before bedtime. Then repeat, wash and rinse. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks to months. I had a goal though, to get a car and enough money for tuition, and then to get the hell out of that house.

It wasn't the place that was so damned burdening, rather it was my parents, or Father to be sure. Mother was merely a puppet of his, as she never had any real authority. However sister surely did, far more so than Mother. I say this from living the experience, and from things Mother has told me years after. Like the fact that Father always picked out Mother's clothes for her. Yeah, that one blew my hair back too. So saying that sister was higher in the pecking order than Mother is not an exaggeration at all, as I know that Father actually let sister pick out some of her own clothes.

Then there were the times sister falsely accused brother and I of beating her, so we would then get a beating from Father. After the third instance of this, brother and I confronted sister, telling her that we really didn't have anything to lose from truly beating her, unless of course she confess to Father, which she promptly did. For her sin she was taken into the kitchen, and we boys sent downstairs, while Father spanked her. Brother thought something was amiss, and snuck upstairs to see. He came back saying that they were faking it. Father was spanking a catalogue, while sister practiced her crying game. Of course Father heard brother, and was so pissed off that we found out his deceit, that we were instantly whipped by belt. I had done nothing but follow orders, yet there I was screaming in pain. As Father was often fond of saying; "It doesn't matter if you deserve this or not, you're getting whipped just for good measure."

So to say I had plenty of motivation to get the hell out, would be an understatement. Therefore I worked, and studied, and worked; never spending hardly a dime. My determination seemed to pay off, as within a year's time I had saved just under four thousand dollars. As far a school went, I got straight 'A's my freshman year, a 4.0 GPA. There was also a national vocational aptitude test on which I had scored in the top one percent of the entire nation in several of the categories. I was a highly motivated smart kid, it's too bad what soon happened.

Brother also was a very smart kid, and graduated high school that year with a 4.0 GPA, straight through all four years! He joined the Army National Guard that summer, and was gone. He too had suffered more than enough of Father's wrath. After his initial training he signed up for and was accepted into Officer Candidate School, and then he returned home to attend UNLV. I know he only returned, as he could not afford housing on his own, and it was only for as long as absolutely necessary. Upon his departure following an accelerated college career, he left me with a pistol he had purchased unbeknownst to the parents. It was a spanking new Colt .45 auto, and he entrusted it to me, I think as protection against Father. Anyhow he soon was gone for good, to a career in the Army as an intelligence officer. After this it was many years before he even visited with his new wife and first baby, but as he was not warmly welcomed by Father or Mother, he has since never returned.

At the start of my sophomore year in high school, Father decided to choose all of my classes for me. He really loaded me up with every hard class he could, and was even pissed that I had to take P.E. as a mandatory requirement. One of the classes he forced upon me was an advanced chemistry class, which he had to sign a waiver for as I had not the prerequisite basic chemistry. This was a college credit course for high school, meaning it was basically college chemistry 201. The first day in class I had no idea at all of what the instructor was talking about, and as I shared my concerns with him afterwards, he told me I needed to drop the class while I could. I agreed, and he told me I had to have my Father sign the drop request. When I broached the subject of dropping the class with Father, he flatly refused.

Every week Father would then ask; "How's that Chemistry class coming along?" I would tell him that I was flunking it. To which he would respond, "You had better not flunk it boy!" Finally when it was too late to drop the class, and he asked the very same thing, I told him I had already flunked it, to which he gave his usual response. Then I stated that it was a done deal, and too late for any hope. Again he merely said, "You had better not flunk it boy!" This was when I said, "Or what? You going to kill me? Or do you want me to kill myself?" Father flew out of his seat, and glared at me with a menace I had rarely seen before, shouting; "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" Mother gave a whimpering cry, "No!", and ran from the room.

The very next week, Mother came to me after I got home from work, and told me that Father and she wished to borrow three thousand dollars from 'my' account, to buy new living room furniture. I said "No." To which she told me they were taking the money anyway. Needless to say, it was many a year before I ever put another goddamned dime in the bank.

This is when I quit. Mother still insists I was rebelling, but the truth was I just quit caring about anything at all, especially family. One day in that damned chemistry class, as the instructor droned on about complete mysteries to me, I leafed through a health book from P.E. class. The section on illicit drugs being of interest, and I decided which ones I was going to try.

Agent Thompkins was sitting in Bob Beal's home office for the weekly surveillance reports from the protection detail. Bob was reading through the reports, with his usual lackluster enthusiasm.

"Hmm, Doug Sanderson's daughter is smoking dope again. I've warned him three times already that she is heading south, damn! Why the hell can't he get across to her?"

Carl Thompkins offered, "Could just be a sign of the times boss."

Bob looked up at him frustrated, "I don't know what that means Carl. A sign of the times."

"Well, considering that these kids all live in 'Heroin Heights', I'd say that smoking some dope is probably the least of your worries." He stated.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to prevent here Agent." Bob would always revert to the formal when irritated, and Carl was well aware of this. It meant he was crossing the line. Bob went on reading.

"Hmmm, Jim VanDamn paid twenty seven hundred dollars cash for new furniture. Where did he get the money from? Hell he's always bitching about being broke, and not being able to afford shit."

Carl shrugged, "You want me to pull his bank records boss?"

Bob nodded, "Yes, I think we should look into this." Then as he read on, "What the hell? Jim's son is hitting the refer too? That was a quick turnaround. This kid was a straight 'A' student last year. Maybe there's some connection here. I want you to get this kid's school records too. Let's see what's going on in the VanDamn household that has changed."

"You got it boss." Agent Thompkins said.

The situation with his number one man was troubling Bob. Jim had become an even more essential part of the whole picture, as he had volunteered to help with the protection detail, taking over while the agents in the watch houses would get some dinner. This relieved Bob from the duty, and thus made his life much easier. Anything which might jeopardize this had to be dealt with immediately.

I feel the utter hopelessness of my best 'seed' prospect. His father has slipped back to his old darkness, and is dragging his son down with him. The despair is familiar too me, as I have had to fight off such feelings often in concern for the Kornt. Even as far back as when I was a mere observer of this race, and watched helplessly as the Pharaohs of their ancient times destroyed their own environment. The mighty Sahara desert, as they now call it, was once a lush Gaia. The Pharaohs quest for personal immortality and power led to the de-forestation, and permanent climate change which caused this barren waste land. This in turn caused the utter destruction and demise of that once thriving civilization. So too now, the current industrialized civilization was accomplishing the very same thing with the entire planet, and for the very same reasons. Yet I cannot let the despair set in again, as I must be strong for them, and their now best hope; my 'seed'. I will send him bright thoughts for what still could be, and hope he endures this current darkness.

Dr. Higgs listen with disgust as each of the groups progress reports showed anything but progress. It was as if these scientists had become totally complacent in their positions, and he was not the only one to see this. The powers above him were waning thin in patience, they wanted results, and they wanted some soon! He had pondered the idea of sparing the team the threats he had received from his superiors, yet he knew that it was now or never for them, and it was way past time to light a fire under their pompous asses.

"Before we adjourn gentlemen, I have some quite disturbing news for all." He was louder than usual, and everyone's attention was quickly drawn by this. "My superiors are considering some very drastic measures. The talk of a complete team change has come up more than once." The room filled with gasps. "I have tried to keep this idea quelled, but unless we produce some real results, and soon; I will not be able to sway them much longer."

"They can't do that!" Protested Dr. Sanderson.

"Yeah! What about our tenure?" Added Dr. Samara.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Higgs sounded. "Tenure? There is no such thing here gentlemen. Either you perform as they wish you to perform, or you are gone. All of us gone!" As he let that sink in for a moment, he saw Bob Beal sullenly shaking his head. "Agent Beal. Is there something you would like to add?"

Bob rose from the too small chair, "I would only add that I have heard some similar talk from my superiors, and that Dr. Higgs truly means what he says. We are all hanging on by a very thin thread folks. Now over the past few years I've watched as you all seem to have slowed down with your work, and on purpose I might add. This is not a lifetime achievement award that you have been given, it is an opportunity to be the cutting edge. So I suggest the eternal coffee breaks come to an end, and the endless yap sessions, and indeed start cutting the goddamn edge!"

"Come in Carl." Bob motioned the agent to the chair aside his desk.

"Evening boss, how's the family?" He offered.

"Good, good. How are all the other families Carl?" Bob asked bluntly.

Agent Thompkins merely handed Bob the current weekly report.

Bob put on his reading glasses and began to read, "Hmm, Rory Hill's wife left him huh? She's moved in with her dyke lover right across the street? That's not going to work. Oh shit. She's hired a lawyer, and is suing for custody of the kids. That definitely is not going to work!"

"She'll never get custody boss. Being a dyke and all." Carl stated as a matter of fact.

Bob nodded, "Yeah, but I guess I still better go have a talk with her. We don't want anything going to court."

Agent Thompkins asked, "What if she won't listen boss?"

"Then we go to plan B." Bob looked at him seriously.

"Rodger that." Carl nodded.

Bob went back to the reports. "Hmm, VanDamn's bank records don't show a withdrawal for that cash he spent. What gives?"

"Oh, it's on the next page boss. He took it out of a joint account of his kid's."

"Hmm, poor kid worked all year for that money at...what's this place? The Shush Puppy." Bob wondered.

"Yeah, it's that catfish restaurant right up off Charleston Boulevard, across from the Seven Eleven. You know, the one I was telling you about a couple months ago. It's really good, you ought to try it sometime boss. All the fellas love it." Carl was enthusiastic.

"Oh yeah, its southern food right?" Bob questioned.

"I guess, but their boneless deep fried catfish fillet is tops. Damn, I'm getting hungry just thinking about it." He licked his lips.

"I'll have to try it." Bob read on. "Shit, this kid went from straight A's to straight F's, that doesn't make sense. What's this advanced college chemistry? This kid is barely fifteen, hell he shouldn't even be working by law, and then he's taking classes obviously way beyond his level at the same time."

"I actually went and talked to his chemistry teacher boss. The fella said he tried to get the kid to drop the class, but his dad wouldn't let him." Carl told. "He also said that he was one of his best students in Biology last year, and after it was too late to drop the class; the kid just seemed to change."

"You didn't blow your cover did you Carl?" Bob was suddenly worried.

"Hell no boss, I told them I was a friend of the family, from church."

As Bob went back to reading, He tensed up for the inevitable. The last part of the report got wild.

"The little bastard! He threw a rock at a moving vehicle, and nailed the windshield. That's attempted murder! Son of a....Oh shit the truck driver caught him? What happened to the little slick bastard that threw the FBI tail?"

"He was drunk as a skunk boss, you should've seen him try to run. It was hilarious, funnier than Flip 'Frick'n Wilson!" He chuckled remembering the scene.

"You stopped the driver from smashing him up huh?" Bob looked seriously at Carl.

"I pulled up right as this big fella had a hold of the kid, and was rearing back with a monster sized fist. Man was he pissed."

"How did you stop him Carl?" Bob asked with no humor in his voice.

"I just said that I'd seen the whole thing, and that we were going to call the cops, and not handle it his way."

"So what happened?"

"I guess the fella didn't want anything to do with the cops, and he took off." Carl told.

Bob patiently asked, "Did you show your badge?"

"Nope, I was just a lucky passerby boss, lucky for that VanDamn kid anyhow."

"Whew!" Bob breathed out hard. "Good work Agent. Hell, excellent work!"

Carl smiled and admitted, "You know boss, and I thought I was going to miss the organized crime detail when I was assigned here, but this VanDamn kid sure keeps things interesting."

Junior year of high school, and my attitude sucked. My whole reason for existing at that moment was to finally get laid. All my friends were former virgins, and I couldn't wait for my turn. Still I couldn't get any girl to show the slightest bit of interest. I knew I wasn't even remotely adept at talking to girls, as they somehow terrified me.

Maybe this had something to do with my first and only sex talk from Father. It went like this; "If I ever find out you took advantage a girl, I'll buy the bullets for her father's gun...to shoot you with!" Now even though conditioned response is a hell of a thing to overcome, the burning desire of burgeoning manhood was even harder to deny. Adding to my ineptness was the fact that even though I was working, by then at a department store which hadn't checked my age on the application; I had no real money or future to speak of. I knew I would be a ditch digger for the rest of my life, as Father had seen to it, and this prospect brought me no joy, or hope. Still I tried in vain to get a girl's interest, but they all seemed to sense that I was just trouble on two lanky ass legs.

Without a car in the vastly spread out town, I had no way, and nowhere to take a girl even if one did consent. The car wouldn't have been too big of a financial problem, as I could still save cash, if only Father had not absolutely forbidden me to have one. I know now that this was his way of keeping me out of a girls pants, and it worked, for a while. I know this as he had no problem when I eventually purchased a motorcycle. Also during this time Father's outright hatred of me grew. It was getting dangerous at home, but I had nowhere else to go. I did try to leave though.

One Sunday morning after a Saturday night out partying with friends, Father woke me up by dousing me with water. "Get up, you're going to church." He growled. I flatly refused, and he told me to get out. Gladly I left hell, for a homeless life on the streets. The next day I called home to ask for the remaining seven hundred dollars still left in that joint account from the previous year, and Father told me I had to come home or they would call the cops on me. So back into hell I went, figuring that he would eventually kill me, but that would be better than what I knew lay ahead.

Mother was in no condition to even try to help, as her mother had passed away the year before, from lung cancer, and Grandma didn't even smoke. Father and Mother sure did, like freaking trains they smoked. I wished that Father would get lung cancer, but instead Mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer that year. I only went and visited Mother once while she was in the hospital, for over a month stay, and to this day she still holds a grudge about that. It wasn't lack of caring about her, rather my only way to visit her was to ride alone with Father, and that was very dangerous.

The two FBI agents in the watch house were impatiently waiting to see the familiar green and white VW micro bus coming down the street. When the man behind the video monitoring console said, "Here he comes!" The other man quickly went to push the garage door opener button. Jim pulled the bus into the drive, and right on into the garage. As soon as the bus was clear inside, the FBI agent again hit the button closing the door.

"Everything is clear and quiet Jim." The agent said as he got up from the console, and headed to the front door.

The other agent asked, "You want us to bring you anything back Jim?"

"No thanks guys, the wife will have dinner ready for me at home." Jim replied as he took a seat behind the console, and started checking the cameras.

"Well, we'll try to hurry back." One agent said.

"No hurry at all guys, take your time. The wife doesn't expect me home from work for at least a couple hours yet." Jim smiled.

As the agents got into the sedan parked in the other bay of the garage, one remarked; "Damn, he must hate his family life."

"No shit!" The other agreed.

Inside Jim watched them clear of the neighborhood, and then started sweeping with the high power surveillance cameras. Up and down the main roads leading to the now enormous housing division, he searched with diligence. He was looking for someone in particular, a young girl.... who would become his next victim.

The monthly progress meeting was much the same as the previous few, with the exception of the most unwelcome news that the powers that be had decided to have the secret lab begin manufacture of the new radar absorbent panels that Doug Sanderson and his group had discovered synthesis of. Everyone saw that this was the writing on the wall. The warnings from Dr. Higg's had been prophetic indeed, and within a couple weeks the good Dr. himself was removed from the project. This made the whole lab paranoid. His replacement came several weeks after he left, and the new leader was quite obviously a hatchet man. Bob Beal did not worry about this development so much, but when his boss, the Assistant Director was removed from the project, he did sweat.

"Jim, I need you to step up and take over my duties for the next week. Do you think you can handle it?" Bob asked him one day.

"What's going on boss?" Was Jim's response.

"The FBI has been removed from the oversight of the project Jim, the Joint Chiefs are taking over from here on out." Bob sounded disgusted.

"Are they firing us boss?" Jim was really worried.

"Not us, at least I hope not, but the Assistant Director is no longer in charge of the operation."

Jim sighed in relief, then said with a nod, "Sure, I can hold down the fort for a week."

Bob weakly smiled, "Good, because I have to fly to Washington on Monday to meet with the Joint Chiefs."

"Wow, lucky you." Jim sneered.

"Now, you just have to keep the day to day facility security reports up to date, but don't worry about the protection detail report. I'll take care of that when I get back. OK?" Bob told him.

"Sure, you got it boss."

The second team is being replaced it seems. The procedure is always to start at the top, and work downwards. A new project leader has been assigned, and they did not bother to let me check him out. This is a sign of the things to come, perhaps even to the fate of my physical form here in this temporal realm. I must try to hurry the growth of my 'seed' before that eventuality, otherwise we fear the Kornt may indeed become extinct. My people are not very optimistic of my mission success probability, and I am afraid that I no longer am either. I have not given up hope though. I cannot, or the Kornt will surely fail.

6 Storm clouds

Finally during the last semester of my junior year, it happened. A waitress at the pizza place I now worked at took pity on me and took me home with her. She was eleven years my senior, and was married, but separated. As we walked back to her bedroom, I noticed large chunks of sheet rock in the hallway were busted out, as if punched. When I asked about this, she told me her husband, a highway patrolman, had quite a temper. So needless to say I was quick, and then gone!

This encounter gave me the boost of confidence I had lacked, and soon I was with a gorgeous blonde I had met at school. Even though we never really dated, we had sex once, and I considered her my girlfriend. It lasted only briefly, until I found out she was still seeing her old boyfriend. She seemed to like him, and his brand new Camaro his folks had bought him, much more than a foot bound hopeless punk. It only bothered me a little while though, as I had found a girlfriend to be very high in the maintenance department.

That summer I had to attend summer school, as I had purposefully failed every class that year, except where the teacher would let me pass with a D; just out of sympathy. It didn't matter anyway I figured, as after the failing grades I got in my sophomore year, even graduating was mathematically impossible. Long gone were the dreams that were once easily attainable, of a scholarship; and then a viable career. I already knew that as soon as I turned seventeen, I would enlist. Then I purposefully flunked out of summer school, just to be a ripe embarrassment to the family.

My seventeenth birthday couldn't come quickly enough, as Father grew angrier every day it seemed. All three of them; Mother, Father, and sister considered me a millstone around the family's neck, and I was quite willing to drown them with me. I didn't have to, I realize now, for Father was the true millstone; and had already drowned his entire family years before. The day after my non-celebrated birthday, I asked Father to sign my enlistment papers along with my drop-out waiver, and he gladly obliged.

My 'seed' has departed from the local area, and I can now only contact him through the fourth temporal realm. I can sense the danger around him, and I can only hope for his survival. None of the remaining 'seeds' I planted have even begun to sprout, and as such they never will. The second team is failing in every way possible, and has given up on the greater goal of a true reverse build of the craft. Now they only struggle to keep their precious positions on the team. The one thing needed so desperately by this dying race is insight. This is why I can still hold out hope for the only 'seed' that began to sprout. This is why I do not leave.

iggshigg

As each of the group leaders finished with the preliminary interview with the new team leader, they understood he was sent to light a royal fire under their asses, and to remove any of them that were not trying to their best ability. They found out through talking to the others that each had been asked about their retirement plans.

Yet as the new man started to truly comprehend the problems they were having understanding the highly advanced technology the craft and its myriad components presented, he eased up on them somewhat. He began to realize that a whole new team would be put at the same mostly blank drawing board, and would be years in catching up to where this team were presently. This of course would mean that he would certainly be replaced himself.

Ken Jackson had to repeat the experiment three times before he could believe what he was seeing, and all the instruments were verifying. Then he became real excited, and even ecstatic. It had been an accident at first, that he even became aware of the phenomena, but this then became a definite purposeful course. He knew this couldn't wait until the next monthly progress report meeting, so he went to the new team leader, Dr. York, and asked for an unprecedented emergency team meeting. When he showed Dr. York the data, the man quickly agreed to Ken's request. This was big.

All of the team was assembled for the seemingly hap-hazard demonstration. It really only looked hap-hazard though, as Ken could only use the large ungainly fiber cables that were off the craft. As Ken finished with the last power up sequence, he said to the crowd, "Gentlemen, and Lady" he glanced at Dr. Jameson, "I present to you...anti-gravity!" With that he pressed the final power button. There were many a gasp, and "I'll be damned!" uttered as the flat steel plate he had placed over the cable emitter quickly rose to the ceiling of the lab, and planted solidly there.

"Way to go Ken!" Doug Sanderson gave him a shout out.

"Yeah, Ken. All right!" other team mates agreed.

Dr. Samara asked, "How did you do that?"

Ken smiled big, "I fooled the collector into thinking it was receiving ULF waves."

"Huh?" Dr. Samara said bewildered.

Doug asked, "How did you 'fool' it Ken?"

"I matched the cable biasing with the ULF time signature, and fed the collector raw photons, lots of them." He giggled like a little kid.

"Huh?" they all said.

'So they think they've discovered anti-gravity', ANX thought. 'Maybe they will learn soon that it functions perfectly the same outside of a gravity well. This could be a step in the right direction, yet without the theory of the base principle, it cannot amount to much.'

The report of the breakthrough reached the Joint Chiefs quickly, and after reading the technical data, the Admiral of the Navy made a bold decision; to actually share some of what the Navy had learned of ULF phenomena. These secrets, traditionally held so close that none would ever be shared with any, could be of serious import to the LRB project. So he decided to break with the long held tradition.

"Dr. York, this is Admiral Stanley, yes good day to you too. I've recently read your report, and I'd like to offer your team some assistance that could be very useful to the project. No, I haven't talked this over with the other Joint Chiefs. I know, that it is unorthodox. Well, the Navy has been doing its own research into ULF phenomena for quite some time now, and I think it is time to finally share this data with those who might really benefit from it. Yes, I am aware that the other Chiefs might not like this going behind their backs, but they would get entirely too pissed off that the Navy has kept them in the dark for so long. Yes. I know they will find out anyway, but it will be much easier if they find out after you have seen the data. They've been in the dark this long, so another few weeks won't make a difference. No, I'm not suggesting that at all Doctor. Look why don't you fly out to China Lake, and take a look for yourself, then you can decide. Fine, fine. The man you will need to see is Dr. Fleming. Yes, I'll let him know to expect you. Excellent. I know you will find this most interesting."

Bob listened to Dr. York's explanation as to why he had to go to China Lake on such short notice. "This is most unusual Doctor, but if it is from Admiral Stanley himself, I highly advise you to consider it. There is nothing here that he doesn't already know about. Also the FBI has known that the Navy has been very stingy with its secrets for a while, and if they want to share some of them, GO!"

"You will cover for me Agent Beal?" Dr. York almost implored.

"Not a problem Doctor, anything you need me to do, that's why I am here." Bob assured the man.

The plane directly from Groom Lake landed at the China Lake Naval Air Station just past 10AM local time, and a car was waiting for Dr. York. In a few short minutes he was meeting with Dr. Fleming, who was a young man in his late twenties or early thirties at best, York guessed. The man tried to hold back, and trade secret for secret, and as Dr. York saw that the Admiral had kept the LRB project secret from even his own most trusted men, he felt much more comfortable with the whole idea. When Dr. York threatened to call Admiral Stanley immediately, the man relented and gave him a whole stack of utmost classified documents. Within ten minutes of leafing through the papers, Dr. York's jaw was just about to the ground.

"You have got to be kidding me?" he genuinely asked Dr. Fleming.

The man smiled knowingly and shook his head. "Not a bit."

The data was just too much, and far too profound for Dr. York to absorb it all, even the small amount he'd seen. "Dr. Fleming, I can't tell you what our project is, but I can show you. We need you on the team badly Doctor, are you willing?"

"You are going to take me to area 51?" Dr. Fleming asked.

"Yes sir."

"God Damn YES!" Fleming almost shouted.

By 11:45 AM local, the aircraft was landing at Groom Lake Air Force Base, with a very eager Dr. Fleming on board. York had called the base and insisted to Bob Beal that he get clearance for Fleming ASAP, and to call Admiral Stanley if need be, but he needed Fleming cleared. Bob could sense the excitement in the man's voice, and knew something big was up. Just how big would blow the pants right off of him.

It was just after twelve noon when Dr. York excitedly escorted Dr. Fleming down the entrance ramp, and into area 51 proper. Both men had quickly taken to the other, as they were much alike and Bob could see this bonding taking place right before his eyes. "Two peas in a pod." Bob quietly remarked to Jim.

"Two eggheads in a beaker." Jim whispered back.

Dr. Edwin York was like a proud new home owner giving a tour of his most awesome abode. The first stop on the tour was of course the expansive warehouse area, in the center of which lie the mostly disassembled gleaming white carcass of the tear dropped shaped craft.

"This is most interesting." Dr. Eric Fleming breathed.

"Doctor Fleming, you are looking at an extraterrestrial space craft." York was beaming.

"Where... how did you get this?" Fleming queried.

Dr. York chuckled at the man's amazement. "In 1947, near Roswell New Mexico, a rancher found this crashed on his property. Fortunately for us, he immediately called the Air Force, or rather the Army Air Corp at that time."

"So it's true!" Fleming gasped, "It's all true!"

Dr. York glanced at Bob Beal who was behind the procession of scientists, and Bob nodded slightly. He would question the man at length later about the rumors he'd obviously heard, and try to find out who was spreading them.

"This hull material looks brand new. It's got to be almost thirty five years old, and it looks brand new!" Their guest exclaimed. He walked up close to it, and reached for it, pulling his hand back suddenly as he thought better of it. "May I?" He asked hopefully.

"Certainly." York acknowledged.

As Dr. Fleming ran his fingers over the bright white exterior of the hull he was instantly perplexed, "It is so slick, or slippery rather." He uttered aloud.

"It has virtually zero air resistance, therefore no drag coefficient." York told. "This is why we believe the craft to be an inter-atmospheric scout vehicle, that and its small size for a space craft."

"What is this material made from?" Fleming asked as he ran his palm over the rippled undulations with utter fascination. "I can't even really feel it, it's so slick."

"Well it would be best if you heard that from Dr. Sanderson of our material science department. This is really his baby." Dr. York acknowledged. "His lab is just over here." He motioned to the far side of the warehouse, and began to lead the way. "Shall we?"

"Of course." Dr. Fleming had a moment's pause, as he didn't want to stop caressing the material.

Doug Sanderson and his group had been notified of the new man's arrival, and to prepare a demonstration for their 'guest'. The buzz was already well spread around that this man held some big secrets which they all wanted to know about. As the 'tour group' entered his lab, Doug and his engineers were ready to greet them, as they all were standing as one would for a welcome.

"Dr. Fleming, I'd like you to meet Dr. Sanderson, our resident material scientist." Edwin announced.

The two warmly shook hands, and then Dr. Fleming asked, "What is that wonderful white substance the hull is made from?"

"It's an infinite chain polymer, with a most unusual molecular arraignment Doctor." Doug proudly said.

"A polymer?" Fleming was astounded, and a moment later completely floored.

Doug moved next to a lab table, and pulled a lab gown covering something on the floor just near the table. There was a smaller block of the same gleaming white material, and it floated above the floor.

Dr. Fleming instantly went to the sample, and touched it. The block moved away from his touch effortlessly, until one of the engineers stopped it before it hit another table. "Good grief!" Fleming gasped.

"Dave, if you wouldn't mind." Doug motioned to his cohort, and the man scooped up the block with a net. He then took it to a table with a strange metal 'picture frame' like device, and he secured the block inside of it, tightening down handles similar to a vise. While he did this another man wheeled out a thick sheet of some translucent glass like material, vertically fastened, obviously for their protection.

"Dr. Fleming, you will need these." Doug handed him some hearing protection.

Dr. Fleming saw what the demonstration was to be when another man brought out a pump shotgun, and he quickly obliged by donning the ear muffs and stepping behind the protective glass barricade. As soon as the man with the gun saw that everyone was secure, he chambered a round and took aim at the clamped white block of the material. The slug from the gun merely disintegrated on the surface of the block, leaving a dark grey stain smeared on its surface. Doug removed his muffs and went over to the block, then simply brushing away the slug's gray stain as if it were chalk.

"Please Dr. Fleming, come take a look." Doug encouraged.

When he approached the block he quickly saw that it had not even been scratched by the slug, and he said, "This is pretty unbelievable! It I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes, I'd never believe it." Fleming scratched his head, and asked, "A polymer?"

"Yup, it's all due to that molecular arraignment I mentioned." Doug acknowledged.

"Oh do tell good doctor, do tell." Dr. Fleming prodded.

As Doug saw Dr. York nod, and thus give authorization, he went on. "Well if you were to look at this material on a molecular level, you would not be able to see all the way through it due to the over-lapping structure, as the molecules are coiled around so as to cover all the 'holes', or gaps in between themselves. Thus its integral sturdiness is unmatched by any previously known material."

Dr. Fleming smiled, "This is armor of unmatched durability. The military is going to love this."

"I suppose so." Doug said. "If we can figure out how to synthesize it."

"Oh, yes. That would be helpful I suppose."

"Any ideas along that line would be much appreciated Dr. Fleming." York broke in.

"Well this is just a little out of my league," Fleming chortled, "but if any ideas come to mind I will immediately share them with you. Oh, do you know why it has no air resistance, or why it floats?"

Doug sighed, "We know much of what doesn't cause those effects, but sadly not a clue as to what does."

\----------

After the nuclear physics lab, where Fleming was again mystified by the new element they had found in the craft, all in varying pellet sizes, they showed him 'The Freak Show'. The preserved alien corpses they had been dissecting in various stages for decades. Then they took him to see the man he had really come to see; Ken Jackson.

"Dr. Jackson, this is Dr. Fleming from the Naval High Energy Discharge Labs in China Lake." York introduced the two. "Dr. Jackson is our Light Wave theorist of the project. You two have a lot to talk about."

After the two briefly exchanged some theoretical discourse, each testing the other man's knowledge, just to see if the other was up to speed, Dr. York suggested that Ken run his experiment to demonstrate the amazing new discovery to Fleming. Ken eagerly complied, and soon the thick metal plate was once again pressed firmly against the lab ceiling.

"Simply outstanding Dr. Jackson!" Fleming was in awe. "You have taken us to the next level alright. Just as Admiral Stanley had said."

Ken offered more information, "The ULF emissions are perfectly coherent too."

"Coherent?" Fleming stammered. "Good God, the anomalous temporal disturbance must be enormous in the beam."

Ken turned to him with wide eyes, "Excuse me," now he was the one to stammer, "Temporal disturbance?"

Dr. York beamed, as he then knew that the Admiral was quite right in bringing these two together. In fact it should have been done a long time ago. "Perhaps, Dr. Fleming, you should bring Dr. Jackson up to speed with regard to the Navy's experimentation." He suggested.

"Of course, that's why I'm here." Fleming agreed eagerly. "Where to start...there is so much."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" York prodded. He had briefly read of this in the documents he had been given just a few short hours ago.

As Fleming began what quickly became an impromptu lecture, he gave the first of the highly classified documents to Dr. Jackson to read, as he listened as well. "In 1946, just a year before this magnificent find here, the Navy was attempting to render a ship's hull magnetically invisible to magnetically detonated mines. The experiments took place in the Philadelphia Naval Ship yards."

"The Philadelphia experiment!" Ken interjected.

"Yes, yes." Fleming nodded. "Just like the Roswell crash is so obviously true, so too was the Philadelphia experiment. Just like the rumors say. What happened to that ship is terrifying though, here look for yourself." He handed some old black and white photos from the dockets to Ken.

Ken quickly recoiled from the photos, "Good Lord!" he cried out.

"I know, they are not pretty are they? Those poor fellows went quickly compared to this sailor." He handed another photo to Ken. "This one, the doctors said, died from thirst, while his legs were joined in, or became part of the steel deck plates. They were using ULF coils for the de-gaussing gear."

"Why are they so old looking?" Ken said as he wiped a tear from his face.

"Anomalous Temporal Disturbance, or ATD as we have coined it. We have discovered that ULF emissions have a nasty habit of disrupting the normal flow of time. Always increasing the rate of its flow near the source of the emission. This is why I assumed the ULF beam you demonstrated would be doing the same thing. The Navy has experimented with this phenomena ever since 1946, trying to understand why. That and the fact that ULF signals penetrate through matter much more effectively than any other frequency of light. This is why the Navy is still trying so hard to use the Ultra-Low Frequencies, as they allow communication with our submarines anywhere in the world, even if they are at depth. The problem with this is of course the ATD, even now the Navy is building ULF transmission stations for this purpose, but the temporal disturbances these stations, and their crews are experiencing is much more than just problematic. The crews are aging at an incredible rate, and one watch is enough for any of them to endure."

Ken shook his head, as if to clear the ghastly images from him. "You might have very well just saved some of our lives Doctor."

"Glad to be of help already." Fleming smiled.

Ken was reading another document handed him by Dr. Fleming. "It says here the band width used was in the meter range."

"Well yes Dr. Jackson, you know as well as I; that is the largest bandwidth we are capable of producing." When Fleming saw the smile creep onto Ken's face he asked, "Wait a minute, what bandwidth is your coherent beam Doctor?"

"Kilometer width." Ken smugly replied.

"That's impossible!"

"Not anymore." Ken said, and then confessed; "Well as soon as we figure out how to synthesize the lasing optic cable, and collector, and emitter."

"Yes, I see we have our work cut out for us then." Fleming uttered weakly.

"So, tell me. Have you determined why these temporal disturbances occur from the ULF emissions?" Ken cut right to the chase.

Fleming shook his head sadly, "Not one good hypothesis Doctor."

As Edwin York listened to the dissertation and questions, he got an idea. "Excuse me gentlemen, but listening to you, I got the strangest idea. Could our craft, somehow be a time machine?"

Everyone turned to him with jaws dropping, and eyes blinking.

They have finally made an insightful observation. This is long overdue, but very hopeful. Now if they only follow along that train of thought, but in reverse; to the base principle. All the pieces of the puzzle lay spread before them, it is possible that one of them will connect the dots. For the sake of the existence of their race, and indeed all remaining species on this planet; connect the dots!

7 the conversation

After boot camp was Beep school; basic electricity and electronics, then came 'A' school. For this I had to travel from San Diego to Great Lakes NTC. This Naval Training Center was located in North Chicago, and that place was scary. I thought that North Las Vegas was tough, but it didn't hold a candle to North Chicago. In this as the other schooling in the Navy, I excelled and was top of my class, even becoming the student night instructor. As long as I had the motivation, and was not purposefully impeded, I could and would shine.

As the course neared completion each sailor eagerly awaited their orders to be cut for their permanent duty station. Most of the other sailors got their orders a week or two before the end of the class. I however didn't get my orders until the very last day. It was then that I realized my bad luck again. Everyone dreaded getting the orders for the worst duty in the Navy, and none in my class had been unfortunate to receive such, until mine that is. Carrier duty, the worst of the worst. You spend more time at sea, and far less in any port. The other sailor who received orders on the last day was a fellow who had been set back from a previous class due to failing grades, and he drew the best duty in the Navy; sub-tender duty. You hardly ever leave port on a sub-tender. It was a mere shadow of the bad fortune to come my way however.

Thirty days of leave awaited as we left Great Lakes, and I was eager to see my friends back in Vegas, not so much family though. Even though it had only been nine months since I left, it felt like a lot longer. The anger of Father's was in full bloom towards me, as I was still an embarrassment to him. Strange that he too had enlisted in the Navy during the Korean War, and I wondered if his father had felt similar shame towards his son. Needless to say I was quite ready to leave the house again after the month was up.

Then after another month of temporary duty while I awaited transfer to my unit; the order to ship out finally came down. It was quite a shock when I was given two hours' notice to catch a commercial flight out of San Diego, and given only the plane tickets with no cash to get to the airport with. Luckily I had twenty dollars still from the last payday, and spent fifteen on the cab to the airport. The Navy provided no ground transportation for its sailors.

A several hour flight to Seattle Tacoma airport was followed by a twenty one hour lay-over. If it wasn't for the wonderful USO station there in the airport, I would have gone hungry, and been exhausted. Then an eight hour flight to Tokyo, and a quick couple hours to Manila from there. Here it got tricky. I had to get from Manila, to Subic Bay in the Philippine Islands on my own. Again the Navy provided no ground transport for its sailors. Fortunately I had befriended another sailor on his way out to the same ship; he was coming back off leave. As we had to split cab fare for a four hour ride, and the cab was going to cost eighty bucks, I seemed to be fucked; having only five dollars to my name. Even the other fellow didn't have enough to cover the fare, so we asked around and found three other sailors heading that way, but upon learning I only had a fiver; one fellow was adamant I be left there. That's when the new friend of mine said he wouldn't go either, if I didn't. If those other assholes would have had enough on their own, I might still be stuck there in Manila. Probably in a shallow grave in the jungle. Thanks buddy.

Well we finally got to Subic, and then I found out what debauchery was all about. The Navy put us up temporarily in the brig, as that is where transients are bunked, but the difference was that we could leave after working hours; and go on liberty in the town. Wow, my first impressions of the Philippines was one big party; in a whore house. I didn't want to leave! Soon though, I was flown by chopper out to the USS Ranger. The first thing you notice when going aboard any Navy ship is the smell. A 'Pig Boat' was what they all called it, and it did smell exactly like pig shit. I boarded twenty minutes before she set sail for a sixty eight day sea period.

The first fellow I really met on board was a big Irish American who went by Rusty. Yes his hair was red, rusty red. He took me under his wing, being on his second deployment, or West-Pac as it was called, and without his expert guidance, I would have been in a lot of trouble. If you are reading this Rusty, thanks man; you saved my ass many a time.

I was put in the worst shop of 'E' division, as the senior chief of the division took an instant dislike to me. You see even though my hair was very short, it still parted in the middle from the years I had worn it that way. This was a sign to the chief that I was a no good doper. He happened to be right, but fuck him anyway! And his rotting stinking bones, as I am sure the fat fuck is long dead by now.

The other main nemesis of mine was the first class of our shop, a Pilipino National who hated all Americans. If you would have seen the debauchery in Olongapo, the town right outside of Subic Base, you would understand his hatred. Heck most all of the numerous Pilipino Nationals on board hated the Americans, no matter what color you were. So I was on thin ice from day one. I found it strange that the Navy would want anti Americans serving on their ships, especially in leadership positions.

There were some really strange customs and activities on board, ones the Navy embraced as proud traditions. Like when we crossed the equator, all the fellows who had done so before dressed up like pirates and shit. Hell even the Captain dressed up like a pirate. Then they would proceed to haze the rest of us by beating us with fire hoses cut short, and wielded like a sword. What a trip that shit was, everyone running around talking, and acting like confused gay cross dressers with a whole herd of gimps at their disposal.

"Arggghh. A vast ye matey. Shiver me timbers, lest ye be cast down to Davey Jones. Arrggghh!"

Needless to say, I wore my underwear backwards that night!

Another strange activity was this running club someone had started, called the 'I ran to Iran' club. Those dudes didn't run anywhere except in circles on the flight deck, on a boat that was just going round in circles in a place called Gonzo Station. It is named such because if you spend enough time out there, you'll know exactly why it is called Gonzo.

After too many long months at sea we finally made our way back to San Diego. Sure we got to visit some exotic and interesting places along the way, and had many an adventure in these locals; but it sure was good to be back stateside.

Life aboard ship became much less crowded than on deployment, as the detached air wing was gone back to their comfy bases. Also many of the ship's company elected to take apartments off base, but not I. No I was desperately trying to save what little money I could, for an education when I got out for one. For another stereo equipment, as I watched many of the other sailors purchasing such for dirt cheap through the exchange, and this enticed the hell out of me. What eighteen year old kid didn't want a kick-ass stereo? Soon I had even saved enough to buy my first car, which Rusty helped me pick out, as he was a gear head through and through. It was a '67 Rally Sport Camaro, and it was a clunker for sure. This quickly became a big black hole which all my money disappeared down. Soon my mentor had done his time and he got out, thus I was left to mine own devices.

I took my annual leave shortly before my second deployment, and again being home was only worth spending some time with my high school buddies. Father clearly resented me even being there for a moment, but he didn't turn me away. Rather he just let me fester under his skin like a rambunctious cyst. I think he did it just for Mother's sake, yet it was obvious that she too preferred the now idyllic family of three, especially since father was so pleased that brother and I were no longer a part of it.

While out with my buddies one evening, one of my closest friends began sobbing uncontrollably. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me that another close friend of ours' sister had been picked up by the wrong guy hitchhiking. She had been beaten, raped, and drug behind a car through the desert for miles before being left for dead. Miraculously she survived somehow, and was in a coma in the hospital.

For the next several weeks I tried to get a hold of her brother, and when I finally did he told me the damnedest thing. Everything my other friend had said was true, but that she had come out of the coma a week before. Then he told me that as she was being released from the hospital, and wheeled out through a crowd of well-wishers and reporters; she suddenly couldn't breathe and was clearly panicked. This only lasted for a few tense moments, and when she could speak again she said that the guy had been there in the crowd. The guy who had raped her and tried to kill her. Of course he was gone by the time she could say anything.

I was pissed and asked him what she said the fucker looked like. My friend then gave a perfect description of my Father. Not too many dudes were running around with flat top crew cuts back in '81 or '82.

I told him; "That sounds just like my dad."

He laughed and said, "Your dad? Mr. religious Christian?"

After I thought about it for a moment, I agreed, and blew it off. Events would soon occur which put this conversation far out of my mind for many a year. For starters my car had been stolen.

Then, during the 'pineapple cruise' just before our next deployment, I got busted for pot in Hawaii by the MP's at Pearl. This was the beginning of a very dangerous time for me. So true to form I said, "Fuck it!" An hour after the executive officer's investigation for the pot bust, the opportunity to try some cocaine for the first time presented itself. Foolishly I agreed, but little to my knowledge the coke was free-base, AKA crack cocaine. We were trying to snort it, but it was too wet; so we were drying it out on some papers when we got busted for that too. Fortunately for me, the fellow I was with during the coke bust ratted out the guy he got it from, who then ratted out the guy he had gotten it from and so on. I heard that they flew two fellows off the ship the next day, headed straight to Fort Leavenworth.

At 'mast' for both crimes, that is non-judicial punishment, the Captain told me that if we were at war, he would have me marched to the end of the flight deck and shot. When he asked what I thought about that, I told him that I was glad we weren't at war, as if to remind him.

Well needless to say, I didn't step foot off the damned boat for almost a full year after that. During which time I just kept getting into trouble. You see, just like in civilian life, when they have you in the system; they fully intend to keep you there. I was not woken up by the berthing watch as I was supposed to have been, my name was on the wake up list, but I was the one who missed the mandatory muster. Thus I was written up on report again. Knowing that was probably it for me, that they would likely kick me out with a dis-honorable discharge; I did exactly as I had done in high school when Father had made sure I would fail; I quit.

No longer did I stand any watches, even though I was supposed to. No longer did I show up for any musters, though I was supposed to. No longer did I even show up for the normal work day. I didn't split and go AWOL, hell no! They all knew exactly where I was. The chiefs and first classes of my division would see me all the time on the mess deck, even when they weren't serving. They often told me they had written me up yet again to intimidate me, and try to get me back to work, but I would merely tell them; "Good. I'll see you at mast when they kick me out." This blew their minds, as I guess they had never experienced anyone who didn't care what they did to him before. I had no fear of those weasel bastards, or their system of rules. Once you're screwed, you are screwed, and you might as well tell those doing the screwing to go and fuck themselves. It only matters, if it matters to you.

At my second Captain's 'mast', I was asked what I wanted. So I told the Captain that I wanted out of the Navy. He said no. I guess that he figured keeping me in was the only punishment he could really met out. My enlistment was up within a year, and I quickly figured out that if I kept my nose clean; I might even get an honorable discharge. This would be useful once I got out, compared to an extremely hampering dishonorable discharge. So I changed my tune.

I kept to the straight and narrow from then on, even though the chief had it in for me. One time he pulled a surprise health and comfort inspection on me, where he got to do a shakedown of my locker and bunk. When he pulled my stinking mattress pad back, he saw a bunch of the loose anti-fungal athlete's foot powder I had to constantly use in that disgusting environment; and said, "What's this VanDamn? Cocaine?" I laughed, but he was serious. He even called the Master at Arms to come take a sample, which of course was negative. Then he had the 'MA's do a piss test on me, which was negative. Damn he wanted to fuck me that fat bastard did. As I kept clean and on the up and up for the rest of my time, the chief was sorely pissed off he couldn't get me; so upon my discharge he tried one last time. By giving me a RE-4 code on my final set of evaluations. This meant that I was not to be considered for re-enlistment.

What he didn't realize is that I was a Naval Reservist on a three year active duty deployment, and this was supposed to be followed by two years active reserve time. When I showed up for my first weekend of duty on active reserve, they looked at my re-enlistment code and told me I didn't have to show up anymore. They didn't want me! Boy was I smiling as I left that day. Fuck that fat bastard's rotting stinking bones! Navy; Never Again Volunteer Yourself. Damn straight!

\----------

Unfortunately I was so depleted in funds when I got out, thanks to the fines and reduction in pay that were accrued on me from my disobedience to rank and rule, that I had little choice but to return home. This sure chapped Father's ass, but again he didn't turn me away. My plan was simple; to get a job that would afford rent, and I was gone.

Las Vegas was a big time union town, and I applied for a union apprenticeship. They said that as I only had a GED, I was not wanted by them. I thought this strange as even the Navy had said I scored so high on the entrance tests that I qualified for any rate they had, except the Nuclear Power Program, and that was only because I didn't have a high school diploma. I guess the union thinks it is as technically challenging as the Navy Nuclear Program. So I took a low paying non-union construction job.

As Bob read the weekly protection detail reports, he saw that the issue with Rory Hill's wife, or rather now ex-wife had finally been resolved. "So what happened with this lawyer she hired? He isn't going to be a problem still is he?"

Carl smiled, "Nope, he left town in a hurry boss."

"Good, but I hope that you weren't too rough on him." Bob looked up over his glasses.

"He's just another dirt bag legal liar boss, but no. We just threatened to sic the U.S. Attorney on him, and then he was gone. I guess he had some dirt in the files we took from him."

Bob liked that, "Excellent Carl. So she signed the uncontested divorce, giving him full custody. Good, I didn't like the idea of planting drugs on her girlfriend anyway."

"Yeah, it's better this way. You know, I saw a 'For Sale' sign on their house by the by, so I figure they got the hint and are fixing to leave. Took them long enough!"

"Much better this way." Bob agreed. "Say, your old buddy is back from the Navy I see. Bet you're glad about that."

Carl grew a big grin, "Sure am boss, this detail was getting just a touch drab for me lately. I'm sure he'll liven things up. Unless the Navy cut his balls that is."

Bob laughed, "I'm sure he'll keep you interested Carl. When has he ever let you down? Oh but let's make sure you let everyone know to keep their distance, even if he's committing some minor crime. I don't want another incident like we had with Bill Scoobert."

"Yeah, that was a bad call from Bill. Busting him and his buddy over a bottle of booze they'd lifted from the other kid's old man. Shit, I know better than that boss!"

Bob nodded, "Blowing his cover over a bottle of booze, damn that still pisses me off."

Carl tried to sooth him, "Bill sure was a bit naïve, and boy did he like to flash his badge."

"That's why he was transferred to the fraud detail Carl."

Edwin York was listening to Dr. Sarah Jameson explain her latest hypothesis concerning the mushroom food of the being known as ANX, and the similarity in molecular structure to the hull material of the craft. It was a bunch of double talk about species familiarity with comfort, and the deep psychological impact this could have on any species. Thus they might just have wanted the hull to remind them of home. 'This complete and utter bullshit!' he thought, and couldn't wait for her to finish, so the final report from Doug Sanderson could begin. Doug had promised him something big for today, and he was quite ready for something big. Doug Sanderson and his team had been making all kinds of useful discoveries as they still attempted to synthesize the hull material. The latest up to today was a carbon fiber material that weighed less than a tenth that of steel, yet had a tensile strength many times greater than steel.

Doug did not disappoint him either. They had discovered a liquid version of the radar absorbing material that was previously discovered by their group. This was big, as the former material was only able to be manufactured in flat plates to be functional. Edwin was glad he had talked the Joint Chiefs into taking the manufacture of these plates off Doug's group last year, and allowing them to resume pure research. Now the Kelly Skunk Works team was manufacturing the former material topside in area 50, and later that afternoon the whole project team was invited to see what these ingenious folks had been able to do with the plates.

As Dr. York and the entire area 51 team entered the secure hangar bay in area 50, General Hardaker was there himself to greet them, along with his whole entourage.

"Welcome my highly esteemed colleagues! Welcome! Why don't yall come on in and get yourselves some of this high dollar chow here, and there's cocktails, wine or beer at the bar for everyone."

The Kelly team was already getting their food as the second team got in line, so Bob, Jim, Doug and Ken wondered over to the bar to get a drink first. General Hardaker glanced at the four with a beaming smile, and singled Jim out from the others quickly. He knew exactly who he was, and what he had done to his men years before. With a slight nod to the bartending Air Force Major, he then turned his attention back to the rest of the group. As Bob and Doug ordered rum and coke, Ken opted for wine. Then, Jim who waited lastly, asked for a beer, and the Major gladly opened a fresh cold one for him.

"As soon as everyone has had their fill, we'll do the big reveal, but don't hurry; this is a party damn it!" The General boomed. He still wore the same happy smile as he thought, 'Enjoy your barium beer, you pig eyed sack of shit. Happy early retirement!'

Soon everyone was obviously done eating and full, so General Hardaker got up from his table and announced; "If everyone would please step over by the cordons, we'll do the big reveal now. You've all had an integral part in this, and we think you deserve to see the fruits of your labors."

The crowd mulled slowly over to the Vegas style velvet ropes, and waited to see the large object beyond that was covered with an even larger satin sheet.

"I'd first like to thank the Kelly Skunk Works boys for performing this ground up engineering feat so damn quickly. You all already know what's under the sheet, but we wanted a big unveiling anyhow." Laughter ensued from the crowd for a moment. The General went on, "You folks of the second team however are in for a surprise! Go ahead boys, unveil it!"

The sheet was pulled quickly off, revealing the most bizarre looking pure black aircraft that any of them had ever seen. It didn't look possible for the thing to even fly.

"There she is! Isn't that the most...ugly damned son-of-a-bitch aircraft you've ever seen in your lives?" He broke out laughing hard. "No offense to you Kelly boys now." He soothed. "However I am assured by the good Kelly team, which thanks to your radar absorbing panels team two; this here aircraft is pert near invisible to radar. How about that?" General Hardaker initiated a big round of applause. "Now we also have a small gift for each of you, a token of our appreciation." One of the General's aides brought him a coffee cup, and the General held it up. "I know these cups say 'Tomahawk Cruise Missile' on them, but we couldn't very well have them say the name of the real project, now could we?" Again he roared with laughter. "Either one of them." He added with more laughs.

8 Reformation

Before I turned twenty one, I was already completely addicted to gambling, and alcohol. Las Vegas wasn't the place for me. Still living at home, I found Father to be just a bit mellowed, though he still had his moments. So too did I, though my plans for departure were quickly swallowed up by my vices. He had physically changed as well; ditching the crew cut I had always known him to wear, for a more favorable, and fashionable normal hair style. Then about six months after my twenty first birthday, Father made a sudden announcement. He was moving the family back to Albuquerque, and much to my amazement he told me he wanted me to come along with them. This was perhaps the break I had been looking for, as I knew if I stayed in Vegas; I would be destitute in no time. He told me that I would have to fully comply with his conditions and rules though. One was to stop drinking and partying, and go to church. The other was to enroll in technical school once I had established residency in New Mexico. I readily agreed.

Carl Thompkins sipped at the iced tea Jenny Beal had brought in for the pair, while Bob leafed through the reports. There was nothing of any import in them he knew, and as Bob was silent while he read the utterly boring details, Carl also knew that his boss felt the same way.

"I see there is still a docket you haven't given me yet Carl, what gives?" Bob set the other reports on his desk.

"Well I know you haven't wished to see any of the footage we've recorded since you requisitioned the micro video camera's for the cars boss, but this is one report you've got to see, before you read it." He grinned broadly.

"Oh come on Carl, I'm not interested in any X-rated films you guys are taping through someone's window."

"Oh no boss, nothing of the sort. Trust me this is good stuff here, and the written report just doesn't do it justice." He was adamant.

Bob got up saying, "Oh all right, but if I'm going to watch a movie I got to have popcorn!" He opened the door to his office and hollered to Jenny, "Hey honey. Would you mind fixing us some of that fancy microwave popcorn I like so much?"

"Sure thing Bob, just a minute or two." She hollered back.

As she brought a big bowl with two smaller ones, and napkins in for them, she teased; "You guys going to watch a dirty movie?"

Bob teased right back, "We sure are honey. It's called 'The FBI Story'."

She giggled and left, closing the door behind.

Carl set up the camcorder to feed into the VCR Bob had hooked to the TV in his office, and the hit the play button. "You are gonna like this boss."

The screen came to life with a grainy image of a window of a home at night. The inside was visible as the interior lights were on. There were perhaps four young men sitting around drinking beer, and then a joint was being passed around between them.

"Dumb asses didn't even think to close the curtains." Carl observed the obvious.

Bob took some popcorn, and started crunching. "I hope the plot develops better than this Carl." He said while chomping.

"Oh it does, it does." He assured.

Then two of the fellows started arguing, a tall husky fellow, and a short guy with glasses. Fingers were pointed back and forth, and then the two arguers went into what appeared to be a kitchen area out of sight.

"Here, let me fast forward it a bit, to get to the good stuff." Carl leaned over and pushed a button. The image ran forward quickly with nothing much occurring until another tall fellow got up from a couch in the living room where the other fellows were drinking beer. He resumed the normal speed here, saying "Ok, this is where it gets good."

"Isn't that the VanDamn kid?" Bob asked.

"Yeah. Good eyes boss."

"I should have known this was about him." Bob again crunched more popcorn.

The VanDamn kid walked into the kitchen where the other two fellows were presumably still arguing, and several seconds later he was being backed out of the kitchen by the little arguer fellow. Then the little guy grabbed the VanDamn kid's throat and was yelling at him. VanDamn just stood there helpless like.

"What a wuss!" Bob exclaimed.

"Wait for it boss, just wait for it." Carl encouraged.

The little arguer guy kept pointing at VanDamn with his free hand and yelling at him for several more moments, when very suddenly, and quickly VanDamn swept the hand off his throat. With the same swift circular movement, he had turned the little arguer, and had him by the back of his neck. Then with no separation of movements VanDamn lunged forward, feeding the little arguer into a wall face first.

"Ha, ha!" Carl laughed while slapping his knee.

"Holy shit!" Bob exclaimed and grabbed another handful of crunchies. "That was good."

"Wait boss, it gets better."

By this time the other fellows were up, startled by the action, and the big arguer fellow came in from the kitchen and was trying to gently ease VanDamn off the little guy. VanDamn relented and stormed out the door, then the little wall eater ran down a hallway. As the retreating VanDamn reached his car, the little pissed off wall eater was back with a hunting rifle in hand.

"Oh my God!" Bob snacked another mouthful of popcorn.

The video image shook a good bit suddenly.

"This is where Carlson was on it boss. I didn't have to say a word. He had that M-16 out in no time, and was already drawing a bead on the little guy."

The little wall eater breached the front door and aimed the rifle right at VanDamn, who saw this and stood with arms out, making a too easy of a target. Then the rifle was lowered a bit as the little guy had some more words to say.

"Carlson said he was just about to drop him there, if he hadn't taken his aim away from the other kid." Thompkins explained.

Then VanDamn started slapping his chest in clear body language that said 'go ahead', and even enticing the little fellow more with obvious shouting. The little wall eater lowered the gun, and went back inside slamming the door. VanDamn got in his car and peeled out.

Carl Thompkins stopped the video at that point, and said; "This is why I love this detail so much boss."

Bob chuckled in delight. At that moment he didn't have the heart to tell him that Jim VanDamn had asked permission to move back to Albuquerque.

The team hasn't been able to connect the dots. Even though they bring in more and more experts from other fields, they seem to get further away from the obvious connection. Instead they are quite happy to discover trivial toys that their keepers find playful. My 'seed' has once again departed the locality, though I can still connect with him through this temporality, the connection is weaker. Everything still points to probable mission failure. It is time for my regeneration. I consume my cohort, and brother in the Legacy. I am ANX 149 of the 1028th filial generation of the Chondauxk sequence of the Donox Legacy.

Albuquerque was not a very welcoming town. Here, as everywhere I go, I seem to be an outsider. Perhaps this is just the nature of insanity. The only job I could find was flipping burgers at a local grease trap establishment, and that was like getting teeth pulled. Hell they even subjected me to a pre-employment polygraph; to flip burgers! When I saw how they subjected their employees to the same tests for even a mere 25 cents short in the till, forcing them to stay after hours on their own time; I realized what a 'Lotta' bull shit the owners were.

I enrolled in the local vocational school, even though I wasn't considered a resident yet. Father insisted, even though it cost a lot more, and he footed the bill. He surprised me, by now not only somewhat accepting me, but by his much more relaxed disposition in general. His rules were simple enough, just as he had told me before we moved; go to church, no partying, and study hard.

The no partying was easy as I had no friends here. The few people I met at church were an isolated bunch, though they smiled at you a lot on the surface. One fellow I did call a friend, as our folks were friends from back in the days before Las Vegas. Eventually he would become my brother in law, when he married sister. This was the end of that friendship, as sister made sure. On the bright side we were close to my maternal Grandpa, and he sure made things seem better, just by being himself.

When I graduated from vocational training I was quite excited at the prospect of a real construction job; yes I was, and still am quite a fool. Then reality sunk in, as the only job I could find was for less money than the low paying job I had back in Vegas. Still I persisted, and saved enough to finally move into an apartment. I had two roommates who had been classmates at the vocational school, and the party started all over again. Alcohol, pot, and once again cocaine found their way back to me. It was here that I also found out about magic mushrooms. Now I had some previous experience with LSD, but it was far too harsh and powerful for my tastes. Mushrooms were far kinder to the mind.

Soon I was broke and moving back home. Father was still working out in Vegas, flying out on Monday, and returning home on Thursday night. He had changed even more over the last few years, becoming much softer, until of course I inevitably pissed him off, and he would fly right off the precarious handle he was trying hard to perch on.

Then after a short stint up in Alaska, working on setting up a mining camp, I landed a job with a large contractor who did pay better than average for the locality. When I could finally begin to take care of myself financially, my whole outlook changed for the better, and I earnestly began to date. Sure, before I had an occasional tryst with a gal, but as they quickly saw I was a loser, none stayed around very long.

As another decade began, my attitude improved to the point where I started to settle down. Then I met the gal who was to become my wife. Life was suddenly worth living. Even though I had to work out of town with this big contractor, I was close enough to come home on the weekends. We were saving up to buy a home of our own. She made decent money, and between both of our salaries it only took seven years to save enough for a down payment on a house.

Albuquerque is a very depressed town economically, always has been, always will be. Anyone with even a slight bit of capital sure doesn't like to share it in any way shape or form. This makes it cheap and easy to get workers for a company, but it also makes any highly skilled and qualified individuals leave town for greener pastures. The only ones that stay, either have no choice, or they are rooted by family. Also the culture is fractured, has been since the Spanish invaded in the sixteenth century, and the trend has continued to this day.

You have the majority consisting of what they call themselves, Hispanic; a mix of Spanish, and subjugated Native American cultures. Then you have the traditional Native American cultures, mostly pueblo in content. Last are the minority of Whites, African Americans, and a slight mix of everything else. Each of these denominations are clearly at odds with each other, often degenerating into downright hatred and bigotry. Not too much integration occurs, and that which does is entirely superficial pageantry. There are a couple of viable and quite profitable industry in town though.

There are the Labs, and a host of spin-off industries; mostly consulting firms started by retired lab scientists. Having worked for private construction contractors out on the base a number of times, and up in Los Alamos, I can tell you that the Government Welfare Program is very much alive and well. Never have I seen a lazier more gossipy culture of non-doers, receiving great pay and benefits at tax payer expense. You take a drive through the parking lots of any of these institutions and you see nothing but brand new luxury trucks and sports cars.

Any retail store, restaurant, or otherwise supporting venture; will find the best business opportunities either near the bases, or near the upscale housing developments that are home to the personnel of said bases.

The other, and much more lucrative industry in town, is the illicit drug empire found in Albuquerque. This is the headquarters for the Northern Cartel. It is very interesting if you look at the DEA maps of known and suspected drug influx into America, New Mexico hardly shows up as a blip. As if very little drug smuggling activity occurs here. HA! These maps only tell what they want you to believe. If you've seen the show 'Breaking Bad' on AMC, you might get a tiny inkling as to what the real situation is like. In that show the DEA is characterized as the opposition to the Cartel, but nothing could be farther from the truth. The DEA is an integral part OF the Northern Cartel; even up to the top of this esteemed federal institution. They found that this was the only way they could effectively prevent the Southern Cartel from taking over everything north of the Boarder.

If you want to see the potential for drug smuggling at its finest, simply look to the Albuquerque international airport. There in the 'secure' area of the terminal you will find a restaurant concession that does booming business, day and night. You do not have to go through security from an international flight to get a hot meal, and then you can board another international flight afterwards and never even be scrutinized by any TSA officer at all. The most interesting thing though is who has the rights to this concession. It seems the same fellow that has the rights to the 'secure' concession at the Albuquerque international airport, also has the concession rights to the 'secure' concessions at the Phoenix international airport, and the Dallas-Fort Worth international airport.

Once I even did some contract construction work in this very restaurant. This was only days after the 9-11 attacks and security was at the highest point ever. We were subject to a precursory search by APD at the gate, and then let right into the secure area, box cutters included in our tools. Anyone could take anything right out of that concession area, or right into it as well, anytime they wished. I have personally heard that these three concessions are the man's pride and joy of all his vast enterprises. You may wonder if I am worried about repercussions from the cartel, or DEA, or what's the difference. No, I am not, as they will have to get in line behind the FBI to put a bullet in my dumb ass, and I am betting that I will be long buried in the sand of that secret desert by then.

I sense my cohort's children have entered my 'seed'. This is a wonderful development, as now we can work in many more ways, and have means which were not previously accessible. As the second team is being retired, and the third team begins where they left off, I can easily predict their continued failure to comprehend the most basic of the sacred nature of all. My 'seed' though has the insatiable desire to know truth, and this is unstoppable now that we are joined in body as well as mind.

9 the seven year itch

Soon after I was married, Father grew very ill. It was cancer, and it acted fairly fast. He died in 1993. If it is any consolation to anyone harmed by him, his last words on this Earth, as told to me by Mother; were to scream, "NOOOOO!" as he left. These surely don't sound like the words of one who is on his way to paradise, do they? I did shed tears for him though, as although the man was deeply troubled; he was still my Father, and he did try to make some amends for the hardships he forced me to endure. This was before realizing his deepest secrets though.

Bob Beal was in Washington again, as he often had been called there by the Joint Chiefs even as far back as when they had taken control of the LRB project. This time was different though. This was to be his last visit here. Bob was retiring, and he was to give his last report to the Chiefs today. He thought back to the early days, and of all the startling developments that were a result of the research directly from the tight knit group of Sandia men. The stealth fighter, followed by the stealth bomber, then all the myriad anti-gravity craft the Kelly team had flown; culminating now with the Aurora.

All of the second team was retiring one by one. Doug Sanderson had just recently left the project after finally discovering the synthesis of the hull material that his group had so long strived towards. Dr. Samara had left for a fellowship at MIT a few years before. Dr. Jameson had done similarly leaving for Berkley earlier that year, and Ken Jackson was planning his retirement for the next year. His protégé, Dr. Fleming was already at the helm of the Light Wave group on the LRB.

Bob was saddened by the news of Jim VanDamn's passing away, just a few short months after he retired from the Labs. Jim had eventually transferred back to the headquarters in Albuquerque, after spending years flying back and forth from New Mexico. Bob had long ago suspected that each of the team would not last long in retirement, as he had researched the eventual fates of the first team, after their retirements. None had lived very long afterwards; each dying of cancer. So he knew how he would go, and approximately when, but this wasn't a new concern. Bob knew full well what he was getting into when he accepted the post. A secret this big would never be let out. It was simply the price one pays for their country, when duty calls.

Later that week as Carl Thompkins was removing the last of the far too numerous files from Bob's office, and loading them into a van; Bob brought him a freshly brewed iced tea as was his favorite.

"You know Carl, I'm going to miss our weekly get together. Even if it was just business, I really enjoyed your company."

"Ditto boss." He agreed.

"I'm not your boss anymore Carl, please just call me Bob."

"Sure,... Bob." He was hesitant.

"Your detail, was an outstanding success. I've made numerous mentions of your excellent capability, and discretion to the Director himself." Bob let him know.

Carl swallowed a lump in his throat. "I kind of figured you were helping me out boss...Bob."

"How's that?" Bob asked.

"Well, all the pay raises for one." He smiled.

"You are most certainly deserving, Agent Thompkins." Bob patted him on the back.

Carl could tell his change to the formal was not from irritation this time.

"Well, this was definitely the most interesting, if not sometimes the most boring detail I've ever worked."

Bob nodded knowingly, "It sure got more boring after the VanDamn kid left, I bet you miss him."

"Yeah, that kid sure had some balls, but Fleming's kid is keeping us on our toes now. Say, do you remember the time VanDamn and his buddies got caught by the cops, after trying to flee from them in that old mustang. Turned up a dead end street, dumb asses! Then we woke you up for instructions."

Bob frowned, "Oh God, I can't believe I had you make that fake call for an officer down."

"It sure worked though, that cop was out of there quick." Carl laughed.

"The things I did trying to keep that little bastard out of trouble! Did you know I even had my son try to talk to him? He told my boy to go fly a kite." Bob reminisced.

"I wonder what ever happen to him." Carl voiced.

"I don't know, but you could find out easily enough."

He just shook his head, "Some things are better left as sweet memories."

As the last of the file boxes had been loaded, Carl said his brief farewell to his old boss, and watched sullenly as Bob retreated in to his house. The man had flown every morning with a plane full of super scientists, to some super-secret place in the desert, and then returned home every night to head one of the largest and strangest FBI protection details in history. Carl had nothing but the utmost admiration for him; as the man had worked hard.

In the mid 1990's I started taking formal Chinese martial arts instruction. This lasted only until I realized that I had joined a cult. Then I abruptly quit and trained on my own for some years. It was a good thing too, as the school, or rather corporation turned out to be headed by a pedophile. I got this information from the ex-wife of a trusted instructor. It seems the 'Grandmaster' liked to 'party' with the underage teen girls when he would come to town for a festival. I guess the personal power and respect he offered his inner sanctum was enough for them to look the other way. Shame on them! I guess some just don't care for enlightenment.

This was my first introduction to the oriental philosophies, and even though the example set was despicable, I still saw the wisdom in the ancient writings. So my pursuit of this elusive wisdom began. Then through my abundant research and reading, I found out a secret concerning the mystical ability of the mind. It centered on the pineal gland and its connection with mystical experience. It seems that the pineal gland is quite capable of endogenously producing psychedelic compounds, namely DMT (dimethyl tryptamine), and 5meoDMT(the methoxy variant). These are hypothesized to be produced by stressful events, monotony, or even by willful focus of energy. As my experience with psychedelic compounds previously, left me knowing that something indeed mystical was in their nature of effect; I began in earnest to force the issue in my own mind. I started ingesting many such compounds in an effort to break through the veil and see the ultimate truth. The most effective were of course the psilocybin containing fungus. Unfortunately they are quite illegal, yet they do grow in the wild, and growing them one's self is quite easy with the proper spores at your disposal. This problem with illegality spurred me to find a source of legal psychedelics, which at the time in the late 90's were surprisingly plentiful. I had synthetic tryptamines delivered right to my door step, all 100% legal.

The ancient Taoists left plenty of writings that detail the activation of the pineal gland. Some methods were hard won internal disciplines, and others were as simple as taking a pill. It seems that these ancient sages openly encouraged people to find out the ultimate truth for themselves, as opposed to the western monotheistic teachings which stress blind obedience to the hierarchy of church, country, and God (in that order!) I for one had enough of obedience training for more than one life, so this approach was quite liberating to me. After all; if we supposedly already have the knowledge of good and evil from that 'original sin' of eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, then why the hell do I need anyone else to tell me what is or is not good or evil? This is my mind, NOT yours to control. Though many still try (as I turn the TV off.)

So I opted for the ease of the pill. The one that really pushed me through the veil at first was a compound known as Alpha-methyl-tryptamine, or AMT. I'll never do that again! It lasted far too long, and was far too strong. However it did enable my first enlightenment experience, of which I am eternally grateful. This was seven years to the day since my Father had died. The experience was powerful enough to cause me to stop taking psychedelics for the rest of my life. I really didn't need them any longer. I had seen my own true nature.

For the next few years I focused on the martial arts, taking some classes in the search for a new school, and finally deciding that I needed to start my own school. My practice developed towards the 'internal' martial arts. The arts that forego physical strength as the primary purveyor of force; for internal strength, or the power of mind in connection with perfect physical alignment.

Breath is energy, energy is life. To illustrate this, how long can you go without breathing? A hell of a lot less time that you can go without water, or food for that matter. There is an ancient Chinese saying that goes; 'If you want to know the secret of longevity, it is simple: Keep breathing as long as you can.' This sort of basic pragmatism led me deeper into the Taoist arts, and I relished these arts far more than anything I had previously experienced. My ability increased quickly, and soon I was doing things that I had previously viewed as mystical. The power of the mind is without limits.

By this time I was well committed to starting my own martial arts school, but I realized there were many aspects of Taoism that I did not yet understand. The Taoist arts being the cornerstone for my envisioned school, I knew I had to delve deeper, and to realize the deepest secrets of their teachings. So I began to focus on the base principles of Tao. Every journey of a thousand miles always starts the same, by putting one foot in front of the other, and there is no place to start like the very beginning.

Back to the very beginning I went. The beginning of all things, or so I thought. I had read in a very insightful biography titled "The Chronicles of Tao" by Deng Ming Tao; that the source of all things is void. Along with this teaching was the ancient maxim; 'The greatest of all wisdom is in knowing that you truly know nothing'. So I decided to truly know nothing. I asked myself what nothing is. Giving as many names as I could think of that fit, I then asked where nothing is. The next two base perceptual questions were redundant it turned out; who, and why. Lastly I asked the big one it seems; when is nothing.

The source of all things is void. I remembered that was one of the "what's" I had found when asking about nothing. So with a simple exchange of synonyms, the answer jumped right out at me. Source is non-existent. There is no source! Yes that fit right in with all the other cosmological base principles of Taoism.

Then a strange thing happened, and I mean right then and there. I felt a flower open in the middle of my head. That is exactly what it felt like. Ecstasy flooded over me, and realizations began to unfold. Deep realizations. This ecstasy lasted for two weeks, feeling much like a perpetual orgasm.

During this time I asked many a big question, and got many a big answer. As I had some previous knowledge of modern cosmological thought, I realized that there was a fundamental difference between the ancient Taoist principles, and the modern theory. So I began to find which were in error, fully thinking that the ancient sages just didn't have the luxury of modern observation technology. Strange that all the errors I found were in the modern interpretation of the data accumulated.

During those two special weeks, I formulated a new hypothesis of base universal principle. Then as the flower closed, I realized that it had been exactly seven years since my first enlightenment experience.

One of the first errors I found was that science figures that the universe is 20 billion years old, give or take, and that the universe is a sphere of existence 20 billion light years across. Then I learned that this is calculated from the oldest light we can observe, which they figure is 20 billion years old. I thought that to be a rather strange coincidence, but the really telling part was what they didn't say. That the observation point for all of this, ergo where we are, winds up right smack dab in the center of the universe. Help us Copernicus! I even called a naval observatory and asked an astronomer about this. When I asked about our location being in the very center of the universe, he hemmed and hawed saying that only three or four people in the world could really understand this. Sounded like an excuse to me.

Then I remembered a show of the TV program NOVA on PBS from many years ago. In it they said that the biggest map of the known universe showed galaxies are formed in many clusters that are spherical in shape, like 'bubbles' they said. Also I remembered reading that one of the brightest objects in the universe was also one of the most distant. At first I thought that this brightest object may be the remains of the 'big bang', but upon further reading, the book stated that there are many of these quasars out there.

That's when I got to thinking that perhaps if we looked at that big map of the universe, and drew a line from our galaxy on the map, through the very epicenter of our 'bubble' of galaxies, and then followed that line way, way out; I bet it would run right smack dab into one of those quasars. If this were so, I bet a line drawn from our galaxy through the epicenter of any other 'bubble' of galaxies would also terminate thusly. Perhaps those quasars are really in the center of these bubbles. A new picture formed in my mind, of an infinite universe of perpetual bangs.

Another show I had watched on NOVA reinforced this idea. In it the scientists told of a satellite launched back in the 1960's which detected gamma radiation, in an effort to detect countries exploding nuclear weapons in violation of the surface test ban treaty. However one day they decided to turn the satellite out towards deep space, just to see what they could see. They saw random enormous gamma ray bursts occurring everywhere out there, and bunches of them. Why then, I thought, don't we see the initial visible light from these possible 'big bangs'?

Before I could comprehend the above, another thing occurred to me as I was pondering a two dimensional representation of a gravity well. The article was concerning how Einstein proved that time-space was bent or warped near a large gravity source. They showed a two dimensional grid of time-space, bent near the gravity well, thus bending light which cut across the warped time-space. I thought, Einstein proved that time-space is indeed NOT nothingness, as you can't bend or warp nothingness. Remember I truly know nothingness.

So I wondered at what a three dimensional representation of a gravity well would look like. The only thing I could visualize was a vortex. A moving vortex. I thought, 'hey, time moves, so why not time-space. Isn't it supposed to be the same thing?'

In keeping to base principle; the idea that as matter likes to come together, perhaps it compresses time-space between said matter, thus causing displacement and movement of time-space inwards towards the now gravity well. Perhaps this movement of time-space is actually what gravity is in the first place. Gravity obviously exerts a kinetic pressure upon matter, so in keeping with the idea, I thought perhaps the movement of time-space over, around and through an object exerted kinetic pressure on the object. Simply put; as time-space moves, it wants to move matter in the direction of its movement. Hey, the backdrop of existence moves thus moving everything in existence. Then I thought of worlds with a different gravitational force than our own. The moon came to mind first, with one sixth the gravity of earth. Why is the kinetic pressure exerted different than here on Earth?

The moon shot I had watched as a LIVE broadcast resurfaced in my memory. I remember the astronauts moving as if they were in fast motion. Then it hit me. Perhaps they were moving at a faster rate of time than on Earth. Yes! If time-space had a fluid nature, and we applied some simple fluid dynamics to the equation, then YES! The faster a fluid moves, the less pressure it exerts. In this case less kinetic pressure, thus less gravitational force. The faster TIME-space moves over, around and through an object, the faster that object might experience TIME itself, relative to an object that had time-space moving over it at a different rate.

Thus the rate of time's passage would not be a constant, but a variable. One way to check the validity of this would be to see if the astronauts on the moon shots experienced their watches, or the craft's chronometers as running fast relative to mission control's chronometers. (I found out this was indeed the case, but more on that later)

So I formed a picture in my mind, of matter compressing time-space and thus movement of such in one directional effect, and expansion of time-space from big bangs. If a quasar really was the visible remnant of a big bang, and it was still expelling time-space volume, it should indeed have an enormous red-shift, as we already know from Einstein that time-space can bend light waves.

Then I remembered Obler's paradox; that we don't know why the universe isn't full of light as some of the math seems to indicate it should be. I thought that if time-space indeed was moving everywhere, expanding anywhere it could, and being compressed by matter, wherever enough matter came together, this could mean that light waves from a certain distance away from us might never even reach us. They would be bent away from us by expansion sources, or even captured by strong enough gravity (i.e.. slow enough moving time-space). This bending of light waves by moving time-space would also explain some red-shift phenomenon.

A base principle began to form; matter wants to come together compressing time-space between its particles. As this occurs, the compressed time-space is displaced, causing more time-space to move towards the displacement. As time-space moves over, around and through matter, it wants to move the matter in the direction it's moving. Then I thought about light.

There are three base constituents of the universe; matter, light, and time-space. As I examined the above base principle in regard to matter and time-space, I thought that light may very well do the opposite from matter. Light wants to expand outwards, not come together. Perhaps light also expands the volume of time-space. I could picture a photon screaming through time-space, and perhaps creating a wake of time-space movement near the photon's head. Sure, why not? This could explain the particle like effect of light very well. The photon itself might not exert any energy on a particle of matter that it strikes, but the expanding volume of time-space, or wake if you will; might just be the culprit, exerting kinetic pressure on the particle.

Still I wondered why we can't see the light from these supposed big bangs. If the rate of expanding volume of time-space fluid were great enough, wouldn't the rate of time be that great as well. Perhaps so great that it would be in another, faster, temporal dimension. Sure, why not? Heck I remembered from Einstein's special theory of relativity that he even stated that there were realms which light could not transmit between. It made sense to me. We can't see the initial light from the big bangs as the bangs themselves are occurring in another faster temporal dimension.

Thus I thought of electrons as they quantum shifted between orbits around a nucleus. We never see the light reflected from them in between the orbits. What if as the electron was subject to energy enough to collapse their base matter particles together some, and they collapsed at such a rate, (or even expanded) so that the volume of time-space around these basic matter particles was moving fast enough (relative to the particle) to put the electron in a faster temporal dimension. When we saw the electron next it had slowed from that dimension back into ours. Perhaps a long amount of time had occurred from the electrons point of view, but from ours it appeared as the same instant.

The pictures from electron microscopes of a single sub atomic particle being in two different places at the same time always fascinated me. When I thought of the above ideas, it occurred to me that we might very well be experiencing a temporal illusion. From our temporal point of view the particle is in two places at the same time, there is photographic proof. Perhaps from the temporal point of view of the particle, it is NOT in two places at the same time. From its' point of view it was in one location, then experienced faster time-space around it, and moved to another location before slowing back to the temporal dimension it was in to start with.

If a large object such as a space craft slowed from a faster temporal realm into our temporal realm, wouldn't it look all stretched out from our point of view, like in Star Trek? We could take a picture of it at that instant, and the photographic proof would show a thin ship many miles long. Yet from the ship's point of view it would not be stretched many miles long, rather everything else would be distorted from its view. Thus each experiencing a temporal illusion in regard to the other. I thought of how we could expand the volume of time-space around a large object. An object like a space craft.

\----------

The idea of a single big bang made no sense whatsoever to me at that point. I revisited Dr. Hawking's formulations of quantum singularity. The first I believe was; when volume equals zero, and mass equals infinity. Then, as that didn't add up, I believe it was changed to; when volume approaches zero, and mass approaches infinity. This didn't add up to me either. Isn't an approach to infinity like a moving point on a number line, a line that never ends itself? This seems to be a mathematical way of saying that quantum singularity should never occur, thus a big bang should never occur.

A strange thing occurred at this point, as I understood that there was no such thing as nothingness, so too did I understand about infinity. Infinity is all there is. The real number set, and non-imaginary. Zero is NOT a real number and does NOT exist as reality. Therefore you cannot subtract from infinity, you can't add to it, multiply it, divide it etc. Otherwise it wouldn't have been infinite to start with.

So how could a big bang happen? If all that matter just kept sucking in more matter and light, and volume of time-space fluid, and never came apart. If that were the case the universe should not exist at all. A thought occurred to me. What if the center of a super-giant black hole were composed of base matter particles physically touching each other, and the outer layer composed of sub-atomic particles physically touching each other, these SA particles not being fully broken down yet.

At the very center, perhaps the base matter particles (which would have a density of infinity, thus completely displacing the volume of time-space) would eventually start to change shape from spheres to cubic form due to the increasing kinetic pressure. As they tried to seal off the enormous amount of volume of time-space compressed in the tiny epicenter, from all other volume of time-space in the universe, they could NOT do this, for this would be subtracting from infinity.

Suppose that at this very point as the movement of time-space almost stops, and moves as slow as it ever could, even around the sub-atomic particles of the outer shell of the super-giant black hole. The kinetic pressure might be enough to suddenly collapse these sub-atomic particles fully. This would cause a sudden place for the volume trapped in the center to go (outwards), thus the dam would burst, and BANG! With a finite amount of matter.

The most perplexing thing though was how light could get trapped in the center of a sub-atomic particle, as we know that light won't pass through them. When I realized that the volume of time-space fluid being compressed in the center of them could be moving in a very slow vortex itself. I saw light being trapped in an inside out orbit of sorts, or into the vortex. That meant the vortex was moving so slow, that the time rate was such that it was in a slower temporal realm, thus past an event horizon. This would perhaps explain the strong force. If the base matter particles comprising the SA particle were experiencing that kind of 'gravity', and even possibly being stuck between two separate temporal dimensions at the same 'time', wouldn't they be really hard to break apart?

All of the above ideas occurred during those special 2 weeks of ecstasy.

10 Ghosts

It has happened! My 'seed' has realized the base principle of fluid time-space. I must contact my people immediately. They will be filled with joy! My mission success looks much more probable now. The only thing left is to get him to share his knowledge somehow. Then one of the Kornt will hopefully make the connection with the hull material. This will be difficult to achieve, but the whole of Kornt existence depends upon it though.

After my endogenous miracle, I felt certainly ready to open my martial arts school, and by open I mean to start with the advertising. Normally the cost would have been prohibitive, but since I was already paying more than four hundred dollars a month for a yellow page ad for my not so successful contracting business, the extra ad was only fifteen dollars a month. This was with the cheapest book in town. The other book was for the rich, or soon to be broke, and gullible. I was very excited and soon some calls started coming in. One of the first calls I got was from a very familiar voice, that of the instructor at the old school I attended. The cult. It turns out the first student who actually showed interest and took an introductory class to see if he liked it, was a spy for that old school. I should have known when his primary interest was to get hold of an instruction manual.

Sure enough once he had the manual, he was gone, and two weeks later I received a letter from their lawyer. It seems that as I had mentioned the masters' and grandmaster's name in my manual as some who had previously instructed me, and that I had violated the copyright on their names. The order was to cease and desist. So I willing complied, promising to never ever say their names again. I still won't say their names as their names are too despicable to say. I will say that the name of the system is an odd mix of Chinese and Japanese. Now this school is reputed to send Kung Fu thugs to any who sully their name or even disagree publicly with their practices. You may wonder if I worry about this. I do not! They can get in line behind the DEA/Cartel and the FBI.

My school didn't work out anyway, as there seems to be a martial arts school on every corner in town. Wrong place, and wrong time, not to mention I certainly am not the best teacher around. So I kept my practice to myself after that. Then my contracting business went under with the great recession's ruthless tide, along with the eternal corruptness of our wonderful state; they increased the license bond requirement by over three thousand percent right as the recession swept through in 09. Thus I could not afford to keep my contracting license.

\----------

Since being under-employed, something strange happened that stirred up some old ghosts. First I watched a documentary about the infamous BTK killer, and the profile they gave of that monster fit my Father like a glove. This caused me to think back and wonder if Father could have been like that.

That is when the conversation I had so many years earlier with my high school friend about his sister, came back from the recess of my mind. I was in shock. I tried to remember anything else that pointed to this suspicion. The fact that Father had changed his hair style came up. This was right after the conversation, and I could have sworn Father would rock that flat-top crew cut to the grave. It was like his trade mark.

Next, the fact that we moved back to Albuquerque so suddenly, and right in the middle of sister's high school years rose up. He still worked out in Vegas, but flew back and forth, which was strange considering. Not to mention the fact that Albuquerque public schools are not known for their high quality of education, at least not like the Las Vegas public schools are.

Then I remembered that Father had kept a ruby ring; which he said was an engagement gift from an old girlfriend. I've never heard of a girl giving a guy a ruby ring for an engagement gift before, and since the wedding never took place why didn't he return it?

The very darkest thing came back sometime later, after I had made a phone call. I remembered getting in the VW bus one day while I was a young kid, and there between the driver and passengers' forward seat, just aft of the pass-through; was a big bloody spot. There was a thick gooey chunk in the middle of this bloody mess, and the edges around the pool were dry. I touched the gooey mess asking, "Dad, what's this?"

"Don't touch that!" he yelled as he looked back. Then added in a strange manner, "I had to take the dog to the vet, she was bleeding."

Even at that moment I remember knowing he was lying. Mom always took the dog to the vet, never Father, and if it had been the dog, she should be dead since it seemed like some sort of guts there. A black feeling had crept over me way back then, and I quickly forgot about it on purpose. I do remember one of my siblings with us in the bus that day, I wonder if they remember this event?

\----------

It took me a while to get the nerve up to call the FBI; after all he had been dead for almost twenty years by then. Finally I did call them, and something very strange happened during that call. The agent I talked to was very friendly, and was very attentive to my story of why I suspected my Father. He asked me some preliminary questions, including where my Father had worked during those times. I answered honestly that he had worked for Sandia National Labs up at the Tonopah test range in Nevada.

The agent chuckled and said, "So he worked at Area 51."

I don't remember the rest of the conversation, as I was somewhat in denial. It took a long while for that to sink in. A few years to be exact. The idea that he had lied so perfectly, and for so long to all of us, blew me away. I realize now that he had to lie, it was a job requirement.

In the years since that fateful call, I recognize that the FBI were entirely the wrong ones to call concerning any crimes my Father may have committed. I have not heard back from them, nor do I expect to, at least over that matter. This I now consider a closed issue, for I know in my heart that it was so. Even though I probably should have called the Las Vegas Police Department, I figured this would be a better way to blow the lid off everything!

As memories returned of my youth, in which there were too many times the folks knew of something that they shouldn't have, by any right, and in which men did just show up out of nowhere to save my ass. Then the times I seemed to get incredibly lucky with the law, or the time an FBI agent just showed up out of nowhere to bust my buddy and I for drinking a bottle of booze we swiped off his old man. All these things just seemed too coincidental. So I put all these memories together along with everything I had ever heard or watched on Area 51, and then something even stranger happened.

The craft I was designing took form from innuendo and rumors concerning its existence alone, as there have been no descriptions of the thing as far as I am aware. The idea of the hull of it came from a show I had seen on a science channel in the past, where two scientists were demonstrating a marvelous material formed into blocks. As these gleaming white blocks floated off the ground, the scientists were adamant that it was not from some lighter than air gas trapped inside the blocks, rather they were convinced the blocks floated due to something about the molecular structure of the material, but they did not know why. Next they merely tapped one of the blocks lightly with a finger, and the block flew across the warehouse. It seems they had no air resistance. Then when they fired a shotgun slug at one and the slug merely vaporized on contact, I was hooked. Those blocks had been in my head ever since, like I couldn't shake the thought of them. They haunted me. Then as I determined to include them in the craft design for this story, I applied my hypothesis of the fluid nature of time-space to the concept of the material.

That is when I had my last enlightenment experience, and yes this was exactly seven years since the last one. It came to me as I figured out why they might float, and have zero air resistance, and be impervious to a shotgun slug.

If the material were an infinite chain polymer, as I think they might have said on the show about the blocks, and if the molecular structure were such that if the material were viewed on a molecular level; that you could not see all the way through the material of some thickness due to the arraignment of the molecules, then I would classify this as Obstructed Matter. Its function could be that of a Time-Space Inhibitor.

Imagine if you will the fluid volume of time-space as it impacts the top of a block of this material, in a gravity well. Not all of the time-space can get through the material as it could with regular matter, even very dense matter, as it has to wind its way down through the passages. Therefore some of the fluid of time-space has to go around the outside of the block, and this fluid time-space will have to move faster than that penetrating the material. The faster a fluid moves the less pressure it will exert. In this instance the pressure is the kinetic pressure of gravitational force. Less gravitational pressure than the surrounding area might cause the block to float.

Also as the volume of time-space moves faster over the exterior surface of the block, it will move any air molecules in contact with it. This rapidly moving time-space and the molecular bonding of the material would also make it very resilient. A simple test would be thin chronometers held against the material, and see if they indeed run faster.

Then as I remembered when I first came up with the hypothesis, I had thought of expanding the volume of time-space around a craft to push it into a faster temporal dimension, thus quantum shifting the craft. An insurmountable problem existed with that thought though; if you expand time-space around a large object, all the matter comprising the object would be destroyed by this volume movement. This was insurmountable, until I realized that a time-space inhibitor would not be destroyed. In fact a time-space inhibitor would even slow the rate of time inside the craft, compared to the rate outside the craft. This would have the effect of causing the passengers to perhaps even experience time in the third temporal realm, while the exterior of the craft was in the fourth temporal realm. A quantum shifting star craft, with a slow-time berth. The inertial dampening effect in the berth could also be useful.

I began to think of more things this could be useful for. Like what if you formed some impeller blades from the inhibitor material, and attached them to a turbine shaft. Face the blades upwards and watch the shaft spin. Free electric power anyone, with zero pollution? To make it go faster simply fashion a tuba horn shape from inhibitor material to the top of the turbine, perhaps with louvers made from the inhibitor material to control speed.

Gravity powered vehicles would be easy. Take a block and form an inverse impression of the horn into the block. Turn the passageway 90 degrees to one end and neck the tube down near the exit point. Again inhibitor material louvers over the top of the horn shape to control speed. Add several such tubes in differing directions for steering and breaking. Make the block shape tear dropped for greater speed, but watch out, as time will go faster too.

Take a hollow block, and close it up. Perhaps gravity on the inside would be greater. A gravity oven. Make the shape of the hollow box like a mushroom cap, for greater gravity inside. Perhaps even thicker material on top. How about a box within a box, etc... I wonder if we could increase the density of some material, or even some elements?(114 to 115?) One thing about this fantasy, if you opened the box in an atmosphere, you would get a thermal event occurring. Same with the ideas above. If a gas changes from one kinetic pressure to another rapidly (higher to lower pressure), the molecules would get pretty excited. Perhaps free heating with no emissions.

Then there is the craft; tear dropped shape with thicker inhibitor material towards the tapered end. This would be the rear, or aft of the craft. The bulbous end would be the front, and direction of travel. The rocket 'combustion' like chamber in the front, is made from very thick and denser inhibitor material, and would contain element 115 fuel pellets. Supposedly, from another show I saw on area 51, they had discovered just such a material on their craft. They said it produced antiprotons when electrical current was passed over it. This would fit the bill nicely. Matter as it is disintegrating should produce expanding volume of time-space as the strong force vortex of compressed time-space is set free.

This expanding source of time-space volume controlled by the thick inhibitor 'combustion' chamber to expel out the front of the craft would cause the volume of time-space behind the craft to rush forward as it wants to expand into the displaced area of volume of time-space in front. Thus not only pushing the craft forward, but giving the rapid flow of time-space fluid over the outer surface of the craft. As most of the time-space rushing forward is inhibited from passing through the craft, it will move even faster over the exterior due to the fluid dynamic shape of the craft. If you can get fluid time-space moving fast enough over the exterior of the craft, hypothetically it might be pushed into the fourth temporal dimension. To increase the rate of this fluid movement, the ripples as mentioned in the story are to do just this; in keeping with fluid dynamics of course.

The thin layered panels are to slowly equalize kinetic pressure inside the craft, by opening them slowly one by one, thus preventing immolation of the interior and its occupants. They open inwards for ease of doing so, as the exterior must be clean and of inhibitor material only.

11 Contact

Everyone has those little voices in their head, you know the ones telling you shouldn't do that, or maybe perhaps you should. For a long time I kept getting the pictures of those damn floating white blocks in mine. Then the voice of mine kept saying; "you can do it." At the point when I understood what those blocks might indeed be, and that this time-space inhibitor material was exactly what could allow a craft to quantum shift without being disintegrated; then that little voice in the back of my head said to me, "Well done Alex, you did it!"

What would telepathy sound or feel like? Would it sound like your own inner voice? How would you know the difference between a thought of your own, and one that was perhaps put there; by someone else? These ideas began to nag at me one evening as I just couldn't fathom how an underemployed former construction worker, who was also a high school dropout; how could that fellow realize something as potentially profound and earth shattering as this? It would seem highly unlikely at the very least. When I took a short break from writing and walked back out to the living room, I saw my wife had drawn another of her pastel works. She showed it to me beaming with a smile. I had told her I was working on a story about my Father being employed at area 51, but I had absolutely not told her any details of such. The picture she gave me was of a blue alien's head, with a man coming out of the top of it. The man had a halo coming from his own head. This blew me away, and right then I clearly heard the voice in my head say;

" _Hello Alex. Do not be afraid. I am ANX 149 of the 1028th filial generation of the Chondauxk sequence of the Donox Legacy. I have been with you a long time Alex, trying to assist your discovery."_

"Are you real?"

" _Yes Alex, I am. We the Donox Legacy, have been trying to help your race to survive."_

I saw the gleaming white tear drop shape again in my mind's eye. "The craft! That is how we will survive, isn't it?"

" _Yes. The only way your species will survive is to reach the stars. Otherwise your extinction is certain."_

"I know. We are destroying our world." I understood. "So you are the character in my story? He is...you are real?"

" _You are not insane Alex. We are the Donox Legacy! We know your kind as the Kornt, but from this day forward your race will be known as the Korox!"_

"This is too weird! It can't be!" I panicked thinking it was now far too late for my fragile mind.

" _Reality it is, and you are a very insightful being. Thus you should know that what I am telling you is truth."_

"So my design, it will work? My craft will work?" I grew excited, quickly forgetting my fear at the daunting prospect. It was a strange ability which I have always seemed to have, to forget my own fears even as they manifest, well some of them anyhow.

" _Yes it will, with some minor modifications of course. However your race is not out of the danger of extinction quite yet. You must get your people to listen to your ideas."_

"How do I do that?"

" _You will figure that out. You must."_

"What if they won't listen?" I asked.

" _They must!"_

"OK, I will try."

So try I did. My best bet, I figured, was an old friend of my wife. She had been best of friends with this man's wife, and he for many years. He had also been very high up in the Sandia National Labs, even chairing the Atomic Energy Commission at one point. Being a Nuclear Physicist I knew he would understand my hypothesis, if anyone could. So I searched for his phone number through many stacks of old papers, finally finding it. I gave a call and left a message.

When his wife called back she gave us some bad news, he was very ill from cancer. Over the years he had been exposed to some really weird stuff. We called him mainly to show our support for him and his recovery, but I couldn't help bouncing the base principle of my hypothesis off him.

When I got to the point where I said checking to see if the astronauts' chronometers had run fast on the moon shots might lend credence to my idea, he said that because they were using old style mechanical watches back then; they figured that the less kinetic pressure would make the watches run faster. I didn't proceed further with my ideas, but merely asked if it was acceptable to take my hypothesis into the labs to share with them. He told me that was quite alright to do, and that they were happy to see new ideas. My thoughts and good hopes are with you buddy.

Getting anyone at the labs to listen to or look at my ideas was completely impossible. It seems they live in a very tight box out there. I called numerous departments, and even tried to just leave a written copy of my ideas at the badge office, but they wouldn't even allow that. I thought of calling my wife's buddy back to try to get a name, but as he is trying to recover from major surgery, this was not acceptable. So I was stuck.

"ANX, I need your help here. They won't even look at my ideas."

" _I cannot help you with this part of the process Alex."_

"Why not? Can't you just put the thought in their head to look at this guy's stuff?"

" _No. We have a sacred edict which we must obey. An edict of non-interference."_

"But haven't you already interfered? With me?"

" _I merely asked questions, and showed images. You formulated the ideas and concepts Alex. This was your doing, not ours. We are already doing all that we can possibly do without violating our most sacred trust."_

"Oh yeah? Then how come you are clearly talking to me now, isn't that a violation?"

" _You have made the breakthrough. You are like us now. Therefore we may communicate with you directly. However if you wish us not to, we will respect that wish."_

"Why is it so hard to get anyone to listen?"

" _They already know much more than you suspect Alex. This knowledge has the potential to destroy economies of your nations. Your race is at the precipice of existence. All of the evolutionary process on your world has been pushing toward this point. Your race now has the choice of taking that bold leap off your world, or falling into eternal oblivion. Either way there is no going back. If they take the leap, your world will be shaken to its core. Everything will change. Those who have power are the least likely to allow such a change. It would mean an end to their artificial position. I personally watched as the Pharaohs of your ancient Egypt allowed their civilization to crumble, so they might still rule. As their culture and civilization died, so too did they, as the might of their empire was all that kept those underlings beneath them from slaughtering the Pharaohs, even as they fled to sanctuary previously formed. This lust for power is often stronger than the will to survive."_

"If they already know this stuff, then I can't make them use it."

" _This is true, but there is something you can do."_

"Well? What is it?" I demanded to know. "A little help here?" Still nothing. "Oh come on!"

" _You already know."_

Yes, I did know, and was working on it. In the meantime ANX had said some things that perplexed me.

"You said that you had personally watched the Pharaohs of old ANX. How is that possible, unless you Donox live a really long time?"

" _We are not the Donox! We are their Legacy. In answer to your question, yes; we of the Legacy have a normal life span of many thousands of your Earth years."_

"Wow. That is pretty handy. Hey, but if you are not the Donox, then who are the Donox ANX?"

" _The question is; who were the Donox, Alex?"_

"Ok, who were the Donox?"

" _The Donox were our creators. They designed the first many of the Legacy sequences."_

"What happened to them ANX, did they all die, or become extinct?"

" _They did not become extinct, nor did they die as you know the word. They reached the logical conclusion of their physical form as a race, and then they ascended en-mass. We refer to this as 'The Great Rising'."_

"So they left you here? Why didn't they take you with them?"

" _That was not our purpose. Our purpose is to ensure the peace in this section of the universe. This is why we were created."_

"Peace keepers huh? I can dig that." I thought with a smile. "Hey! If your purpose is to keep the peace, then why the hell are you helping us get out to the stars? You know how we are!" The smile had left me.

" _A race must change when it reaches the point of leaping to the stars. War becomes a thing of the past, or that race is annihilated."_

"Annihilated by who ANX?"

" _By us, Alex."_

"Whoa, so that's how you keep the peace huh? Doesn't sound too peaceful to me."

" _This very rarely happens. Any race with the slightest ability in logical thought, realizes the futility of such pursuits."_

"If you've been studying us for so long, you should know us better than that. Our race loves to kill each other, it's what we do. Why do you think we will all of a sudden stop?"

" _Because of the technology now available to you."_

It didn't take too many days to figure out what ANX meant. When it hit me, I quickly asked him about it. "I think I know why we must stop our destructive ways ANX. It is because the quantum shifting starship is also the ultimate weapon, isn't it?"

" _Yes, very astute insight Alex. If you decelerate a large enough object from the fourth temporal dimension into the third temporal ream, just as it enters a planet, or star; that planet or star will be destroyed."_

"That is what I figured ANX, and I know that there would only be one reason we might not ever use such a weapon."

" _Please entertain me Alex, What reason do you suppose?"_

"I've been pondering this a bit, and for the life of me I can't figure out how we could defend against such a weapon. Even though we could travel through the fourth dimension, the craft's crew would still be in the third dimension. Then I thought of robot ships surrounding a star system in the fourth dimension, but for every hundred years in the fourth dimension, or whatever the temporal difference would be; the time in our third dimension would be perhaps a few seconds. We would need to exchange huge fleets of robot ships every couple of minutes. It is absolutely impossible to protect against this danger."

" _Impossible for your race."_

"Whoa! You mean to say that you, the Donox Legacy can protect against this?"

" _Can and do protect against this. At least for any race that will adopt the sacred edict, and abide by it. Otherwise we will destroy that race, or at the least; the violators of such."_

"Well it doesn't look good for humanity then ANX."

" _You should give your kind a little more credit."_

"When they earn it. Ok, let's suppose we like a certain star system, but another star faring race likes it just as much as we do, what then?"

" _We would try to mediate the use of the star system, and recommend other systems for all parties involved. There is plenty of room for everyone."_

"Sooner or later the galaxy is going to get crowded though, I mean it has to."

" _There are plenty of galaxies to use Alex."_

I thought about that for a minute, "Yes! This technology allows intergalactic travel too!"

" _Correct again."_

"ANX, is the Donox home world in this galaxy?"

" _The Donox home world is no longer in any galaxy. The galaxy it was in has long since been through many other rejuvenation cycles, or big bangs as you call them. Rather the matter that used to make up their home world has been."_

"So your people have no home?"

" _Everywhere we are is our home, just as with any race."_

12 THE GIFT

As I began the last bit of a ghost story I was writing, ANX became clear in my thoughts again, as he would just sometime do.

" _Alex, I am soon to leave this world, and this realm permanently."_

"You're leaving me ANX? Are you going back to your people?"

" _Not from whence I came here."_

"Are you dying ANX?"

" _Not really. I am to ascend soon."_

"So your mission here is done then?"

" _Yes, but I have one more request for you my friend."_

"When could I ever say no to you ANX?"

" _I wish you to come to Las Vegas, as soon as you can."_

"Las Vegas? Why?"

" _Because I have a gift I wish to give you, and you are too distant now."_

"OK, I'll pack my bags and book a flight. Where do I meet you at?" I chuckled at the thought.

" _Just rent a hotel room, something with some height."_

"Will do."

As my flight rose over the Arizona desert, I could hear, and even feel ANX's presence more powerfully. What an unbelievably strong mind he had. Soon we were landing at McCarran International Air Port, and the second I stepped outside of the buildings, the heat hit me like a lead pipe. I had long forgotten this dry baking heat, but soon the taxi's air conditioner put that away for the moment. My friend had said a tall hotel, so I had booked a room at the Bunyan Tower. There wasn't a taller building in town.

The taxi drove through Vegas, and everything was completely unrecognizable. It was as though I had never been here before. Thirty years does a lot to change things, especially there. The only things that I even half remembered were some of the street names. I guess this was a blessing of sorts, as there was no overwhelming sense of nostalgia; or even any sense of it at all.

When my ears popped twice during the elevator ride up the impossibly tall building, I realized that perhaps I had over done it concerning ANX's instruction. Then as the bell-hop opened the door to my room, and the windows opened out to utter vastness; my deplorable fear of heights grabbed me uncontrollably. I asked him to close the blinds for me, and he laughed; saying there were no blinds or curtains. Then I could feel the floor start to slope towards that terrible fall. The only thing I could do was to face completely away from that sliding doom. So for the rest of my short stay, I decided not to face the windows again.

ANX teased me about my unreasonable fear. Why I do not have this fear with flying, or even on tall sheer cliffs, I do not know, but put me at height in a building and I will crawl along the floors, grasping for things to keep me from sliding out.

" _I clearly see the memory of you jumping out of an aircraft Alex, and of you jumping off cliffs attached to a rope. Even doing this face first for more exhilaration. So why do you let this building's height terrify you so?"_

"I don't know!"

" _You should face this fear and conquer it. Go to the window, and look down."_

"Leave it alone ANX!"

He did, I guess he had his fun. I myself was having none, being curled up on the bathroom floor against the wall, holding onto a towel hangar.

Soon the dark of night descended and for some reason, perhaps my friend was doing something to help; the floor became level. I was even able to leave the bathroom, and sit facing the now darken windows, although from far across the room.

I remembered my maternal Grandfather's absolute peace when he was lying on a hospital bed, dying. He had told me, "Goodbye Alex." For some reason, I had thought at that moment, that he wished me to leave him and Mother alone. So with tears streaming down my face I left the hospital. Little did I know, that he was merely saying his last farewell to me in this world. Mother later told me he passed with absolute peace and acceptance, quickly and seemingly without pain. He had lived a good honest life, seeing the joy of being, in everyone, and everything that he possibly could.

This then is the biggest secret of all; how to truly live.

" _This will be our last communication Alex." AXN told me._

"I understand." I thought back to him.

" _I owe you a debt of eternal gratitude my friend, as you are the one who enabled me to take this last wonderful step."_

"It is I who owe you ANX!"

" _As you wish to consider, but you cannot possibly know for how long I have awaited this honor; never knowing if it would be bestowed or not."_

"I will miss you my friend."

" _And I you. Never doubt your insight Alex, for it is more powerful than you could ever imagine; trust it!"_

"I will."

" _Now, it is important that you do NOT try to contact me again tonight. Do you understand?"_

"Yes, I understand." I didn't fully, but there was one more question that I had to ask. "ANX, why am I here?"

" _As I told you, I wish to give you a gift."_

"What gift?"

" _You will see."_

I spent most of the rest of the night in silent meditation, with my back to the room's entry door, remembering conversations I had with ANX.

'I see a delicate dance of matter spinning and exerting motion ever so slightly on the Volume of Time-Space Fluid, and it in turn being compressed into vortices that draw more matter near, expanding and contacting; continuance of the dance. Light blazes through, stirring up the mix to a heightened pitch. Some light getting trapped inside, some light still roaming free to be pushed and pulled by the currents of time-space, but eventually finding a temporal home. These base constituents being eternal, and yet none of the constructs of such having that luxury. Light, matter, and time-space fluid are the holy trinity of this dance we call the universe.

" _You should write that down Alex, it's true." ANX had told me. "How about this; 'The universe breaths in, and the universe exhales. The myriad forms of being are congealed and thus exist within the inhalation, and these same forms are cast as mere dust into the breeze by the breath outwards; only to be formed again. Thus the perpetuation of eternity is. Not being found in origin'."_

"Now that's beautiful ANX."

" _That is from the sacred book of the Donox sages." He said._

Then I remember thinking; 'The flip side to enthalpy is what? Entropy? So what is the flip side to the fact that the enthalpy of the universe is always increasing? Wouldn't that be that entropy is always decreasing in the universe, but we just can't see it; because it occurs at far too fast of a rate of time; even past event horizons we'll never see because we are inside looking out.'

" _You threw me on that last part friend, but it was insightful up to then." ANX had teased me._

Around midnight I felt him rise away. It was perhaps the most powerful feeling I had ever felt, and I understood his instruction to not attempt contact again. If I had, I probably would have been swept up with him. Then looking out at the darkness of the distance, I could feel the ghosts of that secret desert out there, and they were quite restless. I knew that I too owed them a debt, and I would help quell their restlessness.

At some point I fell asleep, only waking as purple predawn light crept into the room. Knowing my task there was complete, I quickly gathered my things and left the room as the floors started to slant again.

My return flight didn't leave until 10 AM, so I went to the ground floor restaurant for some breakfast. It was a casual environment, which I greatly appreciated. As the server took my order, I could hear her say, 'Damn, this old dude has seen better days. Someone rode him hard, and put him up wet!'

"Pardon me?" I asked at her rudeness.

"I asked if that was all." She responded honestly.

It was then that I realized she had not spoken those words at all, and I clearly understood what ANX's gift to me was. I giggled like a little kid.

My gift, for those ghosts of that secret place in the desert, is this story. For the first, second, third, and now fourth teams. May the fruits of your labors be well received by all of humanity, and not merely used as a cane with which to subdue us all into oblivion.

The End

Any similarity of persons living or dead to any characters in this story are purely coincidental.

Editor's memorandum:

Seven weeks after the initial publication of this science fiction story; the author went missing. His car was found abandoned in the desert near Alamo, Nevada. No trace of him was found.

