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Copyright 2013 Arturo F. Campo

Published by Arturo F. Campo at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

EPISODE ONE

Planet Earth

The Ape Project

Evolution to Modern Man

EPISODE TWO

King Arth

The Hearing and Judgement

Armies at War

Power struggle

The Fight for the Durians

EPISODE THREE

Theory of Relativity

The Hybrids

Last Farewell

EPISODE FOUR

The Russian Alpha Project

The Sale of Cleopatra's Coin

JP and his Father

Marriage Proposal

Third World War

Dedication

Acknowledgements

About Arturo F. Campo

Other books

Connect with Arturo F. Campo
INTRODUCTION

Man seeks world peace and creates institutions to uphold it. Yet the institutions he creates, lend itself to destroy the very essence of its existence. Man has entrusted his quest for peace through a system that does not preclude megalomaniacs from rising to power. History attests to the havoc wrought by few to the lives of thousands. With man's technology today, millions are at risk.

In resolution to human conflicts, man uses the word 'PEACE' so flagrantly that its meaning has evolved to acquire value onto itself. It has become a commodity man can buy, sell, trade, or usurp. It has become conditional, "Peace be with you, or else." But true peace cannot be conditional. Man has arrogated its real meaning that when he calls for 'World Peace,' he means 'World Order.' The dove is a hawk.

Today, the price for peace is pitiful---indifference to human misfortunes. History bears testament to the brutalities by which man achieves and upholds peace. Under its name, wars were, are, and will be waged. People unwittingly rally to their leader's cause for a war that brings them to the carnage by a conviction few understand, a handful question, and the majority swept by the tide of indifference. Thus, drenched are the killing fields with the blood of thousands of soldiers, mixed with the miseries of millions incidental casualties to war---the innocent men, women, and children---people drawn to the debauchery not by choice but by circumstance. Regrettably, man accepts these tragedies as normal. The atrocities, justified! The depravity reasoned out! Rational yet irrational. Justifiable inhumanity, lamentable it may be, is man's price for peace.

It is strange, for if you change the word PEACE to POWER or GREED, or worse still to MEGALOMANIACAL AMBITION, and reread the last paragraph, it will not change its message. How can words with distinct meanings, share the same thought? It is a paradox. For this, man is ever suspicious; the intent is always an issue. Distrust is bred, and fear takes control. Man, the intelligent being, is the most insecure creature on planet Earth.

The solution to human problems stems not from our failure to see but in choosing to be blind to what we see. World problems are complex, yet the answer is simple and stares us in our face--- ' **Love One Another**.' Its absence is man's greatest tragedy.

PRELUDE

Love God and One Another

(Po-ogi si bobi)

2.3 million years ago, a solar system, over half a billion-light years from our sun, was doomed. On Duria, the fourth of seven planets lived a singular race of peaceful people, the Durians.

Durians look human in many ways. A child of eight in age, lean in stature, standing four feet five inches on average. Their skin is pale gray and tight textured. Their faces, owing to a slightly larger cranium, is triangular. Their noses and ears are small, and their mouths hardly have lips. Their eyes were larger in proportion to the head, almond in shape, deep brown, and with no discernable eyebrows.

The Durian's way of life revolved around their belief in one God and His greatest law: 'Po-ogi si Bobi,' a constricted phrase to mean **'Love God and One Another.'** The phrase, despite its literal meaning, expresses different things under different circumstances: to thank, to greet or bid farewell, to console or condole, to congratulate, or merely to remind each other of its importance to their life.

In their society, there were farmers, industrial workers, clerks, and managerial classes. Work distinctions that held no social meaning. There were no literal words for war, vengeance, deceit, or treachery. With one race, government, religion, and complete harmonious coexistence, theirs was a dream society - a utopia.

Highly advanced in science and technology, the Durians did not foresee the freak in the cosmos – the one to trillion odds. Their sun was young by astral standards, and they believed it to shine for millions of years. Without warning, it blew its surface, hurling a massive molten mass twenty times larger than Duria and headed directly for it. They have 167 days to flee their planet and their solar system.

Help!

EPISODE ONE

SENDING THE CHILDREN TO A WORLD UNPREPARED

Late January 1997, Bering Strait, Alaska.

For over ten thousand years, a pyramid spaceship laid hidden in a huge cavern within a jagged basalt island. The island, amid a treacherous shoal between Siberia and Alaska, was in the Bering Strait.

At the spaceship's departure bay was a sixty-foot wide saucer-shaped airship. It was the only airship left of the thirty-four the bay used to hold. The light that streamed out of its open door illuminated an extended ramp with a wooden bench by its side. An alien couple were seated on the bench. Outside the lit area, a humongous empty space hidden in darkness.

Humanlike in appearance, Amo Obib and his wife, Ningning, were the couple seated on the bench. Motionless, they waited for their four children to come. They were in their own thoughts - thoughts of helplessness, of fear to the destiny of each of their children once they left the spaceship. A deep sense of loneliness and trepidation engulfed them.

Tears had reddened Ningning's eyes and welted her eyelids. She held on to Amo Obib's left arm and, in melancholy, leaned her head on his shoulder. She said, "I fear ...," she choked on her words then continued, "I fear our children are unprepared to a world we are sending them."

Amo Obib felt her hands clasped his left arm, her head on his shoulder. He shared her sadness, her concerns, her mixed feelings of anxieties and helplessness. In sigh, Amo answered, "I wish we had a choice." He paused, and in an uncertain tone of voice, "In all the years I observed Humans, I never understood them. Power, greed, and mistrust are things that shape their destiny. Never in history have they thought of themselves as one: earthlings. Countries, races, tribes, families, and even within the family, they compete against each other. I do not understand," he paused again as he struggled to make sense of it. He continued, "It's sad for it is within the human's power to make this planet a wonderful place to live. If they only know the value in loving and helping each other, they could make their world a paradise. It perplexes me," he sighed, his head bowed slightly, eyes stared blankly at the floor. In recollection added, "Nengut was right . . . our culture and upbringing will never allow us to comprehend humans explicitly, and neither will they of us."

Ningning was taken aback, surprised. She lifted her head from Amo Obib's shoulder to see his face. There was no expression, solemn, deep in thought. Never had she heard him speak of human frailties. He was always optimistic of what humans could do and achieve for themselves and others. She wondered: _'So many things are in human's favor yet ignore their blessings and take a course that may destroy the wonderful things they have---their family, their friends, and even their only world. They seem not to care, indifferent to what has happened around them, indifferent to their future.'_

Amo Obib's chest heaved. Fresh air filled his lungs, then expelled words carved out of torments, "Our deaths will mark the end of the Durian civilization in this universe." With a question heavy in his mind asked, "Did I fail the many who pinned their hopes on me?"

Ningning looked at her husband's face again. She felt his anguish, the frustrations, his unanswered questions, and doubts that haunted him through the years. She held back her sadness knowing the heavy burden he carried through all the years, yet never spoke a word of it, until now. She replied with as much emotion mustered in her words: "You were always at your best at the worst of times. I do not say this to please you, my husband, but as a Durian, you are an exceptional leader, a worthy amo. As your wife, I am so proud of you," and, uncontrollably, a tear seeped from her eyes, crept down her cheeks, and fell.

* * *

Amo Obib was no ordinary Durian citizen. He was the Amo, the Supreme Head for both Durian Church and State. He wore an attire no different from the people he ruled: a Nero-type outfit, off-white in color, long sleeves, and pocket-less pants. It was the gold-chained triangular medallion, with an eye deeply engraved, that distinguished him from others. It represented his supreme authority.

Amo Obib and Ningning were the only survivors of the thirty-six passengers of a gigantic pyramid-shaped spaceship forced to land on planet Earth 2.3 million years ago. Though they came from a distant planet named Duria, 579 million light-years from planet Earth, they could walk among earthlings and would merely turn heads much like seeing the Bushmen of Kalahari, short and lean. But unlike the Bushmen, the Durians were bald, with almond-shaped eyes, brow-less, lighter in complexion, small ears, and slit-like lips.

On seeing a group appear at the fringe of the lighted area, Ningning said, "Here they come," then composed herself as she and Amo Obib stood.

Four women, humans in all respect in their early twenties, walked towards them. They had long straight hair parted off-center that fell over their shoulders. They wore plain white dresses, collared, and long sleeves. Two had Caucasian features, another two with Asians.

Amo Obib and Ningning, who expected each to carry a small suitcase, wonder why none carried one. They remained calm. a welcome smile was on their faces.

Of the four women, Lulu, a Caucasian, had beautiful blue eyes, a well-formed nose, and a sweet looking face. She was a natural-born leader, a trait she inherited from her father, and sweet, much like her mother. She stood in front of her sisters. Apprehensive, she said, "My Father, we humbly request your permission to stay with Mama and you till the end."

Ningning saw Amo Obib pressed for words, intervened, "Please, do not make it harder for us," then hid her face on Amo's chest and whimpered.

Amo Obib caringly wrapped his left arm over Ningning's shoulder. Heavy-hearted, addressed their children, "You will never realize how hard it is for your Mama, and I see you all go until you become parents." He paused, looked at Lulu, and saw her posture in submission. In a melancholic tone concluded, "Our time together has ended."

Teary-eyed, Ningning looked at her children and managed a broken smile. Sad, her voice quivered, "We love you all so dearly."

Amo Obib heard Ningning sob and saw their children whimper. He stayed silent, consolation he had none. With moist eyes, he waited for them to gain their composure. He then reminded their children, "Never forget you are Durians by heart though you are biologically human. Never forget your mission---help humankind without ever revealing your real nature. Work hard to make this beautiful planet a wonderful world to live in. Be a good wife, a mother, and an exceptional citizen of this planet."

One of the four women broke in desperation, "What if I found a way to save you and Mama?" as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "What if . . ."

"Say no more," Amo Obib interrupted. "Again, I stress, do nothing to save your mother and me. Do not take any risk that may reveal your true nature. You are a by-product of genetic engineering. If this is known, your children and their children will suffer the consequences.

"Freak is a harsh word some humans might use. Think no longer of us. Take strength that God loves and be with you, as your Mama and I, always." He turned to Ningning and asked nicely, "Do you have anything to add, Ningning?"

Ningning's lips quivered, but no words came out of her mouth.

Amo Obib sadly looked at Ningning, then his children and said, "Please get your suitcase."

Amo Obib and Ningning watched their children walk back beyond their sight in the shadow of darkness, then sat again on the wooden bench.

Ningning held on to Amo Obib's left arm with her head on his shoulder.

Amo Obib gently stroked her hand on his arm. As he did, a question flashed in his mind, _'Where did all this begin?'_ then drifted back in time, 2.3 million years ago, and half-a-billion light-years away from Earth.

Force Landing

Over two million years ago, a solitary pyramid-shaped spaceship zoomed through deep space. Its surface had no visible portholes or door bays nor any signs of structural seams. It was perfectly smooth and mirrored the countless stars around. It had skirted many galaxies, and in some, through its maze of billions of stars. Straight ahead, a galaxy loomed. At the ship's course, it would pass through one of its spiral arms, through a solar system, and from there, head to another abyss of black space.

Not visually apparent, the pyramid ship had two modules seamlessly attached. The upper part was the mother ship. It housed the Command Center, the Control Room, all the laboratories, and the engine that powered the ship. Directly under was the gigantic Colonizing Module it ferried.

The Colonizing Module was but an immense storehouse. The entire top level had half-a-million honeycombed hexagonal hibernating capsules. A little over half had Durians in hibernation. The rest were eerily empty. The levels directly under were, and there were thousands, resembled an enormous warehouse of things needed to start a technologically advanced colony. It had shells of houses and its furnishings, various kinds of factories alongside its machinery and equipment, and varied types of vehicles of all sizes and purposes were stored.

Noticeable to all these levels was the utilization of spaces. They crammed every conceivable space between odd-shaped cargoes and even within the cargo themselves. Conspicuous were the wear and tear marks on the things they brought. Mostly used and hurriedly packaged and stored. To the end of bringing as much as they could, it was excellently done.

In partially filled compartments, lifeless bodies of Durians littered the floor. Passageways showed signs of a calamity striking suddenly and all over. Wreck vehicles, mostly transports of various kinds, remained motionless on roadways and, others, smashed up against walls, embedded to crates, or each other. At most exits and entrances, several vehicles were pinned and cut in two by shut bay doors. Fire extinguishers lay about near smoke marked walls, ceilings, and sites of wreckage. Some still clutched by someone on the floor. The sights of death and chaotic scenes created a picture of a hurried endeavor to fully load the ship that abruptly and catastrophically ended.

In contrast, the Mother Ship had no dead Durians anywhere. Except for the Command Center, rooms were packed full of crates and boxes that spilled over all the hallways. The elevators had but a small space for one occupant, if at all.

Oddly, for a ship of this immense size and its complement of over 250,000 passengers, there were no sleeping quarters, no mess halls, or kitchens! Such might reveal itself if the cargoes were removed but not at its present state.

Circular in shape, the Command Center was the only room devoid of cargoes. The soft glow from thirty-six hibernating capsules standing upright and half-embedded on its walls dimly lit the room. A flight information screen occupied the entire front wall and a closed-door at the rear.

A wide flight control console with three swiveled seats fronted the main screen, followed by a slightly raised Flight Commander's chair. Behind the commander's chair, on a podium, an ached chair for the Amo and his wife. At the rear, rows of unoccupied seats filled the gallery.

A milky cloud circulated within the hibernating capsules that, now and then, revealed a silhouette of a Durian, frozen in time. Everyone had identical skin-tight, silk-white uniforms that outlined their lean statured body. The women's outfit had raffled collars on their necks and at the ends of each sleeve. While the men merely had slits on them. Of the men, one had a triangular granite medallion with a heavily engraved eye hung on a twined reed around his neck.

Permeating the room was the soft hum of the ship's propulsion unit that got louder as each second passed. The large screen up front revealed, in Alien writing and in translation, read ' **All systems: NORMAL.** '

Suddenly, the ship's loud siren broke the eerie silence in the room, and the ceiling lit up. Simultaneously, the milky cloud within the hibernating capsule got sucked to the side. The large screen displayed detailed flight status information. Written boldly on the screen's top, in red and flashing: " **IMMEDIATE DECISION REQUIRED.** "

The piercing wail of the siren jarred Nerus, the Ship Commander and Expedition Head, to consciousness. He had experienced this in simulations before, but now was for real. He was eager to act but remained helpless as the acclimation cycle of the hibernating capsules must take its course. A minute later, the sound of the siren abruptly stopped and, simultaneously, all the capsule doors slid sideways.

Primed for action, all the Durians rushed out of their hibernating capsule. Three of the ship's flight engineers dashed towards their workstation and, in urgency, performed system checks. Amo Obib led Ningning by her hand and walked briskly for the arched chair. The commander rushed for the Command Chair, and thirty of Duria's youngest and brightest in the fields of medical and biological sciences ran directly to the gallery at the rear. Anxious faces prevailed.

"Goopersh, shutoff propulsion," Commander Nerus ordered the moment he sat on the Command Chair.

"Propulsion off," Goopersh, the ship's master computer, responded in a lifeless monotone.

Silence replaced the engine's horrendous sound.

Commander Nerus' body tensely leaned forward on his chair with eyes focused on the main screen's system status report. He saw no red highlighted status to indicate a system malfunction, yet the red warning sign kept flashing. Alarm heightened; he quickly shifted his attention to the list of ship status in the order of importance. His breath held momentarily to a non-critical line that read: Flight Mode: **MANUAL**. ' _It should read,_ _'AUTOMATIC,'_ he thought, and its implications flashed rapidly through his mind. He knew the ship's speed limit maxed at the speed of light, yet the speed indicator read, ' **BEYOND RANGE.'** ' _Beyond range_?' he questioned. He shifted focus to their fuel and found temporary relief---it showed one-fifth full. He deduced a possible problem on the new fuel the ship used - anti-matter. Anti-matter was compact and ideal for space exploration covering vast distances between galaxies. However, it harbored tremendous energy capable of obliterating their entire solar system. Fearing an unfortunate accident may occur, it was never used on Duria. But the Durians had no option---anti-matter was the only fuel they could use for inter-galactic travel.

The Flight Engineers successive verbal reports diverted Commander Nerus' attention. It confirmed his hunch and quickly questioned, "Goopersh, there is nothing wrong with the ship. What triggered the alarm?"

"I did," Goopersh replied laconically.

Commander Nerus's body lurched on Goopersh's laconic reply. Confused to what Goopersh meant, he snapped, "Your recommendation?"

"Eject the Colonizing Module and land on the only habitable planet along the flight path," Goopersh replied, redrawing the screen showing the flight path information and the target planet data.

Commander Nerus turned his swiveled seat to face Amo Obib and said, "My Amo, there is nothing wrong with the ship. The decision rest on you."

"I understand," Amo Obib quickly replied.

Commander Nerus acknowledged with a slight head nod and said, "Goopersh, transfer ship command to Amo Obib."

"Amo Obib is in command," affirmed Goopersh.

Mindful of hundreds of thousands of Durians in hibernation within the Colonizing Module, Amo Obib asked, "What will happen to the Colonizing Module?"

"It will disintegrate," Goopersh replied, devoid of emotion.

Desperate, the amo said, "I must increase the survivability to all. Do I have an option?"

"One. Success probability, nil."

"Goopersh, how?"

"Release Colonizing Module at galactic orbital speed. Lighten the Mother Ship before engaging the propulsion unit for landing. Window to implement: twelve seconds."

Without hesitation, Amo Obib commanded, "Goopersh, activate the Colonizing Module's distress signal. Implement the option now!"

"Please remain seated, implementing," Goopersh responded.

Simultaneously, the safety harnesses wrapped the Durians completely to their seat, much like a cocoon.

The pyramid ship turned 180-degrees from its axis then the ship's propulsion engine suddenly started. The ship's pulsating hum crescendo to a deafening roar as the ship wobbled violently.in rapid deceleration. The Durian's bodies strained as each got tossed side-to-side at random within their seat harness. In Commander Nerus' mind he pleaded, _'Slow down, slow down!'_ \---their lives depended on the ship's structural integrity to overcome the stresses exerted as the ship sped down to sub-light speed level. When it did, the intense wobbling stopped; their harness slid to the seat's side; silence quickly followed by a loud metallic thud and a sharp jolt.

The tense atmosphere in the room was replaced with relief. With awe, they watched on the screen the mothership detached itself from the colonizing module it ferried and drift sideways. Huge by itself, the Mothership was small compared to the humongous Colonizing Module. On clearing the module, the propulsion engine restarted. Instantly, the colonizing module disappeared on the screen as the ship rapidly decelerated. The ship hummed as it aligned itself to its destination, then silence.

The eerie silence triggered a sense of gloom. The Durians knew the Colonizing Module housed everything they needed to start a colony, Worse still, hundreds of thousands of shipmates in hibernation were within its walls.

Goopersh reported, "Colonizing Module is in galactic orbit. The propulsion unit is offline and cruising on ship's inertia. Travel time to target planet at current speed: 1,267 years." Goopersh added, "You are no longer in any danger," and the warning sign on the screen went blank.

Amo Obib said, "Goopersh, I am turning ship command to Commander Nerus."

Goopersh confirmed the command transfer.

With heightened concern, Commander Nerus asked, "Goopersh, how long will the batteries that power the hibernating capsules last?"

"The hibernating capsules are independently powered and will last for approximately 2.3 million years."

"And this ship?"

"This ship will disintegrate three years after."

"How many Durians are in the Colonizing Module?"

"Last report: 254,351."

The words and number caught Commander Neru's attention. The module could accommodate half-a-million Durians in hibernation, and the term 'Last report' bothered him. "Download ship status for review," he instructed then convened a Flight Staff meeting at the Control Room.

The Predicament

Durians, in small groups within the Command Center, chatted in low voices. The chatting stopped when Commander Nerus and his flight staff returned to the room from the Control Room. Durians, along the Commander's direct path to the amo moved aside.

On getting to where the amo was seated, the Commander, addressed the amo with reverend, "My Amo, I will brief you on our situation."

"Good," Amo Obib responded.

Commander Nerus led the Amo to a small, claustrophobic room. A rectangular table with four chairs on its sides occupied most of the floor space; its walls were bare. It represented the ship's design criteria---maximum use of space within the ship.

The Commander courteously had the amo sit close to the door for ease of access. He sat on the opposite chair whose backrest was but an inch of space to the wall. He started with concern, "My Amo, when Goopersh said our chance of safely landing was nil, it computed the things to dispose of the ship before landing. Saving time on the twelve seconds left us the safe margin to land but not much more."

"Not much more?" Amo Obib responded with surprise then apprehension. It was open knowledge that the anti-matter-fuel the ship carried was enough for their purpose-. There was enough to explore thousands of planets in dozens of galaxies and still provide power to the new colony's need for over a thousand years. To run out of it seemed unbelievable.

"Unfortunately, we were launched on manual mode at maximum power that we depleted our fuel just cruising the vastness of outer space and slow down the ship."

Worriedly, the Amo asked, "Where do we stand?"

Straightforward, the commander said, "We have but two years of fuel left. When the ship runs out of it, the ship will implode. The other thing to consider is radioactivity. Goopersh's radioactive reading of the planet indicates higher than we can tolerate. However, the reading may not be accurate as the radiation may be coming from behind the planet and not from the planet itself. We need to confirm that once we are on the planet."

Amo Obib, educated in biochemistry and genetic engineering, knew the adverse effects of high radiation on Durian's health, asked, "When you said 'higher,' how high is it?"

"It is high enough to confine us in the ship."

"Can we go to another planet?"

"The planet is the only one we can land on with living conditions close to ours. Missing it will result to the ship running out of fuel before it can come near another galaxy."

"You said two years maximum?"

"Yes. My Amo, all the ship's operating systems, and its structural integrity are dependent on the energy converter. If we get the converter to power basic systems, we have no more than two years of fuel. At depletion, the ship will implode. Fortunately, Goopersh left out the ship's redundant systems. If we disposed of the redundant systems, we have an additional twenty-three years' worth of fuel utilizing all the ship's facilities. We can add more if we strip the ship of non-essential structural elements and dispose of supplies, we can live without or make once on the planet. It's worth the inconvenience and risk," the commander stressed.

A worried look was on Amo Obib's face as he considered the commander's proposal. Shortly after, he said, "As you aptly put it, we will dispose of anything we can live without. We will take the risk on the removal of all redundant systems and discuss what we will do with the added time once on the planet." Curiously asked, "Are there intelligent beings on the planet?"

"There are no unnatural features on the planet's surface to indicate intelligent forms of life. If it is at its infancy, we can shut off the energy converter and hibernate for 2.3 million years. Hopefully, by then, intelligent beings would have evolved to help us directly," the commander answered.

Amo Obib understood its implications and replied, "I pray it will be so. Your decision on the matter is my decision. I give you leave to preside the meeting and inform every one of our predicament and plan."

Strip the Ship

The thirty-six Durians in the entire ship were present at the Command Center for their first general meeting. Commander Nerus stood beside the seated Amo, and his wife arched chair fronting the gallery. The three flight engineers sat on the floor, fronting them for visibility. Once all were seated, the sight of the thirty-five other living souls in the entire ship overwhelmed Commander Nerus. It made him realize the enormity of his responsibility to those before him and those stranded in outer space. He started the meeting with a short prayer then explained their predicament.

Commander Nerus concluded his report, "We can land safely on the planet but for a price. We must strip the ship of non-essentials down. We will hold on to our biological and medical equipment and supplies, essential testers and meters, and all exploratory airships. I am open to questions."

Eager hands rose from the gallery. The commander pointed to one who asked, "Why did Goopersh not override the system before warning us?"

Commander Nerus answered, "Our master computer, Goopersh, is programmed never to override manual settings. It can warn should it sense imminent danger to our safety, and that was what it did."

Analytical, a flight engineer, seated on the floor, asked, "The ship was launched on manual mode during the unmanned flight while all of us were in hibernation. Do you know why?"

Commander Nerus did not know 'why' but knew the answer would require an explanation to the non-technical oriented passengers. He explained, "On Automated Mode, Goopersh was programmed to find and explore a habitable planet within our galaxy first then nearby galaxies, if needed. It would evaluate the planet for habitability. Once found, Goopersh would wake everyone here to conduct an in-depth analysis to ascertain our adaptability to the new living environment. Once ascertained, colonizing the planet begins. As it was, we left our planet, our solar system, our galaxy, and crossed thousands more. I was forced to leave the Colonizing Module in deep space with over two-hundred-fifty thousand of our brothers and sisters in hibernation to orbit this galaxy indefinitely. We will only know why if we review events before liftoff and will do so after I answer all your questions."

Immediately after the 'Question and Answer' session, and eager to know why they were launched on 'manual mode,' Commander Nerus commanded, "Goopersh, display the external audiovisual record ten minutes before ship launch."

Goopersh responded, "No record in my memory bank."

The response was unexpected. The commander considered the possibilities, then asked, "Was the ship prematurely launched during power switchover?"

"Affirmative."

Commander Nerus understood its implications. He explained, "During power switchover, that is, from external to an internal power source, the entire ship's systems, and its computer programs are checked one by one. Once checked, it is powered up by an external computer. During the process, our internal computer, Goopersh, is on 'Standby Mode' and unable to receive communications. Bypassing the switchover process, for any reason, will launch the ship in manual mode. Something catastrophic must have happened before launching as we were launched in manual mode," Commander Nerus said, then instructed, "Goopersh, show video at startup."

Displayed on the screen, dismayed everyone. Thick black smoke, jutting flames, and flying debris were all they could see from all camera locations within the enormous assembly building. Between deafening explosions were the sounds of sirens. The ship rose amid smoke and flames then smashed through the building's roof. On clearing the building, the cameras showed a fiery inferno had engulfed the launch site; pockets of fire peppered the immediate scenery; and the city at a distance, in infernal flames.

As the spaceship accelerated upward, the devastation became clear and frightening. Thousands of meteor impact craters and bright flash of explosions pockmarked Duria's surface. As the cameras scanned sideways, an enormous cluster of plasma, a molten mass spewed by their sun 159 days earlier, headed directly at planet Duria. Seconds after, the planet shrank away from view as the pyramid ship sped exponentially to a course away from their planet, their sun, their solar system, and their galaxy.

Amo Obib sensed the gloom in the room and saw the tears from Ningning's eyes. He held back his tears as from the scenes of devastations, fresh thoughts of loved ones left behind, overcame the excitement of their adventure. A minute later, Amo Obib offered a prayer to their dear departed, for their safe journey, and safety of those in the Colonizing Module. After, amo asked Commander Nerus, "Can we view our new home?"

The commander ordered, "Goopersh, magnify target planet,"

On the main screen, a spiral galaxy (our Milky Way Galaxy) loomed directly ahead. The entire galaxy occupied the whole screen and was a sight to behold. Goopersh zoomed on a spot near the fringe of one of the galaxy's spiral arms. Progressively, from a haze of white clouds, it became hundreds of thousand specks of lights, becoming thousands of stars, to become a lone star, a planetary system, and, finally, a blue planet laced with white clouds, and a polar cap filled the screen. The whole of North America, the Arctic Pole, and the northern part of South America was discernible. The Americas as it looked over 2.3 million years ago!

The Durians marveled at their new home. It was differently beautiful in comparison to the planet they once lived and could never return. Commander Nerus went on to explain its features---the blue ocean, the green vegetation, the light-brown desolate deserts, and the snow-white polar cap. After, the commander said, "We will focus now on the things that need doing---strip the ship."

They spared nothing on the list of disposables from Goopersh's printouts. They jettisoned all redundant systems, almost all the ship's cargo, most of their equipment and supplies, non-load bearing structural columns and beams, and most of their personal belongings. Except for designated areas, they removed the ship's furnishing, partitioning walls, stairs, floorings, leaving but catwalks and ladders, if any.

It was not an arduous task to remove the rigid structures as it could be configured to revert to its original liquid state called 'Liquid Metal.' Most were expelled out of the ship but kept some for future use as it could be programmed to become physical objects---large or minute machines of intricate designs, sophisticated electronic devices, and furnishings without Durian intervention. But 'liquid metal' had its limitations. It must be attached to the ship's structure and consumes energy to retain its form but not when it was in its liquid state. If the ship's power source was interrupted, even for a moment, the whole ship, mostly made of this versatile material, would literally melt then explode. It was instead the thousands of crates and boxes the ship held that took time to remove though weightlessness in outer space helped.

At the end of the disposable list, the trolleys, less its batteries, their tools were all in the disposal bay. For themselves, they had but what they wore without shoes as the shoes were heavy when its functions were turned off.

Stripping the ship was daunting but was accomplished, leaving the Durians at the brink of collapse from exhaustion and hunger. The ship was exclusively meant to ferry the Colonizing Module; thus, it had no kitchen, no sleeping quarters, nor stored food. The only sustenance the Durians had come from the snack boxes packed within the thirty-four airship's cargo holds. There was enough food there to last a week when rationed.

When the time to go in hibernation came, Amo Obib and Ningning assisted individuals to their hibernating capsule, bidding each, "Po-ogi si bobi."

On Ningning's turn, Amo Obib guided her as she moved backward in her capsule.

On intuition, Ningning said, "Do not stay longer than you should my husband," ending with a quaint smile.

Amo Obib was taken aback. He did not tell her of his plan to stay behind. He did not respond but instead kissed her forehead and smiled back. "I am fortunate to have you as my wife," he said, beaming at her.

"Not as fortunate as I am," Ningning coyly replied with a smile, her eyes on his. "Po-ogi si bobi, my husband," she bade.

"Po-ogi si bobi, my wife," he returned as he stepped back.

Mesmerized by Ningning's smile, he looked at her face through the transparent hibernator's door as it slid closed. He noticed her eyelids flutter in an induced sleep state. When her eyelids finally closed, she still wore a sweet smile on her face.

Inevitable Conclusion

Except for the lined hibernating capsules on the sidewalls and the command chair, the Command Center was bare. With no ship command to execute, Amo Obib sat on the cold floor by a wall and leaned on it. As he organized his thoughts, Goopersh cautioned, "My instructions include turning off the ventilation and lighting systems. Please enter your hibernating capsule."

"Goopersh, turn off both. Advise me when the breathable air in the room becomes low."

"I will warn," then the ceiling light turned off, and the air from the ventilation ducts ceased to flow. Only the soft glow from the hibernators dimly lit the room.

As their spiritual leader and head of their community, the civilization's future was in Amo's hands and weighed heavily in his mind. He never had the chance to be alone and needed time to assess their situation. To know equally, if not better---his decision was final, it must be right the first time. "Goopersh, please display planet data," then engaged Goopersh in a dialogue on the planet's atmospheric and geological makeup. He was meticulous in his questions. He must not make a wrong decision. Too much was at stake.

Exhausting the subjects, he leaned his head on his hands with his elbows resting on bent knees and focused on things he might have missed.

Amo Obib

Amo Obib, whose layman's name was Obib Opmac, was a child prodigy. His interest in biology as a small boy led him to pursue Biochemistry and Genetic Engineering, graduating with the highest honors. With restrictive church laws on genetic research, he could not broaden his knowledge in the field. Young and restless, he crusaded for the liberalization of educational policies on Genetic Engineering and the revocation of the space exploration ban. He did not appreciate the Durian State Policy of isolation from the universe around them. For fear of detection from malevolent intelligent beings beyond their solar system, they ringed their planet with satellites that rendered it physically and electronically invisible. He vehemently contended that the theoretical understanding of the physical universe was insufficient. He fervently believed the exploration of the universe for the good of other civilizations in the cosmos a worthy Durian endeavor. He sent countless request letters to the Council of Elders for an audience on the subjects. They acknowledged receipt of his letters, nothing else.

Obib rallied the university students, especially those in the scientific field. Most concurred with his proposals but ignored his plan for a mass petition. Oddly, Durians relied on the church to decide on issues that affected their community. They believed that state laws and policies must be set forth to benefit the whole. A determination left to the Council of Elders to research, discuss, ruminate, and recommend for the amo's approval. Durians had no reason to complain. They had a society of free and happy people solely from the guidance of their church, who looked upon their wellbeing with unquestionable devotion. However, Obib was no average Durian. He was a young scientist eager to explore and venture into the unknown. With laws that set limits to his quest for knowledge, he felt his mind choked and imprisoned.

A year later, the Elders offered him a job as the first Administrator of Durian Student Affairs. He was puzzled. He knew his unorthodox approach to initiate changes to state policies and church laws displeased the Elders. Handing out leaflets and holding public meetings to question state policies and church teachings were unheard of. Yet the Elders never talked him out nor restrained him from his activities. Permits to hold public meetings came easier than normal. It puzzled Obib more when offered a sensitive position, Student Affairs Administrator, which brought him closer to the people he was swaying to his views. He accepted the offer. It was a step forward even if it was a ploy, for whatever reason, to divert or redirect his attention.

As Administrator, Obib saw the problem related to the students' wellbeing. Durians understood their physical sciences so well that there were few things for the young minds to exploit. The advent of the Atomic Converter, three decades earlier, made it worse. The Atomic Converter epitomized Durian's mastery over atomic science. It was a humongous machine that broke an atom into its subatomic components and created another of their design. The atomic converters opened new scientific frontiers and more promises to their technologies. But it had drawbacks---it rendered more technologies and job skills obsolete than it created. It was much like the Age of Automation spawned by the computer era six hundred years earlier. But this time, the atomic converter's impact was felt a hundred-fold. As a result, the creative mind stagnated, and Durian's youths got the brunt of it. With restriction to outer space explorations and genetic experimentations, Obib addressed the problem through projects that required university students to solve theoretical problems and scenarios, and a panel of experts to judge its viabilities. It kept the young minds occupied, but that was as far as it went, theoretical.

Obib never gave up his campaign for liberalized educational policies on Genetic Engineering and space exploration completely. It was a smoldering fire within. He knew the Elders abhorred the idea that allowed young people to exploit banned scientific subjects even if it were purely theoretical. Nevertheless, the Elders never pointed out their dissatisfaction and supported Obib's projects without question. He wondered what the Elders' reasons were, but since his activities were unopposed and unrestricted, he did not care. He had one consolation: eventually, the Elders must listen.

"Breathable air at 60%," warned Goopersh.

The warning captured Amo Obib's attention and opened his eyes. He saw the triangular medallion dangling from his neck. He held it reverently. He felt its weight, its coldness, and realized he was not dreaming. _'Was I destined for this?'_ the question flashed in his mind and brought him back in time when Duria's Governor, the highest state position appointed by the amo, died. The State was open for applicants to the vacant post. Anyone with ambition could apply. There were no restrictions.

To be Duria's Governor was far from Obib's mind. He loved his job as Student Administrator and leaving was out of the question. But the Elders had denied him an audience on the merits of his crusades for so long, he felt desperate. Applying for the Governor's position gave him a chance to air his views directly to the amo---a personal audition was part of the selecting process. He would withdraw his application after was his plan.

Obib remembered the interview day with the amo vividly when, as a layman, he headed for the walled city of the church for his scheduled audience with Duria's Amo Tacio, Duria's amo at that time. He recalled entering the unguarded gate to the city; recalled feeling proud and fortunate---the church rarely gave the privilege to layman to enter the church's city. It was due to Amo Tacio's poor health that his last interview was to take place at his cottage rather than at the large hall by the wall. The wall that separated the church's city from the outside world.

On entering the city of the church, Obib noticed the sharp contrast in lifestyle. He knew life within the city followed the old ways but being there still shocked him. It seemed the walls that separated the church's city from metropolitan Atlantis, a time barrier. Crossing the wall brought one back to the Bronze Age instantly.

Obib walked on cobbled streets and sidewalks lined with fern trees and flowering plants. Narrow perpendicular alleys led to small quaint cottages with brick walls and straw roofs. Men in tunic and women in robe smiled and greeted as he passed. At the street's end was the sacred well---a well built by the hands of their first amo, Amo Lam-a, at God's command. Touching its surrounding stone-wall brought old memories of wanting priesthood. A sense of inner peace and an uncomplicated way of life overwhelmed him.

Beyond the sacred well was the amo's cottage. Except for the arrangement of the flowering plants and fern trees, the cottage was no different from the rest in width and depth but was the only one with a second floor. Amo Tacio, being Duria's Absolute Ruler, Obib expected something grander yet equally modest.

Finding himself early, Obib sat on a bench under a fern tree facing a small, well-tended flower garden. As he settled, he started to appreciate the beautiful colorful flowers at full bloom and the serenity of the place. His inner drive to assert himself slowly faded.

Minutes later, the cottage door opened. An old woman, in a loosely worn plain white robe, beckoned him to come. The woman introduced herself as Medi, Amo Tacio's wife, though Obib knew. They allowed Amos to have a wife that the Elders chose but barred them from having children.

_'Medi looked different in plain white robe compared to the formal attire she dons at public occasions with her husband,'_ Obib thought. The church held public ceremonies at the only thing that protruded out of the city's surrounding high-stone-wall---a ceremonial balcony faced Atlantis as the Amo and his wife never left their city. It was part of their vow.

Obib knew church clergies lived Spartan lives and took notice of the room that was austerely furnished. They crossed a small but immaculately clean living room; the dining table and kitchen were but a few steps away. They went up a narrow wooden stair to the bedroom. After two light knocks, Medi opened the door, and they entered.

The room, with plastered adobe walls, was small. Two wooden cots were on opposite sides of the room. A small side-table stood by each bed. Directly above each cot was a triangular-shaped granite pendant with an eye delicately curved within---the symbol of their one God. Adjacent to the door was a closet. Fronting it was a narrow veranda that overlooked a picturesque country scene of well-arranged straw-roofed cottages set against a wide-open valley dotted by fern trees, flowering plants, and a blue lake yonder.

Amo Tacio, in a plain white robe, stood out of his chair, wobbling from the weight of his age and frail body. A smile was on his face and his arms were stretched outwards in an embracing gesture.

Obib quickly moved to embrace and support as well.

"Po-ogi si bobi," Amo Tacio said in an old man's coarse and quivering voice as they hugged while rubbing each other's backs in greeting.

Obib greeted back, "Po-ogi si bobi." As they embraced, he felt Amo Tacio's arm bones pressed against his back. At 193 years of age, the amo had outlived a generation and was going for his second. However, Obib had reservations. He somehow sensed the old amo's life journey neared its end. From the side, Obib saw Medi wiped tears from her eyes as she smiled at him. _'Why the tears?'_ Obib wondered.

Amo Tacio said as they parted embrace, "Let me have a good look at you." He looked at Obib from head to feet and even asked him to turn as a father would a son he had not seen for years. "Walk me to the veranda chair, my son," the amo instructed and placed his right hand on Obib's shoulder for support.

In a soft elderly voice and concern visible, Medi cautioned, "You are not supposed to do that. This has been a long day for you."

"It's only fifteen feet, and a little exercise will not hurt," the amo argued nicely, determined to have his way. "Join us," he added as he walked slowly with Obib's help, "But first, get help to have someone bring us something to drink. I know you, . . . you will prepare and get it yourself. You're not as young as you think yourself to be."

"I can manage," she argued as she beamed at him. "Don't think of me, think of yourself."

Medi went her way without arguing over Amo Tacio's walking, nor did the amo argue over her making and fetching the drinks. **Time had tempered both to know how far each can go.**

With Obib's help, Amo Tacio sat on the veranda's patio armchair.

From the amo's vantage, he could see the vegetable and flowered garden of an adjacent cottage a stone's throw away. With his hand, the amo weakly gestured Obib to sit. "I understand you tried to join the church community," he started the conversation casually, pleasantly smiling.

"I did," Obib replied, then took the nearby wooden stool, placed it near and in front of Amo Tacio, and sat. Accustomed to cushioned chairs, the seat was hard on his rear. He adjusted for comfort as he glanced at the amo's chair. The amo's chair was no different from his and wondered how the amo could manage to stay comfortably seated on it. "I failed the interview," and added sounding disappointed, "I was too attached to the material world to be prepared to serve God, they reasoned." He paused. "There are so many things I wish to understand," and like an echo of an afterthought, repeated, "so many things." Obib paused again as he organized his thoughts, then said, "In time, maybe."

Amo Tacio remained silent as he observed Obib smilingly.

Obib continued, "Deep within, I still seek the peace, the simple life within the Walls, and serve God. A longing I thought I had forgotten until today. It is so peaceful, so uncomplicated."

" **Serving God is neither simple nor uncomplicated, yet easy if you are at peace with yourself."** Amo Tacio looked straight at Obib's eyes as though he was looking in him. "Do you love Duria?" he asked.

The question was unexpected. Obib found it simple, philosophical, yet complex to answer in a few words. He pondered for a moment. "I love God," he answered.

Amo Obib grinned. "I understand," he said with eyes fixed on Obib's. He leaned forward and placed both hands over Obib's hands rested on Obib's lap and asked curiously, "Are you still considering joining the church community?"

Obib had no ready answer. Since the amo showed no signs of rushing, Obib seriously examined himself. "The thought has not left me completely. Maybe, someday, when I find myself and be worthy to join."

" **Finding oneself does not come easy. You force it on yourself as you ask tough questions of yourself.** Will you give up everything to serve God?"

"I will," Obib answered without hesitation. His heart throbbed.

Amo Tacio took a moment to observe Obib's reaction. He moved his hands from Obib's hands to Obib's shoulders and said somewhat in a whisper, "If I ask you to join the church and serve Him for the rest of your life, will you?"

"I will," Obib instinctively reacted.

Pleased with the answer, Amo Tacio smiled then slowly leaned back as he took full advantage of the chair's back support taking deep breathes as he did.

Obib looked at the amo in a hope he would invite. It was not a hard decision to make as he considered it often and more seriously as time passed. He eagerly waited for a reply.

Amo Tacio placed his hands back on his lap and looked at his neighbor's backyard. "Isn't it wonderful to watch the plants grow and see its flower bloom? I heard you have a beautiful garden," he asked, gazing at the lovely flowered backyards of his neighbors.

Their conversation continued, but to Obib's dismay, no invitation to join the church came. Neither of them opened the official purpose of the visit, nor did Obib hint at discussing the liberalization of genetic research policies Obib so wanted and zealously pursued for years to change. No sooner, Medi returned. She brought their drinks and set them on the small circular side table. Obib motioned to help, but Medi waved him off. After serving, she got a stool and positioned it close to Amo Tacio's armchair, sat, then gently held the Amo's left hand.

Medi enjoyed listening to Obib and Amo Tacio's light conversation and stayed silent most of the time. The joy on her face maybe not be for herself but for Amo Tacio. He was visibly vibrant and interested in what Obib had to say, most of all, for the amo's hearty laughter she rarely heard or saw.

Obib was with them for more than an hour. The conversation revolved around his childhood, family, school years, and interests. Obib did most of the talking responding to Amo Tacio's short questions that somehow required a lengthy answer. He thought it good as the amo was weaker than his façade the amo wanted to show.

Amo Tacio's special interest in Obib started when he heard of an exceptionally bright young boy. Surrounded by adults most of his life, he was strangely drawn to Obib. He kept track of Obib's progress as though Obib was his beloved son but not as secretly as he thought. Medi knew what Amo Tacio did in secret, as by accident, she found an album the amo hid behind the room's closet. In the album were Obib's pictures, newspaper clippings on Obib from age one, the letters Obib sent to the Elders, and a copy of all Obib's leaflets and pamphlets Obib distributed to the public on his crusade.

Obib wanted to open the official purpose of their meeting - his application for Duria's Governor. He would later use the opportunity to air the two objectives of his crusades but argued against it. " _It was Amo Tacio's prerogative to open the visit's purpose and not his,_ ' Obib thought. Besides, he felt at peace. The subjects were light and pleasant. With Medi seated beside amo and her hand on his, to discuss sensitive issues in such place and time seemed farfetched.

"It is getting late," Amo Tacio said. "Do you have anything to ask?" he asked, looking intently at Obib's eyes.

"No, My Amo," Obib answered.

The Amo amusingly grinned at Obib. "Are you very, very sure?" stressing each word beaming as he did.

Since the amo remained silent on the purpose of the meeting and must be knowledgeable of Obib's crusades, Obib decided to stay silent as well. "I am," Obib hesitantly replied.

"Then my son," Amo Tacio said with a grin, "Po-ogi si bobi," and their meeting ended.

As Obib was walking home, he could not help but wonder why Amo Tacio did not open the purpose of their meeting \- the application to Duria's Governor. The interview would have surely touched on Obib's crusades. It was vitally important that the amo opened the issues of the crusade. The liberalization on Genetic Engineering genetic research was opposed to church teachings, and the opposition to the Space Exploration ban was strongly against Durian state policies. The subjects were so controversial and relevant that the Amo should have aired but did not. After consideration, Obib concluded---the only logical reason Amo Tacio did not open the subjects was the amo was completely unaware of Obib's crusades! The Elders may have sensed, as Obib did, that the amo was much too old to strain over sensitive and controversial issues. The Elders may have opted to let the succeeding and healthier amo to decide on the issues. Obib finally laid the question that baffled him for years to rest---the Elders were protecting Amo Tacio, he concluded. Obib was so wrong in his conclusion. Amo Tacio was well informed of Obib's crusades and activities all the time!

When Obib started his public campaign for liberal educational policies on Genetic Engineering and Space Exploration ban six years earlier, the Elders recommended to Amo Tacio to act and bring back Obib to the ways of a true Durian. On that request, the amo asked a rhetorical question, "What is a true Durian? . . . I understand your apprehensions. We are unaccustomed to his ways. He is young and has a lot to learn, and us of him. I see him as a seed never grown before. I do not know how it will grow or the fruit it will bear. Let time nurture him. Let frustrations temper him to strength. We will wait patiently and see the fruit that God has given us. Surely, his talent comes from God and must have a purpose." The amo then ordered, "We will not interfere nor impose restrictions. We will secretly and indirectly help so he will be closer to the people he wishes to represent - but keep me informed."

It was Amo Tacio's idea to create the Student Affairs Administrator position and for Obib to head it. He ordered the Elders to keep it a secret and never give Obib an Elder Council's audience.

Months later, Obib reapplied for the priesthood and was accepted.

Goopersh interrupted again, "Breathable air level low. Please enter your hibernating capsule."

Reluctant, Amo Obib heeded and entered his capsule. As he pressed the 'hibernate button,' he prayed, _'Dear God, please help us and please help me,'_ then he fell into a deep, deep sleep.
PLANET EARTH

The Year 2.3 million BC – Earth time

The pyramid spaceship had flown on its inertia for over a thousand and two-hundred years when it hit the fringe of Earth's atmosphere. At precise intervals and directions, Goopersh launched survey satellites at geo-synchronized orbits that covered the entire planet. Awakened from hibernation, the Durians boarded the cargo-cramped airships, left the pyramid ship, and trailed behind merely to reduce the load on the ship and save on the little fuel left.

The pyramid ship's base faced the direction of its motion tailed by thirty-four airships. The ships orbited Earth 162 times using Earth's atmosphere as its brake. After over a thousand years of silence, the ship's propulsion engine came to life. The ship glided through the air with a soft pulsating hum. Minutes later, it landed a few miles from a large lake (known today as Lake Victoria) at the heart of the African Continent, three hours before sunrise, 2.3 million BC.

Planet Earth

2.3 million years ago, Earth was no different from what it is today, except there were no intelligent beings. It was a vibrant greenhouse of forest and jungles laced with pristine rivers and lakes. With some variations, the animals---the elephants, the giraffes, the hyenas, lions looked much the same or similar with some larger and others smaller than what they are today.

As programmed, satellites launched from the pyramid ship surveyed the planet and sent streams of electronic data into Goopersh's central processing unit where it was processed, cataloged, stored, and the sending unit turned off. Minutes later, thirty-two airships rejoined the ship. Two remained outside on separate missions---get initial biological samples and, more importantly, food.

*****

The pyramid ship's insides, stripped of its internal structural elements, was merely a gigantic cavern. Exposed cables and pipes everywhere dangled between long spans of columns and beams. It crisscrossed each other and looped around the few remaining structural supports in every direction. With no elevators, stairs, and most of the floors missing, the trek to other levels were perilous that, in some areas, a misstep would hurl someone hundreds of feet down to their death.

Precariously, the Durians moved in single file through narrow planks protruding from the hallway's wall. The space between the plank and the other side of the wall was a deep void. Unseeing its depth from darkness made their trek less frightful, but still fretful knowing death awaited anyone should anyone slip and fall. They went down each deck via emergency ladders that stuck out of the wall.

Once in the room adjacent to the decontamination chamber, the Durians sat on the floor and waited for their food in silence. Their stay in the hibernating capsule did nothing to soothe their weary bodies and hunger. It merely postponed their exhaustion and appetite for over a thousand years.

To their great relief, the airships came back sooner than expected. "Food is going through decontamination," announced a returning member.

Someone, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, asked, "How was it outside?"

Just as enthusiastic, a returning member replied, "We were on the dark side all the time. From what we saw from our floodlights, there are more trees than ferns. The diversity of animals will astound you. We even saw animals perched on a tree branch and fly with feathered wings!"

"No insects?" someone exclaimed as the Durians were vegetarian, fruit, and insect eaters.

"Lots of them. The area . . ." he continued with gusto, describing to an eager crowd whose ears were focused to every word said. On seeing fruits leave the decontamination chamber, he concluded, "God has surely given us a paradise."

In line, they snatched the fruits as it left the decontamination chamber. Hungrily eaten, its juice trickled from their mouth onto their hands and arms and soiled their only clothing. As they ate, some fruits squirted its juices to other Durians. It brought merely laughter, as Durian, by nature, were cheerful beings.

The variety of fruits they ate and tasted astounded them. There was no question in Durian's mind that the fruits on the planet were far tastier than Duria's best. Soon, platters of roasted grasshoppers, termites, tubers, fruits, and green vegetables were on the counter.

The Durians later viewed their new world at the center of a holographic screen as though perched atop a five-hundred-foot tower with an unobstructed 360-degree view. They marveled at the sight---two miles north, a mist-veiled waterfall dropped five hundred feet down. Not far, springs gushed from cliff walls cascaded down the forest floor to a river not far away. To the south and east, a lush jungle, and the west, some distance away, a savannah with herds of grazing animals that stretched to the horizon. They zoomed in on every animal they saw and later awed once again as the satellites relayed scenes of the blue planet from space. They watched for a time, transfixed to the beauty of their new home. Soon, their excitement gave way to the clamor of their body as, one-by-one, dozed at their place on the floor.

Amo Obib paid no attention to the scenes projected on the holographic screen. He was too preoccupied to appreciate anything as he mulled over their problems. When Ningning fell asleep on his shoulder, he lightly kissed her head and laid her gently on the floor. He proceeded to a vacant room further down the hallway.

In a vacant room, Amo Obib felt weary. Many questions needed answers. Foremost was the presence of intelligent beings on the planet. They desperately needed external help if their civilization was to survive.

Although Commander Nerus said there were no intelligent features on the planet but that was said when they were over a thousand light-years away. Now, on the planet, it was vital for the amo to confirm the commander's conclusion. He instructed Goopersh to project satellite images of the planet's surface in search of artificial features - features only an intelligent being could make. Much like an eagle searching for prey from the sky, he got Goopersh to zoom in and out on continents. He searched for rough roads - a sign of an emerging civilization. Soon, he found himself looking for small settlements, a group of huts or patches of garden---anything to indicate some form of intelligent beings to spark some hope. Finding none, Amo Obib was saddened. He shifted focus to the planet's radioactive level, and said, "Goopersh, display the residual radioactive readings emanating from the planet's core."

Goopersh displayed the radioactive values superimposed over a map that covered the entire planet divided by gridlines. Amo Obib studied the numbers and found the radiation level varied a little around the world. What was disheartening being, the minimum radioactive level was way over what their body can tolerate. Living entirely within the ship ruled out raising generations of children. The planet was no place for them to colonize, not a place they could call home.

Amo Obib finally shifted his attention to the possibility that an animal may evolve to intelligent beings enough to directly help them leave the planet. He instructed, "Goopersh, search and display the most likely candidates from animals on this planet that will evolve to intelligent beings. Estimate time as well."

As Goopersh performed its instructions, Amo Obib reviewed Earth's atmospheric data on another wall transformed to a screen. Except for the ozone layer, the planet's atmosphere fits the Durians perfectly. The planet's ozone layer was much thinner than what Duria had. Exposure to the noonday sun on bare skin would result in severe sunburn but considered it a nuisance rather than a problem.

On the screen, Goopersh displayed a chimpanzee size ape and announced, "Ready."

Amo Obib the took time to analyze the ape displayed on the screen in three dimensions, then in its skeletal form. He was keen to observe the ape's head structure, its brain size, the hands and legs, and the posture. He later read the forecasted time for evolution written: 'MINIMUM ESTIMATED TIME TO EVOLVE TO INTELLIGENT BEINGS: 6 MILLION YEARS.'

The conclusion was disheartening. The amo fervently hoped Goopersh's conclusion might be flawed as he instructed, "Goopersh, display your basic assumptions." He scrutinized Goopersh's assumptions for inconsistencies but found none. He engaged Goopersh on what-if scenarios by changing the evolutionary variables. Later, he concluded that the evolution to intelligent beings within their time constraint was unlikely. ' _Surely, God did not get us this far for nothing,'_ Amo Obib thought. Then said aloud, "Accelerated evolution!" that snapped him out of hopelessness and said to himself, _'Time is on our side. We have over two million years to hibernate!'_ Weary, he looked at the ape and asked himself, _'Will this ape save my civilization?'_ then lingered on the ethical issues on genetic engineering experimentation and again asked, _'Can I act like a god and decide what this creature should become?'_

Motionless, the amo deliberated with himself. As he pondered, the amo saw in his mind's eye, being rushed to Amo Tacio's cottage within the city of the church back at Duria for his ordination as the succeeding head of their church and state, the Amo, and his marriage to the Elders' chosen wife, Ningning. He recalled panting from running when he entered Amo Tacio's room. He found the amo in bed; Ningning stood next to Medi; and some Elders at the veranda. Obib saw himself by Ningning's side, where Medi waved him to go, then knelt before Amo Tacio seated on his bed with Medi's support.

Amo Obib clearly remembered the abbreviated marriage ceremony; the strain on Amo Tacio as he strained to take the triangular medallion from his neck, the symbol of his Supreme Authority; and, with reverence, placed it over Obib's neck then asked him to stand.

With Medi's aid, Tacio knelt before the new and standing amo, Amo Obib, bowed in veneration and said, "My loyalty to God, to you, My Amo."

Others did the same.

The new amo, Amo Obib, helped Tacio sit on his bed then knelt on one knee before Tacio.

Tacio was visibly weak. He briefly caught his breath, then said, "My son . . ." in a faint voice, "My Amo," correcting himself. He leaned forward as he humbly held the medallion that dangled on Amo Obib's neck. He weakly continued, "The fate of our church and the Durian civilization is on your hands . . . Decide for its good, and with God in your heart, you will never make a mistake . . . Remember above all, God . . . and all Durians are behind you . . . If ever . . . a time comes when you must decide on the fate of your brothers and sisters . . . remember . . . what I told you now."

"I will," Amo Obib replied.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tacio politely asked.

Eager to accommodate, Amo Obib answered, "Please."

"Would you have stopped pursuing . . . the issues on genetic engineering . . . had I requested you to stop?" Tacio asked, gasping for air after.

Amo Obib was surprised the Tacio knew. Wholeheartedly, he answered, "Without hesitation."

Tacio smiled and, with his hand, gently tapped Amo Obib's shoulder, softly said, "Now, you have to decide on the issue yourself."

"Why me?" Amo Obib asked spontaneously. The question lingered in his mind since informed of succeeding Amo Tacio. Obib knew there were many more experienced and qualified to succeed the amo, and it bothered him.

Tacio smiled and said softly, "I did not pick you."

Shocked and baffled to the reply, Amo Obib reacted, "I do not understand."

Tacio replied, **"God often works in strange ways,"** Tacio paused to catch his breath. "At the moment, I was to announce my choice . . . I had another person in mind . . . but your name came out loud and clear when I spoke . . . Have no doubt, . . . He, not I, . . . chose you to lead His flock."

Amo Obib stayed silent as he watched Tacio take deep breaths then weakly waved at Medi to come by his side.

Medi moved quickly and helped her husband stand with Amo Obib's help. After, Amo Obib moved back to Ningning's side and together stood in front of Tacio and Medi.

Tacio stood erect with Medi by his side. In a healthy voice, he said, "It is time for you to go, My Amo." The air of dignity was apparent as the two proudly stood together with Medi's right arm now wrapped around Tacio's left arm. Both were pleasantly grinning, and if Tacio mustered whatever strength he had to make a last dignified impression, he had succeeded!

"Po-ogi si bobi," they all said to each other.

* * *

Amo Obib snapped back to the present and realized there were more to think from what Tacio had said in his flashback. He decided to sleep over it together with the other problems in his mind. "Goodnight, Goopersh. Please turn off the light."

Goopersh turned off the light as it replied, "Goodnight."

Leave the Planet

When Amo Obib left the room, he saw the hallway's further end faintly illuminated. Curious, he walked toward it. Soon he noticed the light came through the room's doorway. As he came closer, he heard voices, distinctly between Commander Nerus and Goopersh.

At the doorway, Amo Obib saw Commander Nerus in the middle of the room with his back toward him. The room's walls had become computer screens filled with colored symbols connected by a maze of colored lines that were dynamic---the lines moved around, symbols shifted locations, and colors changed seeming to give life to the wall. Without realizing, the amo walked in with eyes fixed on the screens around with awe and fascination.

"Po-ogi si bobi, My Amo," said Commander Nerus to Amo Obib, who was clearly engrossed by the colorful display. He quickly added, "I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you."

Startled, Amo Obib replied, "Po-ogi si bobi, Commander. It should be I who should be saying 'sorry.' I did not mean to interrupt."

"Not at all. Came from the viewing room?" the commander casually asked.

"No, I came from another room doing much like what you . . ." he hesitated as he looked bewildered at the screens around. "Well, doing something different. What are all these?" he asked, puzzled as he looked at the colorful display on the screens around with amazement.

"You are looking at the process, the workflow, material flow, critical path, timeline, resource requirement, and a bunch more being processed altogether. Simply stated, it is the what, where, when, and how to refuel the ship. Goopersh is working on it in detail. That's why the symbols, lines, and colors are constantly changing. It is calculating the best way to accomplish our goal within twenty-six years. There are trillions of possible combinations to arrive at an optimal answer. It may take a few more minutes to . . ."

"Exercise done," Goopersh laconically announced.

Amo Obib walked closer to a screen. "And this near the bottom . . . paper and printing machine?" he asked.

The commander answered, "We cannot accomplish these without paper and printing machines. We have to produce blueprints, instruction manuals, schedules, and a lot of other things." He then walked to a different screen and looked at numbers then said, "By the fourth year we must have a workforce of 575,318 with an aggregate population of over three million. This is our ticket out of this planet." He looked at Amo Obib and stressed, "We have to build the atom converter to refuel the ship and leave the planet, My Amo."

"I guess you know how grave our situation is," the Amo sighed. "You have an idea where we will get all these people to help us?"

"2.3 million years in hibernation is a long time. By then, intelligent beings would have evolved to help us build the atom converter."

"That was what I was working on in the other room. Based on Goopersh's conclusion, we will most likely see the same creatures we see today. It is important we conduct a genetic map on one particular ape."

Commander Nerus, aware of how strict the church was on genetic manipulation, hesitated then asked with a bit of discomfort, "Are you considering . . . genetic engineering?"

With unease, Amo Obib replied, "There are ethical issues involved. I pray it will not come to that. Nevertheless, I want the data available should it come to it."

"I understand," the commander responded. He knew the importance of information and data being readily available when time-sensitive and critical decisions are made.

Amo Obib surmised Commander Nerus to have spent as much time mulling over their problems. Yet the commander showed no signs of feeling mentally and physically drained, as he was. He asked, "You are in as much pressure as I am. I admire the way you are taking things."

"I have been a project manager all my adult life. Pressure goes with the job, and, after a while, you get to learn to live with it. Getting sick will not change anything."

"I'm glad you said that," Amo Obib reacted. The advice was timely, and he needed it.

Unsure of how to behave in front of the amo, Commander Nerus asked, "My Amo, am I being rude or presumptuous to speak to you in this very casual manner? Am I to bow or kiss your hand? Are there protocols or mode of conduct that I must adhere to, you, being the amo, and . . ."

"Don't worry," Amo Obib interrupted, patting Commander Nerus' shoulder as they slowly walked out of the room. "Come to think of it, I don't even know how to behave as an amo. I've been an amo for . . ." he hesitated for a moment.

Commander Nerus interjected, "We traveled through time. It would be a little less than two weeks if we were in Duria."

"That long? Less than two weeks only?"

"Less than two weeks," the commander assured.

"Seems like ages. Things happened all at once and in a rush."

"I know what you mean. I had soap in my ears when I got to the ship."

"Know why we were all rushed to the ship?"

"A forward space sensor that monitored the advancing sun plasma heading our planet malfunctioned. I was understating its mass. By the time they found out, the plasma had broken through the last defensive shield. We almost did not make it." He paused, then asked, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Eager to accommodate, replied, "Please, go ahead."

"Don't get me wrong, but you seem so young to be an amo." Commander Nerus was much older than the thirty-five other Durians in the ship. They, including the amo, were young adults and nearly half his age. The commander was the exception solely from his irreplaceable qualification to head the expedition. His academic excellence and broad technical knowledge, coupled with proven experience in project management, made him the best and only choice. His current designation as Flight Commander and Expedition Head would eventually change to the pre-appointed first Governor of their future colony.

Amo Obib baffled himself, looked at the commander. "That question had haunted me since I was informed to succeed Amo Tacio. Much as I wanted to object, I was compelled to accept. **In the church, you do not question; you simply comply.** All I knew was they needed a young amo for the voyage. But being with the church for hardly six years, it was beyond me to even be considered."

"I am certain Amo Tacio had good reasons."

The commander's statement caught Amo Obib's attention. He related it to what Amo Tacio said to him on how the choice was made. He replied, "I still need to figure that out," then paused and continued sounding serious, said, "Come to think of it, I believe you are to kiss the amo's butt each time you meet him."

"Holy shit," Commander Nerus cried and muffled the sound of his laughter with his hands over his mouth as they were near the room where the rest slept.

Amo Obib controlled his hearty laugh as well then apologetically said, "I shouldn't have said that . . . I wish I knew you back in Duria. For that matter, I wish I knew everyone here. Isn't it strange, we are literally strangers to each other!" Being at the doorway to their sleeping room where the rest slept, he whispered, "They are all asleep. We will talk more tomorrow and finalize the plan. Po-ogi si bobi."

Predicament

The pyramid ship, parked amidst thick vegetation by the side of a hill, was the same size and shape as the largest Egyptian pyramid in Giza, Egypt. Its base, a square, measured 760 feet on all four sides, and its height, 482 feet. They configured the first seventy-five feet of the ship's outer walls transparent that allowed outside light to filter through the ship's skin. It made the structures above seem to hover in place. The rest of the ship's outer surface up to its apex became solar collectors that converted the sun's light into electricity and stored it in large batteries.

Aside from the long and leafless heap of bamboo poles, lumber, and mounds of earth at one corner of the ship's ground level, the sprawling partition-less floor was completely bare. One could see the outside through all four walls from anywhere one stood.

Amo Obib, who helped work on the biological samples at the laboratory, stopped early for the general meeting at the ground floor. Closer to the top of the ship, he went through the elevator shaft, which had no elevator but instead hand-and-foot holds that stuck out of the shaft's inner wall. He strained as he climbed down. He paused several times to give his arms and legs rest and the sole of his bare feet a brief relief from aches as he descended the almost four hundred feet vertical distance. From there, he walked across catwalks and down several ladders before reaching the ground floor of the ship.

At the ground level, he noticed everyone had their foot wrapped with green leaves. The floor was cold, and so were his aching feet. He took a few large leaves piled neatly nearby and wrapped each foot with several layers of leaves and tied it in place with stripped vines. He felt, at once, the soothing relief and comfort of their ingenious shoes as he walked.

Some distance away, by a bamboo pile, Amo Obib saw Ningning wave at him. He waved back as he walked directly toward her. He knew she and four others oversaw making basic household necessities. This was no small task, as they had nothing to start with---they had no extra clothing, no shoes, chairs, furnishings, and cookware, the basic needs to start life in a new world. Worse still, no tools to work with!

Amo Obib and Ningning greeted each other, then held hands---showing signs of affection in public was part of Durian culture.

Ningning showed him around and referring to the pile of leafless poles, said with enthusiasm, "We are fortunate this large reed (bamboo) grows abundantly in the area. In such a brief time, we piped the spring water some seventy yards north of us. We made cups, plates, and other useful things with the reed using stone knives," showing proudly the stone knife she made and held.

Briefed on what her team did and planned on doing, Amo Obib left them to their chore. He proceeded to where a group of three working on an enclosure. After the greetings, the team leader said, "This is our temporary sanitary facilities. Almost done. Just placing the finishing touches."

Amo Obib inspected their toilet and bathroom facilities with interest. Its walls made of overlapped banana leaves, supported by bamboo stakes tied together with vines ropes. Free-flowing water was piped in using the bamboo, as well. He noticed the efforts made to make it presentable. He said, "Great job! Indeed, a structure fit for your amo to use." His comment brought laughter, and as they laughed, in a friendly gesture, tapped their shoulders then proceeded to the earth mound farther on.

Being dried by the earth mound, neat lines of moist clay bricks under the sunlight passing through the ship's transparent perimeter walls. Alongside, several Durians were busy making them with bare hands. After they greeted each other, Commander Nerus said to Amo Obib, "We're making bricks to build stoves and smelting furnaces, among other things." Then explained what Goopersh had scheduled as the commander toured the amo. To conserve energy, the commander also explained how they would sparingly use the 'liquid metal' they saved to create future machinery and electronic devices. For that reason, the commander assigned the three-ship engineers to create computer programs to equip a small lumber mill and foundry shop with machineries using the versatile 'liquid metal' soon after their general meeting.

Briefed, Amo Obib had time to join Commander Nerus's group. As he molded clay bricks with his hands, he felt downhearted. They stripped the ship so well that there was nothing they could use as a simple substitute for basic tools. Without their technology, they must do everything primitively---fashioning work tools out of stones, dried branches, and animal bones!

The Problem

Everyone gathered for their first scheduled general meeting at a vacant space on the ground level. Forming a circle with hands held, they bowed their heads as Amo Obib led the prayer. After, he gave the floor to Commander Nerus. With nothing to sit on, the amo sat on the floor alongside other Durians fronting the standing commander.

Commander Nerus explained their situation and, minutes later, concluded: ". . . Our goal is no longer to colonize this planet but to leave, link with the Colonizing Module, and find another planet to colonize. Taking into consideration what we have and don't have, we are in a desperate situation but not hopeless. We have God and time on our side. We have thirty-four multi-purpose airships, the best technology stored in our computer, and over two million years to hibernate. If we plan wisely, and with God's help, within twenty-six years, we can fulfill our goal."

An uneasy silence followed. Commander Nerus noticed many confused looking faces. Most of his audience did not wholly grasp what he had explained. Only he and three of his flight crew were technically oriented. Others, thirty-two of them, were specialists in biological and medical sciences. Orientation to the new technology used by the spaceship was not part of their crash-training program while at Duria. He continued, "Let me explain how the ship operates and the fuel it uses as it will likely answer most of your questions. Independently powered are the hibernating capsules and Goopersh. Everything else draws power from the fuel produced by the atomic converter. Even the airships' fuel cells rely on this energy source to recharge. Since we need to refuel the ship, we have no other option but to build the machine that produces the fuel, the Atomic Converter. With that said, let me answer your questions," then pointed to one raised hand of the many.

At his place on the floor, he asked, "Building the Atomic Converter requires a tremendous amount of physical resources. How can we possibly attain our goal with only thirty-six of us and no more than twenty-six years to accomplish?"

The question was of real concern and brought nods from the rest. The Durians took some time to construct the first atomic converter at their home planet, Duria, despite their resources. The atomic converter was a doughnut-shaped structure twenty-four miles in diameter. Its cross-section was one-hundred-fifteen feet. The cylinder's inner core was super-cooled and wound by super-conductive heavy-gauge wires encased in super-electromagnets and built eighty meters under the ground. It required sophisticated electronic equipment to monitor and control and used power enough to light up a large city.

"Not without outside help," the commander replied.

"Where will we find help?" someone asked, perplexed.

"An intelligent creature may evolve from the seemingly mindless creatures we see around. In hibernation, we have over two million years in our favor."

Spontaneously another aired, "There are over two-hundred-fifty-thousand Durians stranded in space relying on us to save them. What assurance will we have that intelligent beings will evolve on this planet within our timeframe?"

Amo Obib heard the question and realized the subject had shifted to issues related to church doctrines. "Commander Nerus," Amo Obib interrupted as he stood then addressed the group, "We will discuss the issue further when we have more information. I will assign a team to study the prospects of intelligent beings evolving from the apes out there and for how long. Should the team conclude the time is not enough, they are to consider the feasibility of being a catalyst to the evolution of intelligent beings on this planet."

Someone conscientiously asked, "Can we intervene with nature . . . Natural Law and break church law?"

"The situation warrants the church to consider its stand on the issue. As head of your church, I will consider, very carefully, any step toward that direction."

The meeting continued discussing day-to-day problems, then concluded with plans, assignments, and, as always, a prayer.

The Dream

Two weeks had passed. Amo Obib's scheduled meeting with Karmar and Norm was a few minutes away. He stood near a rectangular bamboo table with a bench on each of its longer sides and a stool on its narrower ends. Eerily, the table's top was the tallest object on the huge partition-less second level. Since the second level's outer walls were configured transparent, he had a 360-degree outside view.

Amo Obib stood close to the transparent wall looking outside. His hands held each other from behind. He seemed occupied at the beautiful panorama before him, but his mind was somewhere else---the prospects of undergoing genetic alteration. As a layman, the issue's solution was simple when he advocated for the liberalization of genetic experimentation not long after graduating from Genetic Engineering. As head of their church, he was lost and in the dark. The theological dogma ` **The end does not justify the means,'** rang in his mind during the day and echoed in the night. Their church allowed improvement on plant and animal stock through cross-pollination and crossbreeding. Genetic alteration was tolerated purely to repair genetic abnormalities. Forbidden were genetic modifications to create or experiment on new breeds.

As the amo deliberated on the issue, he saw the thin ethical line the church drew that differentiated the godly from the godless act. _'Do they have the right to intervene with the natural laws? Should it come to it, will the end---save their civilization, justify the means---break church law? Words against lives?'_ He asked himself and wearily wondered. As he considered, he recalled the previous amo, Amo Tacio, smiled when he said, _'Now, you have to decide on the issue yourself.'_ It puzzled him then more so now. _'Was Amo Tacio telling me something? Was it a premonition? Why did Amo Tacio smile, seem amused?'_ the question lingered in his mind.

Karmar and Norm's footsteps made Amo Obib turn. He welcomed them. Karmar was a genetic engineer and biochemist like the amo while Norm, a biologist, and biochemist. He noticed the rigors of their two-week mission on their faces. He also noticed both wore abaca woven gowns and moccasin shoes, which Ningning's group made. He liked the oversized pockets stitched on their gowns. Better still, he loved their moccasin shoes. Regardless of how he tried, the twined fiber sandals he wore scraped his feet's skin and made walking uncomfortable. He, however, did not complain.

After a short formality, they sat around the table, then Amo Obib said, "Let me hear your reports."

With no paper, Norm had her report committed to memory. She started, "Evolution is a process forced upon species to adapt to environmental changes or go instinct. It is not a constant slow process of change but instead comes as spurts during major global climate change or environmental upheavals that . . ." she continued. At the presentation's end, she concluded, "If there are creatures on this planet going through an irreversible evolutionary process toward rational intelligence, we should be seeing a creature with very primitive intelligence using crude tools with their hands. In our search, we found none. The probability of a creature on this planet evolving naturally to an intelligent being within 2.3 million years is none. Intervention is necessary," she concluded with obvious unease.

Amo Obib showed no signs of being surprised. "Is the ape our only candidate for genetic modification?" he asked in a professional tone.

"Yes, My Amo," Norm answered formally. "We confirmed Goopersh's findings. However, the study showed the ape is endemic to the region and maybe heading for extinction."

"Then, we will save it!" Amo Obib's instant remark somehow elated him. It was a consolation to an inevitable decision.

"On biological and genetic makeup, Karmar will present his report," Norm ended.

Karmar stood and instructed Goopersh to project specific slides on a holographic screen.

Displayed on the screen was a magnified cell of Durian alongside ape. It showed its structure with parts labeled and linked by a line to each other. Karmar held a pointing stick and began his presentation: "Since I can generalize my conclusion through one creature to represent creatures on this planet, I will concentrate on the ape. If you compare the Durian cell with that of an ape, you will find that they have identical structures and, equally amazing, is their biochemical makeup . . ." Karmar continued.

Amo Obib, a biochemist himself, was visibly interested. His attention focused on every word Karmar said. He carefully went through the cell's compositions on the screen as Karmar made his report. Together, they went over the minute variances and concurred they were insignificant. Anxiously, he asked Karmar, "Do you have the ape's genetic blueprint?"

"Yes, My Amo. Goopersh has the data."

Amo Obib, as a genetic engineer as well, instructed, "Goopersh, make a side-by-side comparison of the genetic codes---Ape's versus Durian's." He moved closer to the screen where Goopersh displayed the genetic sequence of the codes, the biological blueprint to life. The order of the codes and its sequence would determine what a living thing would physically become. If the composition and structure of the ape's genetic makeup were different from Durians, he knew they would not have the time to study and understand its mechanics completely. There were millions of these genetic codes to identify, map, catalog, and study. It worried him. He examined the genetic sequence carefully as he instructed Goopersh to scroll and stop to a long four-letter sequence of genetic codes. Often, he used his pointing finger to search for a sequence on Durian genetic strand on the screen then moved across to the ape's. There seemed no end to the columns as amo instructed Goopersh to scroll, skip, and jump going through the same motions of finger tracing and instructions countless times. After a while, Amo Obib said, "I have seen enough to draw a definitive conclusion. The basic biological structure and composition of life on Duria and this planet are identical. If you consider the vast distance between these two planets, we can surely say there is one Creator to life."

"Truly one God," Norm humbly praised.

Amo Obib faced Norm and Karmar and declared, "We will concentrate all efforts to study and understand the ape. We will not assume anything. We will reaffirm our knowledge of how life works by studying the ape in its minutest detail. Karmar, you will play a key role in the evolution toward intelligent apes. You will recommend which genes and how to manipulate that her ascendants, in time, will become intelligent. **As head of the church, I will set this strict guideline: we will not act as demigods. I emphasize 'not' and create an intelligent being of our design. Rather, we will act as a catalyst to a natural evolution such that the ape will naturally evolve to an intelligent being. When the time comes to modify their genes, we must be able to forecast, to a great degree of certainty, what we expect to happen. Under no circumstance are we to undertake actions and hope for the best. We are God's custodian to His creature. As such, we will do it with utmost respect and with full awareness of our actions. May our almighty God help us and pray our trials not be hard. I, your Amo, head of your church, have spoken."** The decree came spontaneously that Amo Obib's felt it divinely inspired but not with certainty, in his mind--- _'Am I acting as a demigod?'_

Commander Joe's Team

Since the Durians landed on the planet, Commander Joe's team was terribly busy making the basic things they needed – sleeping quarters, beds, furniture, offices, kitchen with all its needs, and sanitary facilities for men and women. Those were foremost on their worklist.

In a relatively brief period, the team turned one corner of the ground floor into wood and metal workshops. Through Commander Joe's ingenuity, his crew built a sawmill, a small foundry, and a metal workshop. They now have the basic metal tools they needed.

They were fortunate to have thirty-four multi-functional airmbiles as it made life easier for the team. For one, the airmobile had a lifting capacity of three-hundred-thousand tons. Its sophisticated laser beam can cut atoms apart or melt metal right out of the ground. But it had its limitation--- the battery it used had a useful life equivalent to three years working at full capacity. They must use the airships only when necessary and cannibalize its parts once its battery ran out.

Next to the shop were the lumberyard, mineral ore ingots, and other raw materials neatly piled and arranged. On the other corner of the ground floor, Joe's team built the kitchen, dining room, and sanitary facilities. They also built a stair that led to the second level. The team transformed a small portion of the second floor to become their living quarters and offices fully furnished with professionally made wooden tables, chairs, and many filing cabinets.

The kitchen on the ground level had free-flowing water, gas ovens, and cooking ranges. Between the kitchen and the dining room was a long service counter. The dining room was fully furnished as well with wooden tables and benches. All these, thanks to Joe's team.

Though it would have been ideal to have the laboratory on the second floor, it stayed near the top level because of its equipment. The trek up was just as perilous as the day they landed except for the bamboo railings they installed along the narrow walkways that stuck out of the walls of what used to be corridors. Because of this, people who needed to use the laboratory facilities had their living quarters adjacent to the laboratory. It had its own kitchen and bathroom. A week's worth of food supplies would be brought up to them regularly.

By this time, they had all the conveniences of using electricity supplied by the solar panels that wrapped the ship from above the second level to the pyramid ship's apex. They no longer relied on the limited fuel they had to light up the inner structures within the ship or power their gadgets, appliances, and electrical machinery Commander Joe's team built. What was missing was the workforce to build the Atomic Converter.

THE APE PROJECT

The Assignments

Norm, Karmar, and three others were assigned to the Ape Project: map the ape's genome. Nengut, a sociologist, and Femed, her assistant, were to conduct behavioral studies on the apes, among other things. Twenty-seven others worked directly under Commander Nerus's supervision. Amo Obib and Ningning, because of their religious vow, must stay within the confines of the pyramid ship, relegated themselves to cooking, laundry, housekeeping, stockroom custodians, and being parents to thirty-four other adults.

The Behavioral Study

The day was hot and humid to observe ape behavior at the fringe of the savannah and the jungle. The one-way window that rimmed the saucer-shaped airship allowed all-around viewing. It was perfect for Nengut and Femed's purpose. Blending with its surroundings and being at the same spot many times and staying for days at a time, the apes became accustomed to the airship's presence that they used it as a shade or its top as an observation deck. From what was observed, Nengut and Femed found the apes to be family-oriented, with the females having strong maternal instincts. Their diet consisted of fruits, nuts, and insects, much like the Durians. Most importantly, the ape had no predatory inclinations.

The group of apes they studied numbered less than that same time of the day. The few that remained scampered through the trees beyond their sight. Femed, on seeing the alpha male emerge from the jungle and settle down under the shade of the airship, noticed something sticking out of the alpha's right hand. Unable to identify what it was, she called Nengut's attention.

Nengut, who was observing two young apes playing and a mother nursing at one end of the console, went over and leaned on the console like Femed to get a clearer view of the alpha male.

Femed asked, "Can you tell what's in his hand?"

Nengut gave it a look. She had made many field trips at Duria to discern small clues, and answered, "It's a leg of some crawling creature minus some fingers . . . a large lizard." ' _Herbivores shy away from dead animals, but this one is holding it. Why?'_ she asked herself but soon had the answer---the alpha male stuffed the leg in its mouth and chewed the morsel leisurely.

A loud commotion behind the trees distracted the alpha male's attention. It rushed to the scene of adult apes ganging up on a mangled iguana fighting for a piece of its flesh and joined the melee.

Nengut and Femed viewed the battle for possession moved to the area near the nursing mother as the fight became a wild frenzy. An adult ape caught sight of the cradled infant and focused on grabbing the hapless one. The mother fended off each attempt as it screamed hysterically and threatened to bite. In the commotion, other adult males joined. One ape sneaked behind the protective mother and pulled the baby by its leg and ran off with it. In distress, the baby pitifully cried with piercing high pitch screams. The bewildered mother gave chase, and so did the rest of the adult male apes.

Soon the alpha-male joined the brawl and ferociously asserted its dominance. It got hold of the baby's right leg, and violently pulled it away from two adult males who had a firm grip of the baby's left leg and right arm. Strongly yanked, the baby's right leg was ripped out of the baby's hip. Blood flew out from the freshly torn flesh as the alpha-male swung the leg like a baton against would-be takers coupled with vicious growls and threats to bite. When safe with its share, it went under a tree and ate his prize undisturbed. The rest battled for some possession of what was left somewhere yonder beyond Nengut and Femed's sight.

Nengut's vision of a docile troop vanished. Cannibalism made it worse. Revolted by the scenes, she concentrated nonetheless on seeing as much of the interactions during the melee---the facial expressions, the wild gestures, the reactions and responses to those that participated and to those that watched and the aftermath. After a while, the apes once again milled around as they would on ordinary days. The wild orgy, an hour earlier, forgotten, and the nursing mother was gone.

"Let us check the other troops," Nengut said, visibly shaken by the ordeal.

The airship skimmed the treetops as it followed the contours of a seasonal river. There, other ape troops ganged up on migrating iguanas for the kill or fighting over those already dead. Farther down, they saw ape troops patrol the iguana's migration route.

Troubled, Nengut said, "I have seen enough."

Femed noticed how disquiet Nengut was, inquisitively asked, "What is the problem with apes eating the lizard?"

Nengut answered objectively, "It was not so much the hunting and eating of the lizards that bothered me but the apes developing a predatory instinct. You must understand that instinct strongly drives behavior. It does not disappear during the development of intelligence. It goes with it, putting pressure on the resulting behavior. Our problem is the resulting behavior. An example: the fruit eaters, by instinct, are docile and clannish. Given intelligence, the resulting behaviors are sociable, nonviolent, and family-oriented. I will ask you this: What will be the resulting behavior of a meat-eater, a carnivore, with predatory instinct and given intelligence?"

Much like a student, Femed answered, "Domineering, territorial, violent, and . . . aggressive."

"That worries me. Those are components of a predatory animal. You see, behavior depends on tendencies, and tendencies are driven by the subconscious---the instinct. If you went to the field and swung a club at a lion, the lion's tendency would instinctively be to tear you to pieces. Do the same to a small tree monkey in the wild, and it will run. In relation to reasoning and if given intelligence, the lion will conclude that you are a danger and a threat, and will rationalize the action, to kill. The tree monkey, on the other hand, will conclude the same thing but instead justify an escape, to run."

Femed looked bewildered. Not understanding Nengut's point, asked, "Isn't that a reaction rather than a rationalized response?"

"Partly both," Nengut answered then continued, "With warning, the lion will expedite the solution through force and justify it. It will not wait to negotiate; it is an action creature. On the other hand, the tree monkey will negotiate and reason for as long as it takes. It is a passive creature. The tree monkey can justify its action, to run, just as well as the lion, to kill. It is a paradox, for both actions are right."

"What will be the resulting behavior of combining both, a carnivore and herbivore?"

"You mean an omnivore?"

"Yes," Femed answered and mentally added the word to her vocabulary.

"I will formulate a hypothesis," Nengut paused for a moment. "When stimuli require both instinct and intellect to respond, the behavior that will prevail is the carnivore's aggressive behavior as it offers a faster result; therefore, the predatory instinct. This means our intelligent omnivore will have stronger tendencies to resolve problems using force physically or psychologically rather than reason. It depends on the individual and which instinct has relatively stronger tendencies responding to a given environmental stimulus."

Femed thought briefly. "Wouldn't reason prevail?"

"Reasoning merely justifies an action or a plan. But the type of action or plan is dictated by tendencies or compulsions which are strongly influenced by the subconscious drives, the instincts." Nengut made a general conclusion.

"Could you please run by that statement again?" Femed requested as she tried to grasp a complex hypothesis.

Nengut obliged and said slowly and deliberately, **"Reasoning justifies an action or a plan, but the type of action or plan is dictated by tendencies or compulsions which are strongly influenced by the subconscious - the instinct."**

Nengut saw and understood Femed's confused look as Femed mouthed the words Nengut uttered. Nengut, herself, took some time to comprehend it. Working on her doctorate's degree thesis as a student, she aimed a laser gun at a predatory animal about to pounce on a helpless prey. Though she could not bring herself to shoot just to prove a point, she nonetheless imagined the predator's death from her hands. It was not easy. The satisfaction of the kill or its justification was not there. She spent days negating the herbivore's instinctive influence on her. When she finally did, she got a glimpse of the power and satisfaction of thinking like a lion. It shocked and frightened her. It was just outside Durian's nature to fathom easily and explicitly, she concluded.

"Are you saying we may have to deal with an irrational intelligent being? It seems contradictory?"

Femed's question got Nengut to wonder. Nengut was not sure what the clear answer was and evaded the question, "More of a compulsive intelligent being. This, I can say, Durians, by nature, are akin to herbivores. As such, we could not react or reason as a carnivore or, for that matter, an omnivore would. It departs from our nature, our tendencies, our instinct. Unfortunately, the ape is the only one we can perform the genetic modification on."

"Since we have no recourse, what would you suggest?"

Nengut gave it a thought then replied, "We must never give them reasons or be misconstrued to think that we mean them harm. In so doing, we will not excite the aggressive or predatory behavior. Let us stay quiet on this issue until we have studied the intelligent beings that will evolve from the apes."

Femed concurred.

FAITH VERSUS LOGIC

Secret to life

Months later.

It was late in the evening. Amo Obib was at the workshop, wiping his wet hands with a towel to call it a day when he heard running footsteps. He turned and saw Karmar and Norm run towards him.

Karmar, visibly elated and short of breath, said as he gasped for breath, "My Amo, our problems are solved!" he exclaimed with excitement.

Norm, just as elated, followed up, "We have found the solution! My Amo, we discovered the secret of how living things are formed."

Amo Obib noticed how thrilled they were. With utmost enthusiasm, asked, "Have you validated it?"

"Yes," Karmar replied with fervor. "We created a replica of yeast, a one-celled organism, and even watched it replicate."

"How were you able to identify the genetic functions and relationships?" Amo Obib questioned and intensely listened as Karmar explained the mechanics. The amo asked questions a young, and zealous genetic scientist often wondered on---the many how's and why's. He was exuberant. Someone had finally gotten answers to the many questions that had fired up his imagination since childhood. They had solved the riddle to life!

On saturating the subject, Karmar shifted to its applications and was thrilled to enumerate the countless possibilities: an end to aging, regeneration of body parts and organs, of creating special functional creatures.

To this, Amo Obib was silent. He listened to the two talked on seemingly limitless opportunities in direct genetic alteration. As he listened, it dawned on him that he was the amo, head of their church, the custodian of its teachings, and began to hear the dialogue between the two not as a fellow scientist but as an amo, head of their church. He was troubled. He realized they had unraveled the mystery that veiled life, the knowledge, and the technology to create beings in their laboratory. They have broken God's domain! _'Can they act as gods and breathe life at their whim?'_ The question flashed through Amo Obib's mind. He was unsure of how he felt, unsure of its repercussions. It was not so much what they discovered that troubled him. It was what they could do--- **THE POWER!** Amid Norm and Karmar's euphoria, he interjected in a nice but deliberate tone, "Have you also stumbled on the mechanics to create a soul?"

Norm and Karmar looked at each other and became silent. Their euphoria vanished as quickly as it came.

Amo Obib continued, "I am delighted and pleased with your accomplishment but let us focus on solving our problem. Karmar, I want you to give a proposal to best achieve our goal. The decree I gave on the matter stands. Limit yourself to the least amount of modification and only act as a catalyst. Po-ogi si bobi," he said, and the two left quietly and emotionally numbed.

THE DILEMMA

A week later, the Genetic Coding project was done. Except for Norm and Karmar, who were working on the draft of their proposal to Amo Obib, the rest of the team members were assigned to help Commander Nerus and were immediately put to work.

Norm and Karmar did not take long to deliberate and reach a conclusion on what they could do. The amo's guideline was explicit. It left them little leeway---a catalyst with the least modifications: tweak the genetic codes that controlled the ape's biological equilibrium to force the ape to stand and free its hands; increase the size of the vocal cavity to allow vocalization; nothing else. The process required artificially inseminating a laboratory-modified and fertilized egg cell to female apes. Succeeding generations would carry the dominant gene to the next generation without intervention. If the succeeding generation copulated with non-mutated partners, the dominant gene would dominate.

The problem Karmar saw and Norm understood was that the dominant gene would stay dominant for a maximum of five generations. From there, natural evolution would take its course. If the mutated apes could not adapt to their environment, they would either become extinct or revert to its original traits. If the mutated apes survived, Karmar estimated it would take over two million years for an intelligent creature capable of helping them to evolve. _'_ _There is no guarantee of success nor a second chance. Unless God intervenes, they are doomed_ _,'_ Karmar thought. It disturbed and troubled him.

A couple of days later, Norm, with a folder, walked to Karmar's cubicle and handed over her portion of their work. "I will miss this place," she said in a sigh. Their office and sleeping quarters were adjacent to the laboratory, a level below the Command Center. It was closer to the top of the ship that their provisions were pulleyed up in baskets some three-hundred feet from the ground floor for expediency. "It seemed only yesterday, yet nearly two months have passed."

"Are you assigned to the surgical group?" Karmar passingly asked.

"Yes. Training starts tomorrow." Norm replied and noticed Karmar was uneasy, not his usual self. "You look worried," she commented.

"I don't think we are doing the right thing," Karmar bluntly protested

Norm was surprised. It never occurred to her that anyone could question a directive from the Amo. It just was not done. "But that's our only option," she answered.

"It's being passive," Karmar declared forcefully. "We, rather than nature, should control our destiny."

"But that would radically change the ape's genetic makeup," Norm argued. Then continued somewhat perplexed, "I wondered why Amo Obib got upset over our talking of perpetual life through genetic engineering until I recollected some church laws that prohibited us from altering bodies of some sort," she said in reflection but unsure if her statement or understanding being accurate.

"That's it, Church Law!" Karmar exclaimed. "But do you know who made those laws?" He asked excitedly.

Norm did not react. Theological dogmas never concerned her and was lost to what Karmar was driving at.

"The Church!" Karmar exclaimed, answering his own question. "There is nothing in the sacred book about genetics. God did not write those laws. Did He?" He asked a debatable question to Norm, who knew little of it.

"I am . . ."

Karmar interrupted, "If the amo's can create church laws, they can also modify them. Remember the fasting and veil rules? The church liberalized on them. There were other things the church changed. He need not argue the issue with the Council of Elders. He is alone and can do whatever he wants!"

Bothered by Karmar's conclusion, Norm replied hesitantly, "I do recollect the changes, but I am not knowledgeable on how the church goes about making doctrines. For myself, I stick to 'loving and helping one another.' A priest told me that was not ideal but would suffice. I leave it at that."

"You do agree the radical approach will solve our problem?" Karmar argued.

Reluctant, Norm answered, "Yeeees."

"I don't think the Amo, being new to his role, realize the implications of his guidelines and aware of his power as the amo. I'm sure an alternative that clearly shows the solution will get him to reconsider. He can then repeal or modify the church's laws on genetic modification," he said with conviction.

Norm, uncomfortable with the subject, said, "I will be perfectly honest with you. I know little of church laws to discuss it. Shouldn't it be better to talk to Amo about it?"

"It's better he read the proposals first. That will give him time to consider the better option."

Norm felt relieved the discussion had ended. "Want me to stay and help?"

"Nice of you to ask. I have everything. Don't say anything about this to anyone."

"Not a word," Norm assured.

Karmar's Dilemma

After two days, late in the evening when others were asleep, Norm waited for Karmar at the kitchen on the ground floor. Karmar gave her a copy of his alternative proposal for comments the night before with a reminder to keep the subject to herself. The added proposal was a radical alteration of the ape's genetic makeup. The resulting creature would be an ape that stood upright with a Durian's brain. Addressing the issue of time, the modified gene would induce an accelerated growth to physically bring a fetus to a young adult within a month. Karmar titled it Proposal One. He named the other proposal, merely a catalyst, Proposal Two. While Proposal One offered complete control and assured success, Proposal Two did not. It relied on faith in God and let nature take its natural course and pray it will solve their problem. This bothered terribly Karmar.

Norm's anxiety heightened when she saw Karmar come down the stairwell. She hastily prepared two cups of fruit juice for them just to calm herself. "Po-ogi si bobi. Made you a fruit juice," she said to Karmar when he got close. She placed the fruit juices on a small table and sat.

Karmar greeted back, sat, got the juice, and started drinking.

Norm, apprehensive, watched Karmar drink. She knew he would ask her questions on a subject she knew little and hated to discuss.

Karmar placed his cup on the table and said, "I'm really glad you took the time to review the added proposal."

"Think nothing of it, but you shouldn't be so secretive about this," Norm replied then sipped her juice.

"I just want it to be between us for now. What do you think?" Karmar asked then drank what was left in his cup.

"It's good."

Missing the point, Karmar asked a more specific question, "Should I give it?"

It took some courage for Norm to finally asked, "If Amo Obib took the catalyst, Proposal Two, would you question his wish?" It was the only thing that bothered her.

"Of course, not," Karmar blared. "I just want him to consider a better alternative."

"If that is your intention, I'd give it. Let the Amo decide. It will be different if you insisted," she argued.

"But I am! Am I not?"

"He explicitly said, 'act as a catalyst,' which is Proposal Two. Proposal One calls for radical genetic alteration," Norm reasoned then after sipping her juice continued, "The thing is, Proposal One will work. There are hundreds of thousands of apes out there whose genes we can radically change and have an intelligent workforce ready in just months. Give it," she said without caring if it was right or wrong.

They left the two proposals on Amo Obib's desk before they retired for the evening.

ORDAINED IN HEAVEN

Amo Obib saw the two proposals Karmar left on his desk and read them. He was in a dilemma. As a layman, Proposal One, the radical approach, strongly appealed to him. It was the shortest and surest solution to their problem. But he could not reconcile its theological implication: breaking God's law. He decided to go on a retreat and used the Control Room adjacent to the Command Center. It was appropriate for his purpose. Since the room was stripped of its furnishings during ship stripping, it had no functional use and was but a bare room. The room's light lit the moment Amo Obib entered. He sat on the floor and leaned on the wall. He reread the two proposals. After reading, he had Goopersh turn off the light.

In total darkness, the battle in his mind commenced: logic against faith, assurance versus hope, prayers opposed to action. Logic told him to take the radical approach, Proposal One - it assured their civilization's survival, the straightforward solution to their problem, and it tortured him to argue against it. But he was head of their church, God's representative to the material world. He must not think as a mortal but as a god! Many times, he begged for God's help, for Him to speak. He listened but heard only his breathing in the lightless silent room. At some moments, he thought himself going crazy. The theological dogma, ' **The end does not justify the means** professes: you cannot do evil to accomplish something good. The dogma kept resounding in his mind and could not stop himself from hearing it. The longer he deliberated, the louder it got. Near the end of the second day, when hearing the dogma in his mind became so unbearable, he threw the two proposals in the dark and cried out at the darkness, "My God, should I place more value to faith and hope when the lives of thousands rest on it? Do I have the power to decide the risk they must take or whether they should live or die? Must I take the hard way to please you? Does my conscience belong to You or me? Speak to me. Please speak to me," then collapsed on the floor.

The Dream

Asleep on the floor in a dark room, Amo Obib dreamed of lying on the grass under a fern tree in a meadow. As he laid, he felt the pleasant breeze fan his face, saw colorful insects fly about, smelled the mixture of sweet fragrances of flowers in the air when, out of nowhere, Amo Tacio appeared in his dream. He saw Amo Tacio, with a folder, kneel by his side, places the folder beside him on the ground, and whisper to his ear:

" _My son, the fate of our church and the Durian civilization is in your hands. Decide for its good, and with God forever in your heart, you will never make a mistake. Remember, above all, God, and all Duria are behind you. If a time comes when you must decide on the fate of your brothers and sisters, remember what I just told you."_

He woke soon after and found himself alone in the dark. Desperate for an answer, he immediately groped the floor around him. There was no folder! Like an insane man, he wildly swept the floor with both hands in the dark crawling about madly until he touched one, clasped it to his chest, and said, "God, I pray this is the right folder, for when I leave this room, I will implement whatever proposal is in it. I pray you will leave a sign to prove it was You who placed it in my hands." He instructed Goopersh to open the door and stepped out of the room with the folder clasped to his chest. He believed the dream was God's way to communicate. It took time for his eyes to get accustomed to the well-lighted corridor. When it did, and against his wish, he saw Proposal Two, act as a catalyst!

It was late in the evening when Amo Obib left the Control Room. He was weary, his mind in turmoil. He went down using the elevator shaft and the ladders as he did before. He proceeded to Karmar's office cubicle and placed the folder squarely on Karmar's desk. With heavy heart, he took the desk pen, hesitated for a moment, then boldly wrote on Proposal Two's cover---'IMPLEMENT', and signed it. He then walked toward his and Ningning's sleeping quarter.

Ningning was asleep on her cot. Except for her face, her entire body was under a white blanket. She woke despite the amo's best effort to be quiet. They greeted each other in whispers.

"Have you eaten?" Ningning asked in a faint voice as she stood and straightened her nightgown.

Through a parched voice, he answered, "No."

"Let's go to the kitchen. There's food ready for you. It only needs warming."

Physically tired, mentally drained, and very hungry, the amo nodded.

"You have been in retreat for almost two days," Ningning said as she led him by his arm.

In a soft voice asked, "That long?" Amo Obib looked genuinely surprised.

She echoed, "That long," and continued, "The training of the twenty to perform the minor surgery was easy and done. The scheduled....," she updated the amo on their progress during his absence but unsure if the Amo listened.

When they got to the kitchen, she seated him by the small worktable then lit the gas range nearby. She glanced at him as she prepared his food---he looked tired, wasted, in another world.

Amo Obib momentarily shook himself out of his quandary and watched Ningning warm his food, stir the brew with a ladle. He thought of how fortunate he was for the Elders to have chosen her as his wife. She was always there when he needed her, and he felt guilty for being impolite---he paid no attention to what she said on their way down to the kitchen. He could not shake out what was in his mind. There was still time to change his decision and replace the folder. Proposal One was the answer to their problems; it clearly meant survival of their civilization; and the thought kept buzzing in his head while they were walking and when he was seated.

As Ningning prepared his food, she glanced again at the Amo. She saw him looking at the floor, in his private thoughts. In a hope to take his mind away from what he was thinking, at least for the moment, she said, "I always wondered how this gas cooking range works each time I lighted it but never occurred to ask."

The question got Amo's attention. "Methane gas, a gas byproduct of fermented animal dung."

"Animal dung?" she exclaimed, "I hope you wouldn't mind having your food cooked and warmed by some shit," hoping to get him to laugh.

Amo Obib laughed at her remark to her great relief. They started to make funny conversations on the subject. Amo Obib thought, _'They have never been alone like this. It seems so strange,'_ He moved his chair to face Ningning as she warmed his food. With curiosity, he asked, "When did you join the church community?"

"Nearly five years ago. And you?"

"I came in a year earlier. Do you know that we met before I joined the church?" Amo Obib casually said.

Ningning was surprised he remembered and to think it was over six years ago. "Mia introduced us at a symposium held at Lanang State University," she cheerfully said as she stirred the soup.

After a momentary reflection, Amo Obib said, "I don't remember Mia, but remember being dragged out of our conversation. When I came back, you were gone."

"I was there and even saw you pass, obviously looking for someone."

Somewhat disappointed, he asked, "Why didn't you call my attention?"

"How was I supposed to know you were looking for me?" she teased, "Why me? There were prettier women there just waiting to catch the most eligible bachelor around."

The amo was stunned by her last remark. He was so busy on his crusade to have even thought of women at that time. More so, being the most eligible bachelor around. Amo Obib reacted, "I know nothing of being the most eligible bachelor," stressing the words. "Really, I searched for you. I enjoyed our conversation, your company. Honestly, I was captivated by your charm. Visiting you crossed my mind but never got your address. All I had was your first name, Ningning. Lovely name, by the way. I was distracted and dragged out of our conversation that I missed hearing your last name."

Ningning's eyes sparkled. Flattered, she continued, "It's Aguire," then teased but serious, "You're just being nice since you had no choice in our marriage. But I will tell you a secret. I had a crush on you even before we met." After a quick thought added, "You did not search hard. I was there all the time and, honestly, eagerly waiting for you," she said with dismay.

Not knowing how to explain his misgiving replied, "The important thing is we are together now. I did find you attractive, intelligent, pleasant to be with, and we had so many things in common."

"You did!" Ningning exclaimed, her face blushed. She was thrilled and had forgotten what her objective was.

Amo Obib looked at her and, with a wide grin, said, "I did."

Ningning grinned back as wide as his. She brought the warmed food and placed it on the table. She gave Amo Obib a wooden plate and a spoon made from a seashell with a bamboo handle then took a stemmed flower from a bamboo vase by the sink and laid it beside his plate as she said, "I'm glad you told me. I was beginning to think our relationship would be platonic." She took a wooden stool, placed it at the adjacent corner of the table, and sat. As would any woman wanting assurance, she asked, "If I really made an impression on you, what did we talk on?" But not recalling the topic, immediately followed, "What was the color of my dress?"

"The topic was theology. The color of your dress was light blue and wore a colorful butterfly brooch," Amo Obib answered in rapid succession.

She gave it a thought. She recalled her outfit and brooch but not the topic. Regardless, she believed him. She stood and lightly kissed the top of his head from behind, then gently massaged his shoulder muscles. "It is strange how fate brought us together."

Amo Obib gave her statement a thought. "That is so true . . . All these things happening to me. It's as though I am drawn to follow a course. For what purpose, I wonder," he said, then his mind went back to the two proposals. _'There is time to change my decision,'_ he said to himself and began thinking again.

As Ningning massaged Amo Obib's shoulder muscles, she noticed the amo's mood had suddenly changed. He was quiet, deafeningly quiet. "Do you want to talk on something else?" she asked, hoping she could help as she continued to massage his tense shoulder muscles.

Amo Obib hesitated before saying, "You strike me as someone who knows God . . . of how one should act or think before Him. Women are said to be closer to Him than men," Amo Obib paused as he tried to figure how to phrase a question without involving her to the issue.

From the sound of Amo Obib's voice, Ningning sensed he was troubled. "Have you made a decision on what we should do tomorrow?" she went straight to the point.

Amo Obib was taken aback by her bluntness. "Indirectly," he confessed. "The approved proposal is on Karmar's desk, yet I am not sure if it is the right one. I have never been like this before. I was always sure of myself, especially in making decisions. But this is quite different."

"How so?" Ningning asked as she continued to massage his shoulders with both hands.

Amo Obib talked on faith in general. Ningning intently listened as he explained the issues between faith and logic without relating it to the signed proposal. Amo Obib was unaware Ningning related what he said to what Karmar revealed to her on the two proposals submitted to the amo the day before. Being a very perceptive woman, she worried. She knew Amo Obib was more inclined to be logical, objective, and realistic in his manner of thinking. She strongly felt Proposal One, to alter the genes radically, was wrong but could not reason why.

When Amo Obib felt he had said enough, he turned on his seat, and looked at Ningning, He asked, **"Will you entrust your life to me?"** praying to find an indirect answer to what troubled him.

Ningning gave the question a serious thought. She sat on the adjacent chair, held his hands, and looked him in the eyes. **"To you as a person, I will not,** " she said in a serious but caring tone of voice. **"My life belongs to God and only to God. I believe in Him and will give my life to protect my faith and others' faith in Him. As Amo, you are His instrument. I leave my life in your hands to prove my faith in Him through you,"** she paused then continued in a sweet soft voice, **"My husband, when you must act as an amo, as you have to, you are no longer yourself as you see yourself. At that moment, the Obib who dreamed of Durians exploring the universe to help other civilizations, the gifted biochemist and genetic engineer, that Obib no longer exist. As Amo, you are with God, and through you, God speaks. As I prove my faith in Him through you, as Amo, prove your faith in Him through me. Remember what God said when the first amo, Amo Lam-a, wavered in his faith? He said to him,** 'Have faith in Me, and I will bring you to paradise. **'** "

From Ningning's reply, everything started to make sense, and the mist of uncertainty in Amo's mind dissipated. He did not realize his role in the world that had changed so quickly and entirely for him to adapt. He began to relax and at peace with himself. He held and gently squeezed her hand and said, "Our fate must have been ordained in heaven. I praise the Lord for that."

GOD'S SIDE

Assurance to Whom?

A minor modification was added to Proposal Two. For identification purposes, the whites on the modified ape's eyes were made more pronounced to visually distinguish the modified apes from the other apes at the project's early stage.

Late in the evening, a day before the implementation of Proposal Two, Karmar stood under the shadow of darkness beyond Amo Obib's view as the Amo swept the aisles of the machine shop. Karmar had not slept well since Amo Obib decided to implement Proposal Two, being a catalyst. He watched and waited for the Amo to finish his day's chores and admired him from a distance. _'There he is,_ _'_ he said to himself, _'our leader in the most crucial time of our civilization doing his last nightly chore, cleaning floors. The Amo, with Ningning, woke the earliest and slept the latest. Everyone worked hard but none harder than the two. Acting as parents to thirty-four grownup children---making sure they are fine and as comfortable as they can be. Everyone tried to make things easier for the two, but so many things needed doing, and somehow, the two always found them. Despite that, they are the driving forces behind our endurance, the pillars that supported our hope, the power behind their little civilization.'_

As Amo Obib washed his hands, he heard footsteps. He turned and before Karmar could greet, the Amo said cheerfully, "Po-ogi si bobi, Karmar. Isn't it late for you to be walking around?"

Focused on what he intended to say, Karmar ignored the question, "Po-ogi si bobi. My Amo," he responded, then spoke uncomfortably, "I would like to speak to you, if you don't mind."

"Please," Amo Obib formally replied as Karmar was so serious. He hastily wiped his hands with a towel then led Karmar near a lumber pile where they found something to sit on.

As they sat on separate piled lumbers facing each other, Karmar said, "You and Ningning are working too hard."

Amo Obib could tell that Karmar was troubled. Not by the work Ningning and he did but on what they will do tomorrow. "You did not come here to see me about that, did you?" the amo asked nicely with a grin.

"No, but everybody is clamoring for someone to talk to you and Ningning on the matter. It might as well be me."

"I appreciate everyone's concern. I am fine. However, talk to Ningning. You might have better luck," he hinted then continued, "So, what is really bothering you," he asked in a fatherly manner.

"Is it possible My Amo . . . that you did not fully consider Proposal One?" Karmar said uncomfortably.

"I wondered when you'd come to that and glad you did."

"It is not only I. Norm thinks Proposal One is better. It solves all our problems. I will not be disobedient, My Amo, but I am troubled."

Amo Obib did not respond. He waited for Karmar to pour out what troubled him.

Karmar took a deep breath, and as though reading an imaginary script said, "As Project Head, I feel I must speak. I recommend we implement Proposal One. We can do several things..." Karmar continued to defend Proposal One injecting variations to make it attractive. At its end, said in a concerned voice, "My Amo, there is no assurance of success and will most likely fail on the proposal we will carry out tomorrow."

"Assurance to whom?" Amo Obib asked in a priestly manner.

"My Amo, over two-hundred-fifty thousand are relying on us to save them," he said in a pleading tone. "You surely must have undermined the risk associated with the proposal you approved and the advantages of the other."

Amo Obib was unsure if Karmar purposely evaded his question or just missed it completely. He repeated, "Assurance to whom? However, do not answer the question, but think of it instead," he paused. "Karmar," he continued, "I did seriously consider Proposal One." Amo Obib knew Norm's conclusion was based on a wrong premise---he did not consider it well or at all. Telling him now that he did, Norm must think for himself – why Proposal Two?

"Amooo," Ningning called out in search from a distance behind piled lumbers.

"Over here," Amo Obib cried loud as he and Karmar stood and walked to meet her.

When they got near each other, Karmar said, "Po-ogi si bobi, Ningning."

"Po-ogi si bobi, Karmar," she greeted back. Looking at them with a smile, added in her natural sweet way, "Should I go ahead and leave you two on men's talk?"

"Oh, no," Amo Obib replied. "In fact, Karmar has something to say on your working too hard. Go ahead, Karmar, tell her," the amo eagerly prodded.

Karmar looked at Amo Obib, somehow saying without words that they should discuss Proposal One further. However, the situation had changed. He looked at Ningning and spoke to her on the work she did as they leisurely walked towards their sleeping quarters on the second floor.

Amo Obib observed Karmar as Karmar talked to Ningning for her to change her work habit. Gaining no headway Amo Obib somehow knew how Karmar felt, Karmar's frustrations. He started to see Karmar as himself many years ago, as a layman in another setting--- trying to sway other people's thoughts and ways. Recalled handing leaflets and making speeches on space exploration for the good of other civilizations and on the genetic research restrictions to what he perceived were blind and deaf audiences. Of the many disappointments, he went through during those years. He could not give the answer to what bothered Karmar directly though he wished he could. He knew **to provide** **the answer, and appreciating it were two different things**. Karmar must find it for himself, in himself. His part was merely to plant a seed in Karmar's mind and pray it will grow to answer Karmar's own questions and doubts.

The Amo listened as Karmar tried hard to convince Ningning to work less. He realized Ningning was not only sweet but stubborn and equally determined and convincing as to why she should not change her work habits. When they got to Amo Obib and Ningning's sleeping quarter, Amo Obib told Ningning he would walk Karmar to his room a short distance ahead.

Ningning and Karmar bade each other goodnight.

Amo Obib and Karmar walked slower than usual. Amo Obib started, "The proposal I approved assures us success. **W** **e must always see things through God's eyes**. That is why Duria was a paradise. There are other things more important than life, and one life or a million lives will make no difference. Whatever the outcome in implementing Proposal Two, we will succeed. Do you know why?"

Karmar stayed silent as he tried to understand what amo meant. Grappling on a statement he could not comprehend, Karmar honestly confessed, "No, My Amo."

" **Because we are on God's side,** " the amo purposely paused then continued, **"If we succeed on Proposal One and the Durian civilization flourishes, we failed, more so the people we helped. And, if we failed on Proposal Two when all of us die, and the Durian civilization ends, we succeeded."** He paused again, hoping his words would sink in Karmar's mind then repeated, **"Because we are on God's side,"** stressing more the words this time. As he looked at Karma, he saw in Karmar's face that Karmar had something he must say. With no signs of rushing, Amo Obib waited for Karmar's response.

"I am so glad we talked," Karmar finally spoke and sounded relieved. "I now see things from where I, or we should stand. **We must always be on God's side.** How myopic of me. Will you forgive me?"

Amo Obib tapped Karmar's shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive. You followed your conscience and there is nothing wrong with that. Po-ogi si bobi, Karmar," and watched Karmar enter Karmar's room.

As Amo Obib walked back to his room, he saw Karmar grinning in his mind as they bade each other goodnight. Humbly, he said, 'Dear God, thank you so much for your help.'

* * *

Everything went as planned. The Durians impregnated female apes with modified fertilized egg cells; they observed them for a day then let loose with their respective troop. After two months, they secured the ship, hibernated, and left their fate in God's hands.

EVOLUTION TO MODERN MAN

A million years later, in the year 1.3 million BC, as scheduled, Femed and Nengut were awakened from hibernation to monitor the evolutionary progress of their genetically modified apes. They left the ship on an airship and flew to the region where they left the apes eons ago. There, they found four distinct species of apes that stood and walked, the homo erectus. Of the four, only one was distinctly different - the hominid, the forerunner to homo sapiens, the modern man. They distinguished themselves from the other three with their hairless face and a noticeable white color that surrounded the pupil of their eyes.

Nengut and Femed found the hominids were no different from the apes they came from apart from their ability to stand and use their hands. Their brain size was slightly larger, but they still acted much like apes. They, however, were a noisy group that used a myriad of sounds to express themselves. What was remarkable was, they called each other by simple-to-pronounce names, as Grig, Yaw, Eek, Bi, Bo. They wandered in groups in a demarcated region and, when threatened, banded together and howl, growl in unison as they wildly and awkwardly swung handheld poles or threw rocks to any threat. Most often, it worked. Otherwise, they scamper for the nearest tree and howl and growl from there. With their free hands, these primitive creatures used sticks as a simple tool to dig termite mounds, reach out for hard to reach fruits, or beat each other, which most often happen when asserting dominance. They used shaped stones to break hard-shell nuts or throw them for hunting. They seemed unable to figure out the other things they could do with their hands. However, with a club to swing and the ability to throw, other apes and some predatory animals were frightened of them.

The hominid's diet and population worried Nengut and Femed. The hominids had evolved to become omnivores with predatory instincts. Hunting wildlife was a daily routine and ate raw what they caught. They numbered less than what Nengut and Femed predicted. The changes were not much; thus, it was too early to draw any conclusion to what these mindless hominids would eventually become. Nengut and Femed hibernated again to wake every hundred thousand years and adjusted it once some form of intelligence was observed.

******

There was nothing exceptional observed in their succeeding expeditions until the year 50,000 BC. The Ice Age was at its peak. The polar caps, both Arctic and Antarctic, had expanded and left a narrow band of greenery north and south of Earth's equator. Constricted to this narrow space of snowless land, the existence of all animals---herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores, was hard and harsh. 'Survival of the fittest' became the norm. It was in this epoch that hominids started to evolve to early homo sapiens and have become hunter-gatherers. They used refined stone tools and wore leather clothing. Much to Nengut's distaste, they were savage and brutal creatures, but she realized the harshness of their existence forced them to adapt to their environment or become extinct. With other predators far larger, faster, and more agile, these semi-minded creatures could only survive their world with the only edge they had, their wits. They were far more cunning in hunting, and unified and organized when threatened. Though still primitive, they irreversibly headed towards higher intelligence and close to their time constraint.

******

In the year 25,000 BC, homo sapiens had become proficient hunter-gatherers and communicated with words accompanied by hand gestures. They were territorial creatures whose boundary was but a three-days walk away from their camp. They guarded their territory against other homo sapiens group with only one strategy: superiority in numbers. Against other homo sapiens, evenly numbered encounters merely resulted in visual and auditory threats. Often, that was enough to keep their distance and avoid conflict. It was only in the superior numbers that they attacked and viciously.

It was in the superiority of numbers that they guarded their women and children with utmost zeal. The community's perpetuity depended on them. Thus, the women and children became the community's prized possessions, and the women considered deities, the givers of life. Her fertility adored to the point of being worshiped. For this reason and, strangely, there was an unwritten rule honored by all homo sapiens group in violent encounters: only adult men fought, and the women and children were never harmed: they were the victor's prize.

However, there was a limit to the law of numbers. The homo sapiens lived in small communities of roughly fifties. This puzzled Nengut until she observed a large community of eighty-plus split to two groups. It was a matter of logistics---they were overpopulated. As hunter-gatherers, their food supply depended on what their territory could provide. A group of fifty was what the natural environment could support within the territory they could protect. Thereby, young males and females were forced to leave and start new communities elsewhere.

To find a place, the expelled group could call their new home, was hard. There were many territories to cross to get to the fringe of unoccupied land where they could start their own community without territorial infringements. They were still hunter-gatherers yet to learn farming and animal domestication. Nevertheless, there were obvious signs they were heading in that direction.

*******

In the year 20,000 BC, Nengut noted that the primitive ancestors to modern man had organized themselves. They grew crops and domesticate animals. Rather than expel their kin, they kept them---they needed more hands to develop their community's territorial resources, and more arms to protect their community or invade their neighbors and acquire their property, territory, and the wealth of their land. The age of conquest began. Conquered lands expanded the territory of ethnic groups of similar physical features. In time, each ethnic group populated and controlled whole regions demarcated only by natural barriers between them.

*******

In 15,000 BC, the Ice Age was at its end. Much to the team's relief, they found the homo sapiens had dispersed to all the continents. Nengut was astonished but not surprised that four dominant races came out from one species of homo sapiens. Since all four races were irreversibly headed towards higher intelligence, Nengut and Femed were ecstatically happy. This time, both were optimistic.

As planned, they conducted a behavioral experiment to validate Nengut's Lion-Monkey hypothesis.

On the first experiment, they used a remotely activated Durian-like dummy the size of the tree monkey that held a stick. The dummy swung the stick at curious tree monkeys within striking distance. The tree monkeys reacted as predicted---they did not raise their arms in defense but instead ducked, then ran away and never came back. When the same was done to cavemen using a life-size Durian dummy that held a stick, the cavemen defensively raised their arms and retaliated by clubbing the dummy until certain it was dead. Or retreated, then later came back with more cavemen that ganged up on it.

On their last field trip, one of the cavemen groups they studied placed gifts on the dummy's feet while a young girl in vibrant-colored attire, knelt before the dummy with her forehead touching the ground. She was adorned with shell jewelry on her neck, arms, wrist, and ankles. Her hair, sprawled on the ground, was beautifully covered with flowers, some small and, a few, proportionately larger. Men and women around danced to the rhythm of their chant. They stamped the ground, whirled around, hands flailed in the air, and heads bobbed up and down. They danced to an increasing tempo till it became a wild unsynchronized frenzy of bodies, arms, and legs movements. Then a distinctly dressed man with a colorful ritual club bashed the girl's head. Everyone stopped dancing and bowed their heads to the ground. Nengut could not explain the act, at least logically, to relate the brutality as an offering to something abstract, **God**.

Completing their mission, they woke everyone for the pre-arranged general meeting.

Everyone was present at their conference room and were seated on wooden benches that formed a half-circle. Nengut stood at the front and announced the success of their Ape Project. She reported that crude, but intelligent beings have populated most of the continents. Nengut also reported her concerns over the degree of predatory instinct the intelligent humans have. An open discussion ensued on the topic. She listened. Everyone seemed to have part of the answer, but together had no agreeable conclusion on the type of people they would have to deal with. However, they did not consider in their discussions something so vitally important to discuss, even by Nengut---it was greed! Durians knew little of greed to associate it with intelligent beings. To Durians, greed was an irrational behavior and unlikely to be present in rational creatures.

At the meeting's conclusion, the assembly agreed, and the Amo concurred---under no circumstance were they to provoke the humans that may incite aggressive behavior. They were like tree monkeys; therefore, the situation may not rise. They also agreed that they would start negotiation when the humans became intelligent enough to learn but not when they had the technology to pose any threat to them.

After the meeting, Nengut pondered as she walked, _'Is it possible? If reason directly clashed with instinct, would it result in an irrational behavior?'_ As she deliberated, Amo Obib, with Ningning, called her attention from a distance.

They walked towards each other.

"Nengut," Amo Obib said, obviously perplexed, "If you don't mind, Ningning and I were discussing responses resulting from . . ."

The three discussed the subject lengthily and left each other wondering---is it possible: an irrational intelligent being?

Everyone hibernated again, but this time Nengut and Femed were to wake every five-thousand years.

The year, 10,537 B.C.

It was mid-spring, five thousand years later.

Nengut and Femed found what they had prayed and hoped. Well-populated civilizations were in Europe, the northeast of Africa, East Asia, and along the west coast of Central and South America (as they are known today). As planned, they woke Commander Nerus and his team to locate the ideal Atomic Converter's construction site. Nengut, Femed, and twenty others were to look for people they could entice and relocate to help Commander Nerus build the infrastructures needed towards the building of the atomic converter.

After a week's excursions, Commander Nerus' team found the construction site. It was within King Arth's kingdom in a region now known as Giza in Cairo, Egypt. The king's citadel was but two miles away from the present-day Sphinx, but then, the Sphinx was but a large outcropping sandstone in relatively flat grassland. No pyramids existed then in the Giza Plateau.

Although Giza today is part of a desert, it was in 10,537 BC, a vast fertile grassland dotted with trees, lakes, and ponds. Half a mile west of the king's citadel was a river, a tributary to the Nile, whose water came from a large lake yonder. The climate was subtropical and not dry as it is today, and the fringe of Sahara Desert was more than three hundred miles farther west.

King Arth's kingdom had a population of roughly 100,000 – not enough to start construction. However, the Durians expected this. 350,000 migrant workers plus their family must be added to the population to meet Joe's workforce requirement during the initial stages of construction, and it was to peak at over four million by the fifth year from the project's groundbreaking date.

On Nengut's part, she knew where to find the people they needed to add to King Arth's kingdom population. The two teams met and concurred that it was time to initiate the Atomic Converter Project and woke everyone.

EPISODE TWO

The construction of the Atomic Converter had two major independent phases: Preparation Phase: accumulation of raw material; and Construction Phase: building the infrastructures and support facilities that would ultimately lead to the construction of the Atomic Converter. Unable to operate both simultaneously, the Durians initiated the Preparation Phase first and elected central and the eastern part of South America as sources for agricultural products and preprocessed industrial material. In their plan and timetable, the Preparation Phase had to be simple and easy to manage that in a relatively brief time, trained natives would operate and manage the operations themselves while the Durians provided support only.

The Central and South America Projects

Enticing the natives of the Americas came far easier than Nengut anticipated. The native's shaman predicted, for generations, the arrival of their gods coming in a fiery object from the sky. The bright descending airship came near to their shaman's prediction.

Nengut, assigned to make the first human contact, was astounded beyond belief to what had unfolded before her. Instead of fear and the natives running away or hide when they came, they were pleased, happy, and excited! Men and women ran hurriedly to their fields and gathered fruits while the women, flowers. By the time the airship landed, fruits and flowers had encircled the landing site. When the airship's door opened, the entire village---men, women, children, and even mothers with babies in their arms, were joyously singing and dancing around the airship. They stamped their feet, clapped the hands to the rhythm of a lively song, and waved their hands in the air with some holding flowers and others, fruits. They were overjoyed as their shaman foretold the gods will shower them with gifts - make the gardens green, their animals healthier and big, and heal the sick. All that would become a reality as time passed.

Native runners spread the word from one village to another that when the Durians came to visit other populated areas, large and small, houses in the villages were adorned with fruits and flowers---the landing site filled with it. Though the natives of the Americas thought the Durians were gods, the Durians insisted that they were no gods but children of God. The natives misconstrued the statement to mean that the Durians were, literally, children of god. The Durians never realized the abstract misinterpretation. It was a blessing as what the Durians requested of the natives was taken as the will of God and were pleased and eager to serve.

With the help of the natives and the use of the Durian's multi-function airships, they constructed stone walled housing communities, cleared and prepared vast track of lands for industrial and agricultural use. They also built food storage facilities over the entire Central and west coast of South American as they are known today. They constructed irrigation systems for their crops, dug and blasted mountainsides for their mineral deposits, and helped construct rough stone-paved roads that linked work communities to each other over the entire region. Simultaneously, they taught the natives agricultural techniques; they introduced the farming of corn, potato, and vegetables; showed them methods in raising domesticated farm animals for food and as beasts of burden. The Durians created a simple pictorial stone calendar (the Mayan Calendar) for the natives to time planting and harvest as well as material deliveries and pickups. The Durians also identified medicinal plants to cure ailments. They taught them how to organize their communities and communicate with others in the region and encouraged the building of stone roads that linked mining sites, food centers, and villages.

The Southwest and Central America projects worked so well that in four months, with the training and systems the Durians provided, the communities expanded and worked independently to produce the raw and preprocessed material the Durians needed. With abundant material reserves and future supply assured, they decided it was time to negotiate with King Arth.
KING ARTH

Since Amo Obib, by virtue of his religious vow of isolation from worldly activities and Commander Nerus's time and expertise to oversee their humongous project, could not be spared, Nengut, being a sociologist, was appointed Ambassadress to act as a liaison between the Durians and humans.

Bright Object in the sky

Within the airship, Nengut, with her two assistants, Femed and Felyap, were all in their skin-tight radiation protective suits. Their silvery-gray colored outfits were broken only by an over-sized almond-shaped dark glasses that protected their eyes from the glare among its other multiple functions. Their head's crown was slightly larger from the miniature electronics installed within their headgear. Their nose, ears, chin, and mouth were but impressions over their suit. After looking over her two assistants, Nengut remarked, "Don't we look intimidating in our protective cover?"

Femed and Felyap looked at each other in their suits with great interest.

After careful examination, Femed answered, "I agree."

"What do you think Felyap," Nengut asked.

"We definitely look unnatural. Intimidating and scary too, much like a ghost with big dark eyes. I don't think it's wise to wear them."

"Let's take them off and just not leave the airship," Nengut decided.

The three pressed a button, and the entire protective suit shrank to a peanut size package that left them in their white uniform and leather suede shoes.

An hour before sunset, the airship headed for King Arth's citadel. Below the airship, levitated in the air, were varied ripe fruits adorned with flowers---their gifts engulfed in a transparent light-blue colored haze. High above the king's palace, Nengut turned on the airship's protective shield that got it to glow brightly and visible from the below.

On the ground, people looked up to a slow descending bright ball of light against the clear blue sky. It hovered two-hundred feet directly above King Arth's palace courtyard. By then, the citadel's inhabitants were on open grounds and rooftops to witness the unusual sight. A few stared out of curiosity, but the majority saw the airship as the child of their sun, a manifestation that lends credence to their High Priest Shadeh's preaching that the sun was their god, Ra.

Within the king's palace, a guard in panic approached the king, who sparred with someone at the palace gym. The king, in loincloth and headband over his short-curled hair, was an epitome of a tall, well-built athlete and manly looking. He had a short-bearded face, piercing brown eyes with heavy eyebrow, a well-toned body, and firmly muscled chest, arms, and legs.

The guard bowed waist deep and as he caught his breath said, "Your Highness . . . there is a bright object hovering above the courtyard."

The king held on to his sword and looked at the guard. "What bright object?" he asked, in a kingly fashion.

Before the guard could answer, the High Priest Shadeh, a slim long-bearded tall man with a narrow face and deep-set dark eyes, entered the gym. In his colorful temple robe, Shadeh ran toward the king excitedly shouting, "Your Highness, Your Highness, the son of the Sun God, Ra, is here!" In his excitement, he forgot his usual flowery exultations of the king.

The king looked at Shadeh and asked with sarcasm, "Is your news good or bad?" He did not believe in gods and thought the priests were fools fooling fools. However, it gave him an aura to his throne and some control over his people that he tolerated their presence and stage dramas within the kingdom.

"The stars sent a message last night and . . ."

"How come you're telling me this only now?" King Arth roared. He was not in a pleasant mood.

"Ah . . ." Shadeh stuttered. Improvisation was a talent that earned him the High Priest post. With no immediate answer, came up with an excuse and replied, "The message said that I was to approach you only when the Son of Ra showed himself in the sky."

"And?" King Arth roared again.

"To prepare you for his coming," Shadeh replied and pointing to the chambermaids, said in rapid successions, "You, you, and you prepare the king for his presence to the Son of Ra. Get his best robe, his crown, his scepter, his . . ." he rumbled instructions to distract the king's attention.

The chambermaids were dumbfounded. The king had dozens of everything Shadeh had asked and froze at their place.

King Arth observed Shadeh amusingly. 'It is not a bad day to test my arm's strength and see if I can still cut a neck with his sword with one swing,' he thought. Lately, as king, left the messy stuff to others. "Forget the scepter," he addressed the chambermaids in a commanding tone. "Give me my tunic and sheath," referring to a plain tunic and an old leather sword sheath on top of a chair. He loved the sheath. It was light, and so was the sword he had on hand.

Not in an offending manner, Shadeh contested mildly, "Your Highness!"

"Alright, find me a presentable tunic." the king commanded the chambermaids.

Cautiously, Shadeh suggested in a low, submissive voice, "A robe would be more appropriate, Your Highness."

"I said tunic," the king roared, waving the chambermaids off.

The chambermaids bowed then ran.

"And you," King Arth said as he looked at Shadeh, "Make prayers for something good to . . . to . . . What's his name?"

"Ra, Your Highness," Shadeh answered meekly.

"Yes, Ra. Make lots of prayers on anything. And thank the guard who came before you. He may have saved your life." Interrupting the king's workout was something the king did not like and mused at the thought of cutting Shadeh's head and drying it under Ra's rays.

Bewildered, Shadeh reacted, "Almighty?"

"Go!" King Arth commanded.

Shadeh bowed waist deep then hurriedly ran out of the gym.

********

King Arth

King Arth was a warrior whose skill in combat a few dare challenge. A tribal leader who fought and earned himself a kingdom. In the early years, his ruthless reputation preceded him and his army. 'Capitulate or die,' was the message sent. True to his warning, those who lifted a finger died a horrible death. Soon, cities and villages chose to bow rather than fight, and Arth became known as the 'Lion of West Nile.' As they feared King Arth, they also revered him as just and liberal to those who aligned themselves to him.

As king, he had mellowed. He was tired. Tired of the stench of blood, of the long marches, of the fighting. He had left this to his aspiring generals, and there were many. Lately, he wanted to be closer to his people, but the thought of maintaining the aura and stature of being a king prevented that. He became isolated and spent more time fortifying and building his city, his kingdom, and be with his son, Prince Otil, his only child from his first and only wife, his childhood love.

********

The Invitation

King Arth walked out of the palace dressed in his day-to-day tunic with a sheathed sword and dagger on him. He saw the ball of light hover above the courtyard then immediately noticed the swords of his special guards fronting him lay by their feet on the ground. Shadeh had warned them earlier that being armed before the gods was an act of boldness that would cause an agonizing death. However, the king saw it as an act of submission. The kingdom must never show weakness.

The king did not believe in gods and, if there were really gods inside the ball of light, he would rather die with his sword in his hand than yield. Infuriated, he ordered his guards to pick their swords and hold them by their side. He yelled to the commanders at the courtyard to have their soldiers armed and to the archer at the parapet to ready their bows.

Seeing their king armed and bravely defiant, the king's special guards picked their sword on the ground and held it by their sides.

On one side of the courtyard, Shadeh was in front of the temple. He was kneeling before his white garbed priests prostrated on the ground. As the glowing craft slowly descended, he shouted, "Drop your weapons and bow your heads!"

In contradiction, army officers commanded the soldiers to hold on to your weapons. In the confusion, an archer at the parapet accidentally launched his arrow. It flew straight toward the airship. When it got to the fringe of the airship's glow, it burned in an instant. Instinctively, he placed another arrow to his bow and aimed again.

Nengut, Felyap, and Femed watched over the airship's monitor the confusion below as commanders forcefully ordered soldiers to man their stations and arm themselves. A few soldiers fled in fright, and those who stayed shook in fear at their post with a weapon in their hand, but their heads were bowed.

King Arth stood amidst his men with eyes focused on the descending ball of light. Unfazed, he looked directly at the bright white light that strangely did not hurt his eyes. Behind the glow, a silhouette of a saucer-shaped airship forty feet across with arranged fruits and flowers that floated beneath bathed in a light-blue haze. He commanded the guards before him to kneel just to see the airship in its entirety as it descended to land.

Slowly, the airship laid the fruits ten feet away from the king's front guards and landed on its tripod ten feet behind. The glow vanished as a ramp from its underbelly extended to the ground. Its door slid sideways, making a sharp air rushing sound. The doorway was wide, a third of the airship's width.

Nengut, motionless at the doorway, had her arms raised to form a letter 'V.' She brought her hands to her chest over her heart, then stretched it out palms up toward the fruits and flowers, then placed both hands, with arms crossing each other, back to her chest.

The king was surprised to see what seemed like a lean-bald kid in a white snug-fit outfit wearing leather moccasin shoes and making sign language.

Nengut repeated her gestures.

The King made his way through his knelt soldiers and walked to an artfully arranged fruits surrounded by colorful flowers. He picked a grape from the pile and popped it in his mouth. As he chewed, he unbuckled his belt with a sheathed sword and dagger and walked by the side of the piled fruits toward Nengut. He stopped at the ramp's edge, holding up his gift with outstretched arms.

Smiling, Nengut motioned for the King to come closer.

The king heeded and walked up the ramp far enough to hand over his gift with outstretched arms. He quickly scanned the airship's insides from where he stood. He saw the monitor on the ship's console but failed to see Femed and Felyap hidden behind both sides of the door inside the ship. They were poised to snatch Nengut and close the door at any hint of danger.

"Greetings, and thank you so much for your gift, King Arth," Nengut said as she accepted and held on to the king's gift by her side. "I am Nengut, the Durian Ambassadress. My leader, Amo Obib, extends his invitation for dinner tomorrow. He will be most honored if you accept."

"And the purpose?"

"To seek your help."

Nengut's request amused the king. Grinning, he replied casually, "I prefer the meeting be to know each other first and talk on other matters after."

"You are so right," she responded, hiding her uneasiness through her feminine smile. "It will be so arranged. Will you come?"

"I will."

"We will pick you here before sunset tomorrow. Will that be fine?"

"Before sunset is fine."

Nengut grinned. "Before sunset, it will be," she said, then moved one-step back and watched King Arth walk clear off the ramp.

She waved goodbye, and the king waved back.

On Nengut's slight finger signal, Femed pushed a button, and the airship's door slid closed.

Goddess in Fear

King Arth watched the airship lift and hover high above the citadel. To his amazement, it flew out of sight over the horizon at the blink of the eyes. When he turned, his three generals, Suba, Mismar, and Odi, were walking towards him. The three were his childhood friends. They were instrumental to his becoming a king and trusted them with his life. He met them halfway. "Let's go inside," he said, without missing a step.

Walking alongside, Suba, the cavalry commander, asked, "What do the gods want?"

"They want our help," the king snapped.

Suba exclaimed in disbelief. "Gods wanting help? Shouldn't it be the other way?"

The king heard Suba. He looked at him and wondered.

"What kind?" Mismar, the king's right-hand man, followed up. He was the most analytical of the three generals and was the king's war strategist and political adviser.

"It happened so fast it didn't occur to me to ask. I will have a chance tomorrow. She invited me to meet their leader for dinner."

"You mean sun god, Ra?" Odi, a heavy-built man, in-charge of the foot soldiers and archers, asked. He believed in gods but despised Shadeh for being arrogant when the king was not around.

The king reflected. "No god or gods were mentioned."

"I will go with you," Suba suggested.

"It is better I go alone. I will have a better chance of knowing what we're up against."

Mismar said, "Don't be too trusting. We don't know anything of these, . . . they should leave hostages to ensure your safe return."

Odi interjected, "Having hostages will not mean much. Saw what happened to the arrow? That can easily happen to us."

"Odi is right," Suba said, then asked the king, "How do they look?"

The king looked at Suba questioningly. "How do they look?" he echoed, surprised.

"I bowed my head, as Shadeh instructed, when the chariot opened its door," Suba replied with discomfort.

King Arth turned to Odi. "And you?"

"I did not look," Odi snapped uncomfortably.

The king looked at Mismar and could tell he did not look either. "I will deal with Shadeh later," the king irritatingly said. "Next time don't listen to anyone but me. None of you saw anything to help."

"How do they look?" Suba repeated with utmost curiosity.

"There was only one, and she looked much like the Kalahari bushman, short, lean but baldheaded and much paler. She was always smiling, yet I saw fear on her face."

"What made you say that?" Mismar asked.

"I've seen fear on people's faces countless times. She feared me."

"What's your plan?" Odi continued.

"I will think of something, but the sissies should stay home and keep the house clean," the king joked.

The rest joked at each other, and together they laughed.
KNOWING EACH OTHER

The return of the god's chariot the following day spread like wildfire throughout the citadel. Hours before sunset, the city's inhabitants were on rooftops and every conceivable open space with a clear vantage of the fortified palace atop a plateau. Prime viewing spaces were jam-packed with people who jealously protected the small area where they stood. Shoving and fistfights became common.

In their formal military attire, the palace guards were in formation at the courtyard. Their sword and knife handles, and spearheads shined under the setting sun. King Arth stood at the palace steps in full military gear. His thick leather chest armor embossed with a lion was over his gold-trimmed tunic. The sword and dagger within their sheaths hung from his waist belt; his polished metal headgear wedged under his left arm. The regalia was for a reason---the king had deduced the Aliens were not gods, nor did they represent one. The Durians have the technology to make themselves rulers of the world and wondered why they requested help rather than demanded the service. That was what King Arth would have done. Regardless of who or what they were up to, he had to know who he would be dealing with before he met their leader. He devised a simple scheme to learn as much as he could.

Before sunset, the airship appeared from the horizon flying at high speed. It abruptly stopped high above the palace courtyard then descended slowly. With the airship's shield turned off, the metallic-gray flying saucer was clearly visible. When it landed, King Arth approached the craft before its door opened.

Within the airship, Nengut, Femed, and Felyap, straightening their uniforms, failed to notice the king walked toward the airship and up its ramp. The king's sudden appearance at the doorway startled the three. Visibly shaken and frightened, Felyap and Femed moved closer to Nengut's side.

Nengut noticed the king was armed. Masking much of her fear through a smile, she said nicely, "You need no armaments to where we are going."

"I do not go anywhere unarmed," the king replied with authority. "You must leave behind hostages to guarantee my safe return," he demanded forcefully.

"You have nothing to fear. We are peaceful people. No harm will come to you," Nengut assured nicely.

"I do not know you or your people," the king answered and observed their minutest reaction with his eyes shifting focus on the three faces before him.

Stymied, Nengut conferred with Femed and Felyap in whispers, then she faced the king. "We came unprepared. Will leaving my assistants be adequate?" she said with unease.

"I am worth at least a hundred," the king said, sounding proud.

"But there are only thirty-six of us altogether," Nengut reacted.

The king noted Nengut's reply and reaction. He sensed she was flabbergasted and her companions wide-eyed in fear. ' _To go further may cancel the meeting, and I do not wan that,'_ he thought and said, "Since I gave no advance notice, I will forgo the requirement. To show good faith, I will leave my weapons behind." Unceremoniously, he threw his headgear outside, then unbuckled his belt with the sheathed sword and dagger and threw them out as well. He did the same to his leather chest armor, leaving him in his belted white-gold-hemmed tunic and the thin-rimmed gold crown on his head.

Shadeh was behind a palace pillar. His head leaned just enough to see the king's back facing three short beings he concluded were Ra's children.

Nengut introduced Femed and Felyap then ushered the king inside. She led him to a wooden armed chair specially built for the king's wider butt, but the king preferred to stand.

As the king stood, he noticed the other three wooden armed chairs inside seemed out of place within the cabin and were too narrow for his rear. It was only then that he realized how small the Durians were. All three stood well below his shoulders.

King Arth, nearly six feet tall, barely had a foot of clearance to the cabin's ceiling. He looked around nonchalantly, knowing well he was dealing with short and frightened people. On his part, he would have sent his best general to negotiate. 'Why send shy and inexperienced envoys?' crossed his mind.

Accustomed to the jounce of a moving chariot, the king held on to the console's edge with one hand. On seeing the receding citadel on the screen, he was amazed but pretended to be unimpressed and continued to observe Felyap's activities at the console.

Felyap, in simple terms, explained what she did. Since King Arth seemed attentive, she continued to explain. During this time, the king's mind was somewhere else. He fantasized on the things he could do with such a ship. He was thinking of the kingdoms he could easily conquer---two lay east across the Nile River: King Adazil and King Silrab's domains. They were the only threat to his kingdom. However, when two equally powerful kings meet, they do the logical thing: form a non-aggression alliance and build bigger armies to maintain the balance of power or fall. It was that simple.

"Have you talked to King Adazil or King Silrab?" King Arth asked Nengut with some concern.

Nengut expected the king to be wary of the two other kings. She knew real peace never existed between kingdoms, only lulls between minor conflicts. "No, we wanted to talk to you first," she answered.

The king was relieved. He had the first advantage and thought, 'I must prevent the Durians from negotiating with either king if I can help it.' "My people think you are a goddess. Are you?"

Nengut had preconditioned herself to the probable questions the king might ask and replied, "I am no goddess, nor are any of the other people you will soon meet."

"Do you believe in gods?"

"We believe in one almighty God."

"Only one God? Isn't that taxing for one God to manage so many things?"

Nengut femininely laughed. "Only one God," she assured. "He is almighty and manages the land, seas, and everything."

"Aaaah . . ." King Arth exclaimed as he schemed. "I do not believe in gods." He knew from experience that the kind of sacrifices offered to their gods gave some indication to the type of people he would deal with, so he casually asked, "Does this God of yours allow sacrificing or killing people?"

Nengut did not anticipate such a question to be asked and reacted, "Never! Our God is an all-loving God. Our God helps and will never hurt people." She then realized what King Arth was up to. She was dealing with a lion and decided to think like one and added, "There are other ways of doing it." The facade made her uneasy.

King Arth noticed the change in her voice and manner. She had revealed something inherent to the people he would deal with. He was sure they were timid creatures from a distant land and hoped the rest were just as naive as her, and he relaxed.

"We are here," said Felyap as the airship pierced through the pyramid ship west wall partly embedded on the hillside amid a lush jungle where it landed over two million years ago.

Only Technology

The Durians, in their identical white snug-fit uniforms and dark-colored leather moccasins shoes, were all present at the landing bay, excited to welcome their first guest - their hope. They were anxious---traveled so far, worked so hard, and prayed with fervor that the man they would soon meet would be willing help.

Amo Obib and Ningning, with lei in hand, walked towards the king as Nengut led the king down the airship's ramp. At the ramp's end, the king bowed low to allow both to put their colorful, sweet-scented lei over his head---Ningning was four feet five inches tall, and Amo Obib was an inch taller. Nengut introduced the king to Amo Obib and Ningning. In turn, Amo Obib introduced the rest of the Durians who stood in a line by the airship.

The king noticed everyone was no taller than the amo, and all wore identical white outfits but found it odd to match the outfits with an off-colored leather moccasin shoe. It did not blend well with their uniform. Surprised to notice too, that the only thing that distinguished their amo from the rest was the triangular medallion the amo wore.

The king, with awe expressed on his face, was engrossed as he looked around. To which Amo Obib said, "I know you have many questions. All will be answered in time. Were you curious about our one God?" the amo asked.

The question took King Arth off guard. 'It would be embarrassing if they knew what was in my mind,' he thought. "You read minds?" he asked with apprehension.

"I must apologize. We did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation inside the airship. I assure you, there was no ill intention. All of us here watched you and Nengut converse over the monitor."

"Monitor?" King Arth questioningly asked again.

"I owe you an explanation. Let us go to a room, and I will show you what I mean." He led the king to a small office cubicle. It was clean and austerely furnished and made mostly of varnished wood. The desk had stocked papers neatly piled on one side; a pen lay squarely at its center; a wooden armed chair behind it; two wooden stools fronted the desk; a triangular frame with an eye embedded (the Durian equivalent to a Christian's cross) hung on one wall; and nothing else. He asked the king to sit on the stool as the armed chair was too narrow for his rear, then said, "Goopersh, replay the video record of King Arth with Nengut from the beginning."

Keenly observant, King Arth was looking around at the room's wooden furnishings and was stunned when the wall turned to a 60-inch screen. It showed him going up the airship's ramp. Speechless and wide-eyed, he watched himself on the screen, enter the craft, and asked leading questions to Nengut as they flew over. It was obvious he was scheming from his facial expressions looking at the faces of the three Durians in the airship.

Amo Obib noticed the king was stupefied. "I assure you, it's not magic."

"But how can you do that without magical powers?" The king was bewildered.

"There is no magic. In time, we will teach your people to build a machine that records events as what you have witnessed. I know you can read and write. It is like General Mismar writing words on papyrus. You can repeat it by reading what he wrote. What you saw were written images and sounds repeated."

"How were you able to know my general's name . . . know I can read and write?" the king asked, obviously baffled.

"Without your knowing, we studied your people and your language. It is a lengthy process which I will explain later." Amo Obib answered but sensed it was not the question the king had in mind though it was the question asked and emphasized, "We, Durians, are no gods nor do we possess any supernatural powers. Think of us as people from a distant place, as mortal beings. We are much like you . . . we thirst if we do not drink, starve if we do not eat, and die like everyone."

"And the only difference between us is your tools?" King Arth concluded.

"You are so right. What you saw were only tools that we call machines, gadgets, or devices, and they are not magical instruments. We want you and everyone to know that. And that we come in peace and mean no harm to anyone."

"Will you teach us how to build the flying chariot that flew me here?" the king eagerly asked.

"Yes, and more but . . ."

"I will pay anything . . ." King Arth reacted in his excitement. Since he had started the sentence, added in a business manner, "Anything that will be fair to both, of course."

Amo Obib noticed the break in spontaneity and smiled, "If you help us, in the end, it will be far more than fair and beneficial to you, your people, and the people of this world."

"In that case, I do not see why we cannot come to an agreement," he said in relief and regained his composure. "What exactly is it that you want?"

"We will talk after dinner. It is better to negotiate with a full stomach and when both know each other. Isn't that so?" the amo asked, looking up straight at King Arth's eyes.

King Arth grinned as he looked down at Amo Obib. "I like people who speak out what they have in mind. It leaves out the guessing and saves time."

"Indeed, and time is precious. I understand you are a man of your word and pick your words carefully. We, Durians, are people that stick to our word. Can we agree on one thing before anything else?"

"That is?"

"Can I take your word, as I swear before my one God, that you can take mine?"

King Arth sensed Amo Obib's sincerity and responded, "I swear by my . . ." he stopped. He had no gods to swear by. He looked at Amo Obib then said, "I swear by my beloved wife's memory that I, King Arth, ruler of West Nile, will honor my word."

Both men shook hands, smiling at each other to everyone's delight.

The Durians

As they walked the hallway towards the dining room, Ningning explained to King Arth what the rooms were in wooden cubicles. With their technologies, the king found it strange to see the cubicles and its furnishings within the ship were mostly made of wood and bamboo. However, he reserved his questions.

When they got to the dining room, Ningning led the king to his seat and excused herself after he sat.

King Arth sat alone at the dining area with a full view of the Durians behind the kitchen counter busy doing something. Overwhelmed by curiosity, he looked around. The dining room had varnished wooden dining tables arranged to form a circle with a space to pass between tables. Each table had a low-lying colorful bouquet that gave the room a lively atmosphere, but there was no food on the tables. A long wooden service counter separated the kitchen from the dining floor. Behind the counter were worktables, a cooking area, wash counters, and several wood storage cabinets that formed the kitchen's back wall. He noticed his table was almost a foot higher than the rest. He leaned down to see what was under the table and saw his table's legs propped by wooden blocks and so were the two chairs by his sides where Amo Obib and Ningning would sit.

The Durians brought their food in partitioned wooden food trays to their table with eating utensils made of shell and bamboo. But the king was more surprised to notice Amo Obib, Ningning, and three others bringing food on his table in vessels that captured the king's imagination. Seemingly simple and ordinary objects found along the shorelines and riverbanks transformed into objects of beauty to become his plate, saucer, soup bowl, drinking vessels, and eating utensils. The Durians were consummate artisans, the king thought, then he noted the elegant tableware was only for him.

The king felt uneasy by himself doing nothing. When Amo Obib placed a bowl of fruits on their table, he leaned and said to Amo Obib, "I am not familiar with your custom. Should I be doing something?"

"Oh, no. You are our guest," Amo Obib replied, adhering to human customs the Durians have observed.

"As their leader, shouldn't they be serving you as well and in vessels such as mine?"

"My people are just as curious to your reaction as I am. If you forgive me, I must tell them what you just asked so you can see us as we are. Your attention, please," Amo Obib addressed the group who stopped amid what they were doing. "King Arth asked me why I, your leader, shouldn't be served and in vessels such as his."

It brought a burst of polite laughter from the Durians.

King Arth forced a half-smile. He did not understand why they were laughing and looked at Amo Obib, puzzled.

Amo Obib said to King Arth, "Point to anyone to give you the answer."

Amused at the request, King Arth looked around as he tried to find the face that fitted a name he remembers and said, "You, Indit," as he pointed to someone on his left side.

Indit answered, standing eight feet from King Arth's right side. She was standing, holding on to her food tray, "I am here."

King Arth turned to see her. Visibly confused, said, "I have your names in my head, but you all look almost the same that I don't know who to pin them to."

The Durians heartily laughed, but the harder laughter came from the king.

When the laughter abated, Indit said, "Since you called my name, I will answer. There is no difference between Amo Obib, who is our leader, and I."

King Arth, looking at Indit, waited for a continued explanation but realized Indit had already said it all, and he did not understand. He turned to Amo Obib baffled and wanting an explanation.

Amo Obib explained, "You see King Arth, in the world we come from, there are no social strata. Kings and servants stand on equal footing. **We believe in helping and respecting each other, and when you do, it matters not who you are.** "

"It is a strange culture," King Arth confessed. "What should I do if I were to behave like you, Durians?"

There was a short silence, then Thel, in-charge of cooking food for the king, broke the silence. "I know what you can do. Bring the roasted deer specially cooked for you. It's heavy."

The king went to the kitchen with Thel. The roasted deer, the size of an adult dog with two short antlers, was still inside a clay brick oven. He got the cooked deer out of the oven and placed it on top of an ornate wooden platter on a worktable. He brought the cooked deer to his table as Thel carried its sauce. The roasted deer was small for everyone to feast on, but the Durians were vegetarians and insect eaters. The roasted deer was only for the king.

Seated on the king's left, he noticed Ningning's food was on a partitioned food tray like the rest of the Durians. He glanced at Amo's and saw it was no different. He did not ask why. He knew the reason---it was in their culture.

Except for the formality before dinner---the short prayer of thanks for the food, the king's presence, and the safety of those stranded in outer space, there were no further formalities, no other protocols. Everyone talked freely. They were at ease and acted as themselves. There was a sense of openness in their character and an air of being totally free. He found pretenses not present as they interacted with him and with each other. He liked the camaraderie and saw **the difference when people treated each other as equal---the wholesome atmosphere it created**. Sadly, he realized such a culture would not fit in his world. **Protocols are necessary, and pretense, important. Power and stature must be displayed; signs of weakness should never be shown.** 'How wonderfully different the Durians are,' he thought. He enjoyed the cooked deer immensely and commissioned Thel, in jest, to be his royal cook. But he convinced her to promise to teach his cooks her secrets.

After dinner, everyone helped clear the table. King Arth did his part. Amo Obib did not stop him as the king had fun mingling freely with the rest of the Durians.

Later, the king, on seeing Ningning washing dishes, was again taken aback. 'Is this for real or just a staged act?' he seriously asked himself.

The Curious Questions

After clearing and cleaning the dining room and kitchen, with King Arth doing his part, the king, with Amo Obib, and Commander Nerus, proceeded to the conference room where the amo narrated their story and predicament. The narrative took longer than Amo Obib anticipated---he had to illustrate and explain some things for the king to understand.

At the narrative's end, the king asked, "You said that if you get exposed to the sun, you will get burned? Is the sun god more powerful than you?" the king was bothered as he associated the sun to be Ra, the mightiest of gods as the High Priest, Shadeh, had preached.

"The sun is no god," Amo Obib answered and explained, "It is much like a big ball of fire that brings light and warmth like a bonfire on the desert in a cold night except the sun is immensely enormous and nothing else. Durian bodies cannot tolerate your sun's direct sunlight, most especially when it is directly overhead on a cloudless day. Have you tried placing a cockroach under the noon sun?"

"Cockroach? Noon sun? No," King Arth was perplexed.

"Cockroaches always live in darkness and will never expose itself to the sun. If it did, they would die."

"Is that why Nengut came when the sun was close to set?"

"Exactly. A cloudless noonday in Duria is similar in brightness and warmth as your sun is two palms wide of your hand over the horizon. Thus, like the cockroach, Durian bodies are not conditioned to your sun's intense heat."

"I see. How about this thing that comes from the ground that I cannot see?"

"Radioactivity. The answer is more complex, but the analogy is the same."

"And this prevents you from leaving the shelter of your ship unless properly clothed or standing on metal floor?"

"Yes," answered Amo Obib, who, from King Arth's questions, was relieved to know the only difference in intelligence between humans and Durians was Durian technology.

"How can I help you?"

Amo Obib requested Commander Nerus to explain their situation.

Commander Nerus first explained, in simple terms, the Durian's situation to the king. After said, "We want you to help us build the machine, we call the Atomic Converter, so we can refuel our ship and leave to find a planet we Durians can call our home."

"Why not live here?" the king asked.

"Unfortunately, the thing that comes out of the ground makes it impossible for us Durians to survive here in the long run."

King Arth asked, "How big is this machine?"

"Let us go to another room so I can explain better the help we need," the commander said.

Model City and the People to Build It

Amo Obib with Commander Nerus led the king to a room with a miniaturized model of a well-planned metropolis on a large display table. It depicted high-rise residential areas, commercial buildings, industrial zones, roads, rail tracks, auditoriums, athletic fields, amusement centers, and anything a modern city would have. Though the terrain looked familiar to King Arth, it did not make sense until he recognized his palace on a plateau with the fortress that surrounded it. He pointed to the structures atop a plateau almost at the center of a large modeled metropolis, "Is that my palace and the walls around my fortress?" he asked, looking disturbed as it occupied a very small portion of the entire layout.

"Yes. It will remain intact as a historical heritage," Commander Nerus answered.

The king pointed again to a pyramid-shaped block and said, "And, that is where the pyramid ship will be?"

"Yes, roughly three thousand steps (3 miles) from your citadel," replied Commander Nerus.

The king pointed to the circular cylinder that nearly surrounded the entire model, "The huge circle that surrounds the area, I gather, is the tom converter you want built?"

"Atomic Converter," Commander Nerus corrected and added, "But it will be built under the ground."

The king asked, "What about the large vacant space at the city's periphery?"

Commander Nerus answered, "That area is reserved for people who wish to live in a house rather than in a residential complex."

King Arth looked at the modeled metropolis in its entirety as he walked around the large table alongside Amo Obib and Commander Nerus. The king's left arm crossed his chest, and the right-hand's fingers fiddled his short beard. He realized the enormity of the project and said, "It took us over sixty full moons to build a small part of my palace, and it's not finished. This will take many, many seasons. I do not have that many people who can work on this."

"What would you suggest?" Amo Obib asked, fully aware of the bad blood between adjacent kingdoms of which there were only three in the region: King Arth's, King Silrab's, and King Adazil's. The Durian's plan was to get additional help from people outside the region, but Amo Obib wanted King Arth to suggest that.

King Arth said, "We cannot seek help from the adjacent kingdom's kings, King Silrab and King Adazil. Their people and mine have battled for ages. Too many family members have died. The ones alive have too much hate to bring some form of a peaceful solution to the problem." The king paused then paced the room with his arms folded across his chest as he fiddled his beard with his right hand, a mannerism the king does when he is seriously thinking. He looked at Amo Obib and gambled, "One of the conditions for my helping is for you to help me rid of King Silrab's and Adazil's. That way, we can control all the kingdoms in the region and use their people as slaves to work on the project."

Amo Obib replied with resolute, "We have the machine to destroy this world. With a command, Durians can destroy King Silrab or King Adazil's kingdom in a blink of an eye. But we will never use this power for that purpose. I will not allow the use of our technology to harm a single person, nor will I allow slaves to work on this project. That is firm and final."

"I have slaves working for me. What do you have to say to that?"

"What you do outside the project will be your concern. We will not interfere. I only wish and pray you would stop and learn to love and respect the people around you."

King Arth noted Amo Obib's statement. He was inclined to believe Amo Obib was a benevolent leader, and so were his people. The Durians would not pose a problem to him, but he had to come up with a solution before Amo Obib include King Silrab or King Adazil, or both became part of the negotiation. That, he must avoid. He did not know Nengut advised Amo Obib that too. "There is an answer," King Arth said, taking a chair and sat.

Amo Obib and the commander took the chairs across the king, sat, and the amo said, "We are interested in hearing,"

"I know there are civilizations far beyond the seas and mountain ranges. If you bring them over, then we can plan on how we could best manage them. However, I must think about it before I give my commitment." His concern was obvious on his face.

"Please do," Amo Obib replied with relief. The king gave the answer he wanted to hear. Briefed by Nengut on the issues and concerns the king might have, he continued, "But as you are thinking of it, please remember, this is your kingdom, and you are the king. We, Durians, are merely your temporary guests and are under your rule, and so will the people we bring in. If no harm comes to anyone, I see no problem with any proposal you will suggest."

King Arth looked at Amo Obib and said, "You have addressed my primary concern. Knowing how valuable fuel and time is to you, I will have something ready tomorrow. It is late and wish to think of a suitable arrangement. Since I am amenable to your moving the ship near the citadel, you can fly the ship there so you will not waste any more fuel than necessary."

Amo Obib was so relieved the king caught on so quickly to Durian problems and took the king's advice. He asked the king to watch the monitor to view the ship as it lifted off from the ground and head for its new location.

It was close to midnight, and the moon was full and bright to see the ship, through time, half encrusted by the forest on the hillside. In the still night, the ship softly hummed then lifted slowly. Ripped out of its moor, the noises from uprooted roots, breaking branches, and toppling trees that have embraced the ship for millenniums resounded for miles around as the ship slowly rose in the air. Animals screamed in fright, filling the cool night air with a myriad of terrified animal sounds as they scampered for safety in panic.

The ship, over the forest canopy, had a huge chunk of land with trees and undergrowth clinging to the ship's east face. The ship hummed a little louder accompanied by a light blue glow, and the clinging vegetations were instantly repelled. It fell a hundred feet below, making loud crashing sounds that echoed through the darkness. The ship headed for its new berth. Without lights, it floated silently and landed on grazing land three miles from King Arth's citadel. A few minutes later, a lone airship left the ship and headed for the king's palace.

CIRCUMSTANCES AND OPPORTUNITIES

The palace night sentries stood at their posts leisurely. Scattered groups of soldiers sat around bonfires waiting for the king's return at the courtyard. Sentries atop perimeter walls looked outward at the starry sky, waiting for a glimpse of an airship. Laughter heard now and then, here and there mixed with the chilly night air.

Hidden by night, emitting not a sound, the airship's nearby presence surprised a guard as he stared at a ghostly shape that blocked the star lights behind it. It was barely a thousand yards away when the guard shouted aloud, "The chariot is back." Hastily, sentries ran to their post as they straightened their uniforms then stood erect. The airship landed a minute later. They watched their king walked down the airship's ramp. The commander on duty was there to meet the king and together watched the airship close its door and fly up then away.

As King Arth walked toward the palace with the Commander, he instructed, "I want to see at least thirty cockroaches caged and unhurt by noon tomorrow. I want an enclosure made . . ." he continued and at its end, added, "Send a courier to tell the prince to be here before sunset. Do you think the prince can make it?" the king asked. He sent the prince to tour a neighboring garrison ten days earlier.

"If he rides hard, he might," the Commander answered.

"Send word to the prince to come and have fresh horses waiting for him along the way. Spread the word that the people have nothing to fear from the flying chariots or the metal mountain at the distance. They are our friends."

"It shall be done your Highness," then in a whisper said, "Shadeh is behind a pillar spying."

The king grinned. He was in too good of a mood to think of anything else. He whispered back, "I will take care of Shadeh," and in normal voice said, "Goodnight."

Shadeh's plan

Behind a palace pillar, Shadeh strained to hear the conversation between the king and night guard commander. He clearly heard the king's instructions on the cockroaches but not what was whispered.

Shadeh, as a small boy, played and tortured cockroaches by tying one of its legs and exposing the cockroach under the sun. He would watch the little creature scamper to avoid the sunlight, squirm from the sun's stinging ray, and later die. It dawned on him that it was an example to show Ra's power over mortals. At god's whim, the gods could do the same to humans. As High Priest of the Sun God, Ra, the king must reckon with him if Shadeh got the god's favor first. Shadeh knew the king was furious when he instructed the soldiers to drop their weapons the other day. For that, his life may be in grave danger. He must get the god's favor, or he will have to flee the kingdom. He schemed as he headed for his temple.

Tall and huge stone pillars surrounded the temple. Flames from torches around flailed in the breeze passing through its inner sanctum. Curtains danced with the wind. Shadeh, at the temple's altar, knelt before a stone statue of Ra, a large disk held aloft by the falcon's wings, and prayed, "Why did your children not seek or speak to me, your loyal servant, Ra the mightiest of gods? I, your humble servant who faithfully served you for years, prostrated myself . . ." Shadeh chanted for hours. At each interval said, "Talk to me god of all gods, Ra the mightiest of all," and intently listened. Each time he heard only the fluttering sounds of curtains flapped by the wind. Hours passed when his eyes caught sight of the falcon's shadow cast by the torchlight against the wall. It swayed side-to-side. In his mind's eye, the shadow was dancing as it held a disk aloft. Shadeh was hallucinating! Exulted, he shouted, "Thank you, Almighty Ra, Lord of all Gods!" and left the temple excited and running.

Shadeh concluded the falcon's dance was Ra's sign and interpreted it to mean: the only reason the gods spoke to King Arth was the king stood bravely before Ra's envoys much like the stone falcon stood as it held up the disk aloft. The king was bold and fearless before the gods while he hid and shivered in fear. He must ask atonement for his cowardly act and show Ra he is equally, if not bolder and braver, than the king. He must let the mightiest of gods know that it was he, Shadeh, the High Priest, who served Ra and looked after his people and temples. After which he would report the king's mockery of the highest of gods and his loyal servants. Shadeh had swallowed enough insults and indignities, and this was his chance to straighten things if his presentation to the gods was good and spent the evening planning.

The King's Proposition

The king woke early the following day and found his three generals helped themselves to breakfast at his dining table. "Good, you are all here," he said as he sat on his chair then filled his plate with food. "Our visitors need our help," he said and started to eat.

Suba responded with disbelief, "The gods seeking our help? They are gods! Why . . ."

The king interrupted, "They're not gods. They are just like you and me except they have tools they call machines or gadgets which will make you wonder."

"Who are these people, why are they here, and where did they come from?" Suba's questions brought nod from the other curious two generals.

The king narrated the Durian's predicament then concluded: "There are only thirty-six of them here, and many thousands more lie sleeping among the stars waiting to be saved. They must refuel their ship, or else they will all die. They have 26 summers to do it. That is why they need our help."

"Only thirty-six here?" Mismar asked to ascertain.

"Yes, thirty-six," King Arth affirmed.

Astonished, Suba asked, "How could thirty-six fly the big shiny mountain?"

"You've seen the bigger chariot then?" the king questioned.

Odi answered, "Everyone, by now, has. It is parked at the grassland. We even saw twenty-one smaller chariots leave before sunrise."

"There are more inside," the king added. "I have agreed to let them bring people beyond the mountain and seas to help build this Atomic Converter in our domain."

"How many," Suba asked curiously.

"Four-hundred-fifty thousand workers plus their families in a span of six full moons. More will come after," the king said in passing.

"Four-hundred-fifty thousand plus their families?!" Mismar exclaimed in disbelief.

The king continued, "Yes. But King Silrab and Adazil's people will not be part of this venture."

"How will we house and feed all those people?" Suba inquired with concern.

"The Durians will take care of that, and we will profit from it. Our problem is how to control the people they bring. Start giving suggestions," the king instructed.

Suba started, "They should not be allowed to have in their possession any form of weapon, and we must have the freedom to police to ensure that this is strictly followed."

"They must be restricted in movement," Odi added, and the four continued the deliberation.

They were on the same subject for most of the day except when the sun was directly overhead. King Arth and the generals went to the courtyard where he had the covered cage of cockroaches brought. It was on top of a wooden table in the middle of the courtyard. He took off the cage's cover, exposing the cockroaches to direct noonday sunlight. With utmost interest, they watched how the cockroaches tried to escape the sting of the sun's rays, how it struggled to escape the enclosure lined with slippery leaves around, and how it turnover with legs squirming in the air before dying in excruciating pain.

The King explained the reason behind the experiment; explained the radiation coming out of the ground that when directly exposed would make the Durians sick and later die, and why the Durians must be specially clothed if ever they left their ship. He also added, there were only four protective suits for them to wear.

Go Along

By mid-afternoon, the king had a well-planned proposal. Before the king concluded their meeting, Suba said, "These plans are only good if we can trust the Durians. What if they decide to use the four-hundred-fifty thousand against us?"

"They don't need those people to conquer us," the king stressed. "It still bewilders me that they do not use their machines to get what they want. Strangely, I feel I can trust them."

"Nevertheless, we should have a separate plan if things do not go as we expect," Mismar suggested.

"Yes," Odi followed up. "There are only thirty-six of them. Why don't we just take over and let them be our slaves and use their machines?"

Mismar commented, "It's not that easy. I think these people will rather die than be slaves. That is if the Durians are as what our king says they are."

Suba interjected, "Even if the king is wrong, their ship is worth nothing if it does not have the fuel it needs, and no one knows how to run it. It is like having a thirsty camel in the middle of the desert with nothing to drink, and no one knows how to ride it. It is useless. The ship must be fueled, and we capable of handling all their machines. Otherwise, it will not be of any value to us."

Odi joined, "We will play along until the time comes, then . . ."

The king listened intently to the deliberations. An hour later interrupted, "I want the three of you to plan for contingencies. For now, we have no choice but to go along. I must prepare for the airship's arrival. You continue," and the king left.

BENEVOLENT CREATURES

The Spoiled Prince Otil

It was late afternoon. The prince rode hard his black Arabian horse as he entered the palace gate. The horse was wet with sweat and muddied by the dust that accumulated on its skin's folds. The prince was no different in his dusty cape and tunic. His face, arms, and legs were covered with damp dust. He was not manly looking like the king, nor was he fair looking at all. His face was narrow with a beak-like nose and protruding front teeth. But he had the eyebrows and deep-set brown eyes that resembled his mother. Unlike his father's short curly hair, his was long, wavy, and tied as a ponytail. He stopped hard at the palace courtyard, dismounted, and walked directly to his father's chamber.

The king was dressed up in his white gold-seamed tunic. He wore a polished wide-brown leather belt with a large gold buckle. His sandal strapped to his legs were colored gold. He was in a good mood, and his grin was wide and welcoming when the prince entered his room. In a pleasant manner, the king said, "Good, you made it, my son. Go freshen up, and I will wait for you at the courtyard."

"I just rode in. I need to rest," the prince shrugged then threw his dusty cape to the nearest chambermaid whose head instinctively leaned sideways to avoid the spray of dust and sand coming out of it.

"You don't have time. This is an important event, and I don't want it marred by your tardiness or worse, your absence. Did you see the metal mountain?" the king asked, pleasantly.

"I did," the prince answered passingly, seated, and stretched out on a chair. "They are mortals. They can wait," he added without concern.

With grin wiped off the king's face, he asked, "Who told you?"

With arrogance, the prince snapped, "I have sources."

Irritated by the prince's uncourteous response, the king looked at his son. With temper held, said formally, "I will wait for you at the courtyard before the sun touches the horizon. This is an important event, and I want you there."

The prince stood and replied intolerantly, "You taught me never to show eagerness. To let anyone, wait until we are ready, even if we are. Let them wait, whoever they are. I will be ready after the sun had set," the prince protested and started to leave the room, irritated.

"Otil," the king said in a subdued angry voice. "They will not wait. It is I who will wait."

Prince Otil stopped, turned, and looked at his father shabbily then said, "I am tired. Set a time for me tomorrow," then walked toward the door.

The king thundered, "Otil." His hands clenched tightly into a fist. "I am no longer telling, I am commanding. Don't keep me waiting."

Prince Otil continued to walk.

The king realized he had spoiled the prince. The prince grew up with the king tolerating the prince's insolence. Now, he saw how bad it had gotten. "Otil," he thundered. His face flushed red.

"Yes, Your Highness," the prince replied scruffily without looking back. "I will be there," and closed the door behind him.

Prince Otil

Prince Otil was the king's only child with his only wife, who died a few months after the child's birth. An assassin's arrow missed Arth, a tribal leader then, and hit his wife instead. As she lay dying on his arms, she made him swear to make their son a king. He vowed before she died and mourned her loss by going on a killing rampage.

King Arth did not know who wanted him dead. There was a power struggle among the tribes and kingdoms. Anyone could have ordered it. But that did not distract him from his revenge. He killed anyone he remotely suspected. When he found out who wanted him dead, it was too late. King Silrab's father was the one who ordered him killed. However, the father died of some ailment, and King Arth cursed the gods for depriving him of the kill and swore never to believe in any god.

The prince, as a child, was always with the king during his marches to build a kingdom. The king considered the little one his lucky charm. At a tender age of eight, he had given the prince power to judge and ordered people executed. He had him watch them die, too. He taught him everything he knew: to be ruthless, unforgiving, and never to bow to anyone but him. He told him never to show fear and always fight with anger in the heart. He personally trained him to use the sword, spear, bow and arrow, and often demanded too much of the little boy. It had its rewards. Prince Otil, at age eighteen, was an exceptionally skilled warrior. It had a price too---Prince Otil was spoiled, heartless, ambitious, and growing independent of him---qualities the king would not hesitate to have someone killed, but Otil was his son, and he was proud.

Incident at the Courtyard

King Arth and Prince Otil, presentably dressed, stood at the courtyard with honor guards formally attired and at their post along the courtyard's edge. Both had their eyes fixed at the descending airship to notice Shadeh emerge from the temple and ran towards them. As Shadeh ran, he held up his elegant and colorful robe ankle-high to avoid its hem from touching the ground. He timed his gait to be beside the king when the airship's door opened.

Shadeh's sudden appearance in front of the king and prince, surprised both and caught them off-guard. Before the king could utter a word, the airship's ramp extended, and its door opened. Nengut stood alone at the doorway.

Shadeh moved forward fronting the king and bowed waist-deep. He proudly announced, "I am Shadeh, High Priest of your Father's temple. I brought you presents, Child of Ra, the Sun God, the mightiest of gods." He then turned toward the temple and, with his right hand, waved at a priest at its main door.

Nengut saw a priest at the temple entrance acknowledged Shadeh's signal. The priest opened the large wooden-temple door, then waved the people inside to come out.

Priests rushed out of the temple with a bloodied body of a man in dirt soiled tunic whose outstretched arms were bound to a pole and held up by two at both ends. His long-haired head dangled as blood dripped from his mouth while his bound legs flailed as it bounced on the cobblestones of the courtyard. The tortured man's family: his wife, son, and daughter were running behind. The children aged six and eight, respectively, were linked to their mother by a rope tied to their necks. Three priests prodded them to run as they poked hard their backs with a baton.

Ten feet from the ramp's edge, the entourage prostrated themselves and left the tortured man lying on the ground face down, his family standing beside. His wife's arms were bruised; her lips and cheeks were swollen; her clothes stained with splattered blood, and with both arms, clasped two wide-eyed frightened children in shock by her side.

The barbaric display petrified Nengut. She froze, speechless with both hands over her mouth, her eyes stared in shock, disbelief, and disgust.

On seeing Nengut distraught, the king pulled a sword from a nearby soldier's sheath and raised it to swing at Shadeh's nape. Shadeh, looking proudly at his gifts, was unaware of the king's intent.

Nengut, noticing the king's intention, screamed in panic to the king, "No!"

Shadeh heard Nengut shout and instinctively turned. He saw the king's sword frozen in midair. Terrified, Shadeh raised his arms to protect his head. Visibly frightened, reasoned in haste, "He is the man that defiled the gods yesterday. He is the man who launched the arrow at the gods' chariot!"

Nengut ran toward the tortured man lying on the ground. "How can you do this atrocity to this man and his family?" she said as she knelt and took the man's pulse from his neck. "He is alive. Please help him," she pleaded to anyone around as she tried to untie the tightly knotted rope that dug deep into the man's swollen, dirty, and bloodied arm.

King Arth hurriedly moved toward Nengut and pulled her up by her arm as he commanded, "Guards, untie the man and gather all the temple priests and their families."

Nengut, hysterical, struggled to free herself from the king's hold. Unable to escape, she turned and pleaded in tears, "Help him, please. We must bring him to the ship."

"It will be done," King Arth hastily replied, "but you are putting yourself in danger. The thing under the ground will harm you," he reminded.

Nengut had forgotten the danger. On seeing two guards attend to the unconscious man, she ran back to the airship and stood by its doorway simultaneously giving verbal orders, "Goopersh, tell Ningning and Doctor Kitsa to meet us at the landing bay. Tell them I am bringing a gravely injured man and three others."

Goopersh responded, "I will comply."

Nengut watched the soldiers cut the ropes that tied the man to the wooden pole and the links to the necks of the wife to her children.

King Arth roared, "Cut all the priests' heads."

"Please, no," Nengut beseeched, "or you will be as heartless as the priests."

With his left arm, the king motioned his guards to stop. Beheading the priests in front of her was now unthinkable. He realized an opportunity to observe Durian's reactions to the situation. 'This will definitely give me an innovative idea as to who these Durians are,' he thought. "The displeasure was done to you as well. What do you want us do?"

"Let Amo Obib decide. Please have your men bring the man and his family in the airship. We may be able to save the man's life if we hurry. Please," she implored.

The king ordered a soldier to rush the unconscious man inside the airship and instructed the man's family to follow.

A soldier carried the unconscious man to the ship as the man's family tailed. The soldier laid the tortured man on the floor then stood near the king, waiting for further orders.

King Arth instructed the waiting soldier, "Gather the priests and their families at the courtyard. Make sure no harm comes to them."

"Yes, Your Highness," the soldier snapped, bowing waist deep and hurriedly left.

Inside the ship, the wife, on bent knees, stayed close to her husband laid on the floor. Her children huddled by her side. The king and the prince stood by one side of the cabin.

Nengut knelt and felt the man's pulse on his neck again then said, "This man may not have much time." With a hypodermic gun, she sedated him. "That will calm and slow down his internal bleeding," she explained, then went to the craft's console, and punched keys. She radioed the incident to Amo Obib hurriedly then attended to the tortured man as the airship flew on automatic mode back to the pyramid ship.

Prince Otil watched the entire event nonchalantly. Curious, he observed what Nengut did a few feet away. The man's wife was on her knees by her husband's side. Tears flowed from her cheeks as she gently wiped the blood and dirt off her husband's face with the edge of her soiled robe. Her children crouched by her side, trembling uncontrollably in fear.

The airship flew back to the pyramid ship, pierced through ship's west-wall, and landed on its tripod. When its door opened, Ningning, a surgeon before she joined the church, Doctor Kitsa, and a nurse rushed in. The doctor attended to the man while Ningning and the nurse to the wife and two children.

The doctor scanned the man with a small handheld device. He said, "His arms and legs bones are broken . . . and some of his ribs. He is bleeding internally." He took another small device from his gown's pocket and aimed it at the unconscious man. A light blue haze bathed the man's body and levitated the man two feet off the floor. Like a wheel-less carriage, he guided the floating body out of the airship and rushed for the surgical room.

When Ningning beckoned the mother and her children to follow her, the mother clasped her frightened children tightly by her side. In fright, they did not budge. It was only on the king's loud command that they obeyed. Soon after, Nengut, with the king and prince, flew back to the palace courtyard to get Shadeh and his priest.

Directly over the palace courtyard, the airship hovered thirty feet above a tightly herded group of over fifty people surrounded by soldiers. Nengut was disturbed to see women and children among the priests on the screen. One held a baby in her arms. She asked the king, "Why did you herd Shadeh and the priests together with their families?"

The question staggered the king. It was a normal thing to do! He explained, "An offense made by any member of a family toward their king must be paid for by him and his immediate family."

Nengut did not understand the logic. She stayed silent and, with her pointing finger, encircled the group on the console's monitor then touched a couple of screen icons.

On the ground, soldiers watched in disbelief as a beam of light from the airship's belly engulfed and levitated the temple priests and their families. Then the airship headed back to the pyramid ship.

The Hearing and Judgment

At the pyramid ship's landing bay, the airship de-levitated Shadeh and his terrified group on the floor, corralled by a light-blue transparent barrier. The airship then floated sideways and landed nearby.

Amo Obib approached the group near the barrier as he smiled to ease their fright. Nengut did not tell him much except where the airship would land; her suit stained by someone else's blood; and that the amo must pass judgment on the temple priests and their family. On seeing families huddled together with their children, _'How could all these people collectively commit a crime?'_ he wondered and worried.

When the airship's door opened, Nengut rushed to Amo Obib's outstretched arms and cried on his shoulder. The blood on her hands smeared on his white outfit. The amo gently stroked Nengut's back as he repeatedly said, 'Po-ogi si bobi, Po-ogi si bobi,' as she wept.

Composing herself, Nengut narrated what had happened to Amo Obib.

The scene touched King Arth. Nengut's compassion for a stranger and the unrehearsed reaction of Amo Obib impressed him. ' _Truly, the Durians are peaceful and caring people,'_ he concluded with no reservations this time.

The prince, unperturbed, merely looked about. The lighted area around was but a bare floor. The machine shop, kitchen, and dining room, at the far end, were hardly visible. Tired from his long journey and with nothing to sit on, he stood with his arms folded over his chest. Irritated, he arrogantly thought, 'Chairs should have been provided first even only for my father and myself.'

King Arth observed Nengut and Amo Obib, as Nengut narrated the incident to Amo Obib. At one instant, he glanced at his son. For the first time, the king realized how cold and indifferent the prince was to what had unfolded in his presence. He realized it was not the prince's fault but his. He had brainwashed the prince since childhood to be uncaring and never show sympathy. To act as a future king ought to, always, even before gods. But that was long ago when his heart was filled with bitterness and hatred; long ago when his beloved wife's death was fresh in his mind; long ago when the only things he understood were acts of vengeance and ruthlessness---order and control brought by the sword's swift justice and nothing else.

After affirming his option to pass judgment, Amo Obib faced the herded people seated on the floor within the transparent barrier. He called Shadeh to stand in front of his followers. "What have you to say, Shadeh?" he asked calmly and loud enough for all to hear.

Shadeh hailed aloud, "Children of the Sun God, Ra, the almi . . ."

"Shadeh," Amo Obib abruptly interrupted. "I am not nor any of my people gods. Why did you torture the man and his family?"

Confused by the amo's statement, Shadeh replied, "I thought that you were the children of Ra, the Almighty. With that in my mind, the man defiled the gods' chariot by launching his arrow at it. The torture was a sacrifice, and his family an offering to you thinking you were gods. My intention was good; my act, noble."

"Shadeh, regardless of who your gods are, hurting your brothers and sisters' is neither good nor noble. You must remember that."

Bewildered Shadeh asked, "How then must I please my gods if no offerings are given?"

**"Do good to your brothers and sisters. Regardless of the injustices they do to you, love them, forgive them, then offer your pains, and sacrifices to God. That sacrifice, God will take with open arms. And when you die, He will take you to His kingdom in heaven.** Do you understand what I just said, Shadeh?"

"Yes, I understand," Shadeh answered meekly.

"Then tell me in your own words what I have just said. My judgment will depend on your answer."

Shadeh began to perspire. He had to use all his wits as his life depended on his answer. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand and, in anxiety, said, **"Love everyone even if they hurt you. The gods will take it as a sacrifice and will be pleased."**

Amo smiled as he nodded much to Shadeh's relief. Then said, "Say something against the sacrificial act you did to the man and his family."

Shadeh started thinking again. **"Sacrifices are done from within oneself. The torture was a cowardly act that will serve only to displease the gods,"** he answered.

Amo Obib asked Shadeh's entourage aloud, "Does everyone understand and concur?"

The answer, 'Yes,' resounded from the herded group.

**"Never forget to love one another, help each other, and show compassion to those in need and hardship. That is the best sacrifice and offering you can give to your gods.** Since King Arth had given me the privilege to pass judgment on you, I then set all of you free. **Love one another. Help one another. Do no harm to anyone anymore.** Goopersh, deactivate the barrier."

Instantly, the light-blue barrier disappeared.

Shadeh and his people looked at each other in utter disbelief. What had happened meant a gruesome death to them and their family. One of Shadeh's priests rushed forward and kissed Amo Obib's feet. Amo Obib got the priest to stand with both hands as he said, "Do not do that, my brother. It is enough that you understand and feel sorry. Just remember to love everyone and do good for them always."

"I swear," the young priest said as he stood. "I will help people whenever I can to amend for the injustice I did on my part." He took Amo Obib's hands and quickly kissed them, then hastily rejoined his family.

King Arth, disturbed, could not believe Amo Obib's judgment. He was not satisfied. The amo should have ordered Shadeh's execution, even swiftly. That, he would accept. However, the decision was far from what he thought would be. He had an image to protect. "The displeasure to you had been resolved. The displeasure to me is still to be judged," he said.

Amo Obib looked up at the king and said, "King Arth, in fairness, you gave your word. Are you to break it?"

"I never break my word," King Arth retorted, looking down at Amo Obib. "They offended me as well. As their king, I must pass judgment too."

Amo Obib gave the king's statement a quick thought then said, "I understand your position. You were separately offended. As their king, I will not deprive you of the privilege that is rightfully yours. However, before you do, remember, I have passed judgment on them to live and be free. If you have them punished or worse still, killed, what was the use of my judgment then?" Amo Obib asked, staring straight at the king's eyes.

The king looked at Amo Obib. An expressionless face stared back at him. Amo Obib was far wiser than the king thought. There was an uneasy silence as the king rubbed his hands together, then fiddled his beard with his fingers. He was thinking and very seriously. The image he projected as king was on the line and his relationship with his son may be jeopardized.

The king's decisions were always swift. The silence was unusual and bothered Prince Otil. At that moment, the prince worried the king might give in. The temple priests had displeased him as well, and there was only one judgment: torture then beheading. Standing beside his father, he tagged his tunic in front of everyone and said aloud, "Cut their heads, my father. You cannot lose face in front of these worthless people. You are the king!"

The prince's interruption broke King Arth's thoughts and instantly enraged him. His son's audacity to advise him at his age and at that moment infuriated him. He vented his frustration by instinctively whacking hard the prince's hand that held his tunic in full view of everyone.

Angered and disgraced, the prince looked vilely at his father, then the priests and their family. He walked away and stood on a spot where his father could see and sense his inner fury. His stance was of defiance---legs apart, arms crossed over his chest, his face, tensed, and his eyes stared revoltingly with anger at his father.

King Arth paid no attention to the prince's stance and continued to think. He had always outguessed everyone, and now he was on the spot. If he beheaded only Shadeh, his word to the Durians would have little or no meaning. Moreover, if no harsh punishment were imposed, it meant weakness and would lose face with his people, especially his son.

In the uneasy silence and tense moment, Prince Otil shouted in anger, "You are the king of West Nile. There is only one thing a king can do. Cut their heads. Otherwise, you are no king." His voice resounded from the walls of the huge cavern of the ship.

King Arth looked at the prince and saw his defiance stance. He had taught him well. Maybe too well, but the prince must know who king is. He turned toward Shadeh and his followers and said, "I have made my decision. From this day forth, you are to leave my kingdom and never return. On the day I see your face again, you will surely die." His voice quivered on every word. His fist clenched tightly. He was ready to judge Shadeh's death and let the rest go free. The king would have gambled the consequences if only the prince had not intervened.

On hearing the king's judgment, the prince ran outside.

The king stood still as he watched his son run away. Within, he wanted to run after his beloved son and explain. He could not---he is the king.

Amo Obib, though pleased with the king's verdict, felt the hurt and agony in the king's heart on seeing his son run away. The Amo said to the flabbergasted group, "Your king has spoken. On the day he sees you again, I will look the other way. When that time comes, I pray your king will find good reasons to spare your life." Amo Obib realized the situation was fragile and must get the priest and their family out of the kingdom. He turned to Nengut and said, "Nengut, please take them back to get their personal belongings and bring them to wherever they want to go." He then turned to the king, "Will that be alright with you?" he asked, looking at the face of a broken man.

In a hollow, lifeless voice, the king replied, "That will be alright." In the king's mind was his son.

Nengut knew what Amo Obib meant and wanted. She ran to the airship and took off with Shadeh and his people.

Outside, on the grassland and walking toward the citadel at a distance, the prince was furious, heart filled with hate and anger. He felt stripped of his honor, insulted in front of their subjects, shamed, and dishonored by his father. On hearing a soft humming sound, he turned to look. It was the airship. It passed overhead with the priests, and their family levitated under its belly. _'I have time to right the wrong my father had done. I will kill all of them myself,'_ he said to himself. He ran as fast as he could, but it was three miles. When he got there, the airship had just left. Exhausted, the prince mustered whatever strength he had to vent his anger. He wrecked the temple. He destroyed everything he saw with whatever he could hold or throw. In the end, he set the temple on fire and stayed outside to watch it burn as he vowed, " _They will all pay for their insolence and the dishonor they have done me._ "

The prince and those loyal to him left the citadel that evening for the southmost city of the king's domain, Tugbok.

Argument Over Justice

The king, with no appetite for dinner, requested they discuss the arrangements first. Amo Obib did not object, and they walked towards the conference room at the farther end of the hallway.

Disturbed, the king said, "You should have at least beheaded Shadeh."

"What good will that do?" Amo Obib calmly asked.

Irritated by the reply, the king adamantly answered, "Justice to the family he tortured. Isn't that obvious?"

Amo Obib remained silent. He remembered Nengut's Lion-Monkey analogy. She was right--- both saw the same thing, yet each interpreted and reacted differently. "I have never thought of it the way you see things," Amo Obib confessed. "Durians look at justice differently. You base your justice on equality. If someone cuts a man's arm regardless of reason, justice was served by cutting the offender's arm. A balance was maintained. Both men will have an arm missing."

"Is there any other?" the king sarcastically asked in annoyance.

"The justice of reason," Amo Obib calmly responded.

The king blared, "Are you telling me justice can be served in two opposing ways for the same offense?"

"Only one," Amo Obib replied calmly again.

King Arth pondered on Amo Obib's answer but did not understand. He was troubled. He needed an answer, an explanation, and pursued, "Death for death."

"Forgiveness for death," Amo Obib answered.

"Hate for hate."

"Love for hate."

"If someone beats me with a stick, I will take the stick from him and beat him to death," the king said as he appreciated the mental exercise and asked, "What will you do?"

Amo Obib thought for a moment then answered, "I will reason out."

"And, if he does not listen?"

"He still has the stick to beat me," the amo said seriously.

The king looked at Amo Obib. He sensed the amo was not joking. He grappled to understand the wisdom to what seemed foolish and illogical way to think and react. In a dilemma, continued, "There is no equality in love for hate."

"You are right."

"How can there be justice then? Your justice makes no sense. It's imbalanced and weak," the king scoffed then smirked at the amo.

"It is an imbalance if you equate justice as a balance between love and hate. Love outweighs hate a thousand-fold. **True justice must serve the good interest of the people and not a few. It does not look at the crime and make a judgment, but the goodness the judgment brings about to all.** Killing begets hate and hate begets hate. Isn't that true?"

"I agree," the king answered and started thinking of a real example then said, "King Silrab's grandfather killed my father, and his father caused my wife's death. He and his family must pay for their death. Otherwise, there will be no justice."

"How was justice served if, in the end, everyone killed everyone?"

King Arth, annoyed for failing to understand amo's point, asked forcefully and angrily, "Are you saying to leave my loved one's death unpaid?"

"It may save your life, your son's life, and his children and his children's children. Otherwise, when will it stop? **Justice is best served when the injustice is stopped**."

The king mentally struggled to see things from an unfamiliar perspective. He was uneasy with what he grasped and uncomfortable with the little he understood. "Justice was never served on my wife's death," he pursued.

"Justice is abstract. It cannot relate to tangible things though tangible things, at times, solves the problem. I will answer your question by asking you this: Would you rather your death be remembered as one that spawned peace and happiness or one that spawned death and despair to many innocent people?"

The king hesitated then admitted, "To have spawned peace and happiness."

"Then justice was best served by forgiving the people who killed your father and your wife and make peace with them. Their death, your father and wife, would serve a better and higher purpose. And like you, your father and your wife would have wanted it that way if they knew what was at stake."

King Arth was disturbed, "What if one of the people I just exiled came back? How should I serve justice?"

"Disobedience to a judgment when done willfully will be served by the penalty determined at the time of judgment. In this case, your judgment was death."

"You'll kill him then if you were in my shoes?" The king asked, hoping to corner Amo Obib and have the upper hand on a serious argument. Winning the discussion meant so much to the king, to his pride.

"I would not impose such a penalty in the first place. However, if you empower me to judge on your behalf, I will listen to his reasons and reserve my decision based on that. But death will never be an option."

"Then you go against my judgment. I ordered death," the king said, hoping to resolve the argument in his favor.

"No. I will right it to do you justice," Amo Obib said bluntly.

The king was dumbfounded. In limbo said, "But justice must elicit fear to maintain peace. Fear is what maintains order. And justice must perpetuate fear. Fear begets obedience to the law!" the king strongly contended.

**"Justice, through fear, offers no solution, and the peace it brings about is an illusion. And fear begets, not obedience but disorder and rebellion."**

"My kingdom is safe because they fear my justice," the king scuffed. This time he was certain Amo Obib was wrong and elated to think that he had won the argument and boldly added, "Take the fear out, and my enemies will be at my palace gate to topple me."

**"Replace fear with love and compassion, and they will come to raise and proclaim you their king."**

The king was flabbergasted. His elation quickly replaced by another disturbing question, "Are you telling me to replace fear with love?"

"Yes. That is the only thing that will offer you real peace that will last for generations."

King Arth pondered for a moment. "Disturbingly, I understand your sense of justice and see its wisdom, but it will not work in this world. **Fear is the key to peace** ," he said, somehow saddened by his conclusion.

**"Fear will only serve to destroy your world. Love is the key,"** Amo Obib stressed and noticed the king walked slower as they neared the conference room and adjusted to the king's pace. He knew the king was thinking but enough was said to draw a good conclusion. **"Love one another, that is where true peace lies,"** the amo ended the discussion.

King Arth looked at Amo Obib but said nothing. The words 'Love one another' resounded in his mind. Much as he wanted the love and respect from the people he ruled, he only found an invisible and seemingly impregnable wall that separated him from his people. He had become alone and lonely purely from the wall of fear he had imprisoned himself. This was not what he dreamed of when he envisioned his kingdom as a young man. It was more of what he felt during his dinner with the Durians . . . a lively community of free people. 'Are love, compassion, righteous judgment, and equality for all what my realm lacks? Is that what I was unknowingly searching for after I acquired my kingdom?' the thought flashed through his mind. "We have covered a lot in our short talk," the king said, sounding rueful. "It is strange for I see your point but not as clearly as I want. You are brave to tell me I was wrong in my judgments and contradicted me in my beliefs. You may have gambled your life by being too frank and downright blunt."

"You would be a fool if you had me killed when the contradiction happens to be true and for your own good," Amo Obib replied, innocent and puzzled at what the king really meant.

King Arth did not answer. He had men killed for much lesser reasons, and surely for referring to him as 'fool.' He ended the discussion saying, "I placed cockroaches under the noon sun. They did die."

The Arrangement

King Arth changed his mind and had dinner with the Durians before the meeting. This time, he insisted that he be treated not as a king or a guest but like a Durian. He got his food from the kitchen counter, placed them on a wooden tray, and brought it to his table like everyone.

The king enjoyed the food, especially cooked for him, and savored every bit of it. He liked the lively and informal interactions that ensued as they laughed and joked at each other over their first-time experience with the king and the king with them. Of the incidents played seriously the days before but funny to recall and reenact. The king played his part and brought boisterous laughter as well. He felt glad he opted to be like them. He never felt this happy and gratified for what he decided on and what resulted after. At one moment, between laughing lulls, he observed how happy the Durians were and recollected the last time he felt this good. He remembered one memorable event in his life a long, long time ago as a young man. He recalled the great fun he had with his best friends, Mismar, Suba, and Odi. They were teenagers on a supposedly one-day adventure that lasted five days in the wild. They were care-free young boys with no hierarchical distinction. The great fun that came out of it: swimming in the river, hunting small game for food, and telling stories and jokes that continued all day and even lulled them to sleep late at night. Though he was the acknowledged head of their group, he never exercised the prerogative. **He acted as an arbiter; he went with the decision of the group; he acted for their good. He was a leader!**

At one point, he asked himself, _'What is the difference? Why are Durians so happy?'_ And came to this conclusion: **They are all free, equal, united for a common good, and passionately believed in one loving God.** After dinner, he extended a dinner invitation to everyone at his palace. However, the Durians had to decline. They only had four radiation protective suits, and Amo Obib and Ningning's vow confined them to the ship.

After cleaning the dining room and kitchen, everyone headed for the conference room. The king, Amo Obib, Commander Nerus, Nengut, and Ningning sat around a round table with a three-inch-high pyramid crystal at the middle. The rest of the Durians were seated on one side.

Amo Obib noticed the king stared at the crystal, said, "That is a recorder, among other things. It will store everything we do and speak. In so doing, history, both yours and mine, will have this momentous event recorded. Shall we start?"

"Please do," the king replied.

"Goopersh, record the event."

Goopersh responded, "Recording."

* * *

The negotiation went smoothly. Amo Obib agreed on most of the king's proposals. The ones rejected were so minor that the king accepted without an argument. They agreed that the people the Durians brought in from outside the kingdom, referred to as Migrants, were the king's guests and be under his rule. All major project activities required the king's approval. Any organized meetings by the Durians, or the Migrants, or both must have at least one Egyptian representative present. The king's representatives, together with the Durians, would be responsible for the administration of the entire project. If an Egyptian could not occupy the top management position, by virtue of qualification, an Egyptian must occupy the assistant's job. Made explicitly clear: anything produced by the Durians through the project would exclusively be the property of the Durians and must remain with the project regardless of circumstance.

The Durians and the Migrants could not own but could rent lands. The Migrants cannot trade outside of the Migrant community. They would have self-rule and be given protection and freedom as any Egyptian. Migrants could not have in their possessions any form of weapon; they could not enlist in the army; forced to participate in any form of war the king chose or forced to engage.

The Migrants were free to engage in commerce, provided the raw material to produce the goods came from Egyptians.

Representatives from all groups would enact Civil and Criminal Laws. A jury system would render verdicts, but the Durians would decide the penalty for a Migrant if found guilty. The king reserved the right to override judgment on any Egyptian found guilty. Amo Obib was unsuccessful in banning the death penalty.

They agreed that the Durians would not interfere in the kingdom's affairs and vice versa. Made unequivocally clear: The Durians will not participate, aid, nor permit the use of anything brought about by the project to any form of warfare.

The king agreed on a standard of measurement, monetary system, rentals, and form of taxes. Paper money, made by the Durians, would be used as payment within the kingdom but, when demanded, paid in gold or precious stone.

With these basic tenets and to everyone's joy, Amo Obib and the king shook hands and then hugged.
NO OTHER CHOICE

Early the following day, as he expected, the generals were having breakfast at his dining table. "Stop eating." the king said, "the Durians are expecting us for breakfast."

"How did the negotiation go?" Suba asked, setting aside his half-eaten food as Mismar and Odi did.

"Better than expected," the king answered, delighted by his accomplishment. "Silrab and Adazil will be out of it. The Durians will be dealing exclusively with us, and we, having full control."

Mismar asked, "Do you know the prince burned the temple?" Mismar watched the prince burn the temple and did nothing to stop the prince. He knew the king did not react well to people who interfered with him and his son's relationship. He tried it once and will never do it again.

"Someone reported last night," the king uncomfortably answered. The prince, with his special guards, had left when he got back. He was surprised at how many followers his son had. What worried him, though, it was nearly twice larger than he thought. If the prince learned well from him, he would leave spies, but for what ultimate purpose, he dared not speculate. Sons kill their parents for the right to rule---the prince was no longer a man to ignore but watched!

Mismar said, "The prince told me to tell you he was going to Tugbok and stay there. Did the incident have to do with the Durians?"

"Not with the Durians but with me. I spared Shadeh's life and the rest of his followers." The king fervently believed forgiveness and leniency were signs of weakness. Thus, his verdicts were often harsh and disproportionate to the offense.

Being on the subject, Mismar took advantage of the opportunity to advise the king, "I see no problem sparing Shadeh's life. If you ask my opinion, I'd say we start acting as rulers and not conquerors."

Mismar's comment bewildered the king. Changing ways to deal with conquered people never crossed his mind. He became curious and pursued, "What do you think, Odi?"

"I agree with Mismar. It's high time we treat them as subjects of the kingdom."

Turning to Suba, the king asked, "And you?"

"I think we have killed everyone who stood against us. Showing leniency is not bad at all."

The king gave it a quick thought. "In a different way, that was what Amo Obib said. You see no problem in setting Shadeh free?" the king, puzzled, asked.

Mismar answered, "As king, you can do what you want and think best for your people."

"Think best . . ." the king echoed then paused. Giving it a serious thought, he continued, "We will talk more on the subject some other time. Meanwhile, I want you to start thinking on how we will make our kingdom the best kingdom in the land. Let's go and see the Durians. They will be undertaking a population census today and will provide free breakfast and lunch."

On horseback, the king with his generals and escorts headed for the pyramid ship. Along the way, he noticed the streets outside his fortress walls deserted. Only dogs, chickens, and cats wandered about their way on the streets. Through some windows, he saw tables with food hardly touched or half-eaten. The military commanders followed his order to have the city's inhabitance gathered at the west side of the ship before sunrise for the Durian census. That was what the soldiers did - forced people out of their homes. This made the king reflect on what his generals and Amo Obib have said.

The path toward the pyramid ship was through grassland with sparse trees. The king and his generals followed a path of grass trampled on by thousands of footsteps, animal hooves, and carriage wheels. The tracks trailed the contour of a relatively flat open field that led to the pyramid ship parked at a distance. When they got there, a large crowd had gathered at the west side, shaded by the ship's shadow from the early morning sun.

The pyramid ship smooth metallic-silver surface mirrored the sun but not its glare. Everyone looked at the huge ship with awe and wonder. Most thought it as God's house. Though nothing stopped them from touching the ship, the people stayed behind an imaginary line, some 30 feet away. The crowd gathered tighter as they watched then followed their king and the three generals when they rode by.

On foot, King Arth wondered how they could get inside. The Durian's instruction was very explicit---walk through the west side of the ship. 'Where is the entrance?' he thought. When he got within ten feet of the wall, the wall opened to a normal-size doorway. To his amazement, it widened when his generals stood by his side. He stepped back, and the door in front of him became a wall again. He asked his generals to move back one at a time and noticed the openings turned back to a wall. They spread ten feet apart and walk in together. Sure enough, four openings appeared, and another surprise greeted them as they looked back. They could see the crowd as though the wall was not there! Mismar tried to touch the wall, but each time he came close, the wall retreated. All four had fun going in and out, trying to figure out how it worked until Amo Obib, Ningning, and Nengut came to welcome them.

After the greetings and introductions, Nengut explained, "That's a one-way vision wall. You can never touch it unless it's configured to be rigid."

"Only your technology and not magic?" the king candidly asked.

"You are so right," Nengut replied with her usual feminine smile.

The king asked inquisitively, "I noticed no one is on guard. Are you aware that anyone can enter your ship without your knowledge?"

Puzzled by the question, Nengut innocently replied, "Yes. They are free to come in and out as they wish."

The king was taken aback by the simplicity of her answer. "That is not wise. It needs to be secured."

"Secured? From whom?" Ningning reacted naively.

Struck by her innocence, the king replied, "From someone with bad intentions."

"Bad intentions?" Ningning retorted, puzzled.

Nengut joined, "I think I understand King Arth's point. He is concerned with our belongings. The word they use is thievery."

"Oh, thievery," Ningning reacted. "Please forgive my innocence. Where we come from, there are no thieves, no army, no guards, and no policemen."

"What may be safe for you in your world may not be safe here," the king admonished then turned to Amo Obib, "Thievery is not the problem. I was referring to your safety."

"You mean someone might do us harm," the amo was surprised by what the king was inferring.

Nengut interjected, "We are a peaceful people. We will not harm or provoke anyone."

King Arth, as well as the generals, noted the Durian's naïveté as they looked at each other, perplexed. The king said, "If you have something of value, that is enough to provoke. We must place guards to secure you and your belongings. You have so many things of value."

"Placing guards will mean we distrust anyone. There is no reason to do that," Ningning said without hesitation.

Odi joined the discussion and inquisitively asked the amo, "Do you agree with what Ningning said, Amo Obib?"

"I do," Amo Obib answered with conviction.

Baffled, Mismar asked, "Are you saying you will trust everyone and sacrifice your safety? That is not wise. You are putting your people's lives in danger, and you may even pay with your life."

"Then we will die," Ningning answered.

The king was surprised at her quick response. He looked at Amo Obib for his reaction.

"My wife is right," Amo Obib said, looking at the king then the generals. "We have to show trust and leave our safety in God's hands."

The king argued, "You must realize that you are no longer in your world. I will have guards placed for your security."

Amo Obib responded, "We are extremely grateful for your concer but I will not allow anyone to guard the ship nor any of us. I have to be firm on that."

"You have many powerful secrets. Men with greed will try to get them. They will come in the night and take you away. They will force you to cooperate. They will make you their slave or even kill you. Do you want that to happen?" the king asked the three, the amo, Ningning, and Nengut.

As the three Durians quietly thought over the question, the king and the generals could not help noticing their childlike innocence. They were pondering over something the simplest of humans have an instinctive answer. They somehow pitied them. They all looked helpless, so vulnerable.

Amo Obib soon realized what the king was insinuating. Nengut had addressed the Durians on the subject generally. A more specific situation made him consider the king's warning and said, "We will not protect ourselves when threatened, but slaves we will never be. We are willing to accept torture and even death for a noble cause."

Ningning moved closer to Amo Obib and looked at the king showing her support and concurrence to Durian ideals and values.

The king said, "You Durians are too idealistic. You will not survive in this world."

"Then we may well perish," Amo Obib responded sadly and in resignation. "Our ideals and values leave us Durians with little option on the matter."

King Arth realized Durian's conviction to their values. There was no sense in arguing. "You must never show any inherent signs of weakness," he advised with sincerity. "For your own good, project some sort of power even if you will not use it. **Pretenses are often good deterrents.** "

Amo Obib replied, "Pretense is something we Durians know nothing about and, thus, cannot take your advice. We will be open to anyone and not hide our weakness. We will sacrifice our safety to prove our good intentions. Humans have nothing to fear from us. You can take us now at our most vulnerable time."

"How do we know you will not use your machines on us?" Suba asked.

"We have nothing that will harm anyone. You can trust us. Should you wish to take us now, no one will lift a finger to oppose you," the amo answered, wary of what may happen.

Ningning and Nengut stood closer to Amo Obib as a group that supported each other. Fear and uncertainty gripped the three.

Perplexed, the king and the generals looked at each other.

"But why?" the king asked Amo Obib, with genuine concern and stressing the words.

" **True peace thrives in trust.** We come in peace and will trust anyone to prove our intentions." Amo Obib answered.

"Trust no one," the king snapped.

"Not even you?" Ningning asked the king.

The king uneasily hesitated.

Mismar noticed the king's predicament and repeated, "Trust no one."

Nengut directed a question to Mismar. "How will peace come about among humans then?"

Mismar had no answer.

"It will not," the king snapped, gaining his bearing.

Nengut added, looking at the king. "Not unless you start trusting each other without reservations,"

"That will not happen," King Arth replied. "It is not inherent in humans as it is to you Durians to trust each other completely. We humans must always reserve some doubts. History has proven it wise and a prudent route."

There was a short pause from everyone, and Amo Obib took advantage of it, **"Peace has a price man must pay, and that is trust. For as long as men distrust each other, there will be real no peace. Think of it. We come in peace. To that end, do you see any other choice for us but trust?"**

The king and the generals had no answer. Each was baffled, knowing the truth in what Amo Obib said. Inwardly, each felt strange---they knew Amo Obib was right, but they were right too. Where was the answer?

King Arth politely concluded, "So be it. There will be no guards." Changing the subject, he addressed his generals, "Here, you serve yourself and help clean too. However, the food will be well worth it." He looked and saw Thel at the kitchen with an apron on her. Pointing, he said, "That's Thel. She's the best cook in the world."

"I am so pleased to hear you like Thel's cooking," Ningning commented then chatted casually as she led them to the kitchen.

When they got to the kitchen, the king asked, "Do you have anything for us, Thel?"

"I have something special for you and your companions. It's a pie we call bibingka."

Thel took the pie out of the oven and teased the king and his generals with its aroma before they got their share.

As the king expected, the generals like the pie and repeatedly went back for more servings.

"Where is the prince?" Ningning casually asked the king.

"I sent him to Tugbok. It's a city at the southern border of my realm," the king answered in a passing manner then chatted socially.

Ruling a Kingdom

After breakfast, the king and Amo Obib went to visit the man Shadeh tortured. Along the way, the king was keenly observant most especially when they passed through the Durian's pharmacy. Wooden shelves with labeled glass jars lined its walls. Jars filled with herbs, tree roots, barks, some emerged in fluid, of colored powders neatly arranged. Somewhat familiar on the counter below were the mortar and pestle, and empty glass tubes on wooden stands. The medical gadgets looked unfamiliar and strange.

The king and Amo Obib entered a door-less room and found the tortured man asleep on a bamboo-made bed. Above and on the side, a familiar coconut fruit hung with a small tube running from it and into the man's arm---their intravenous feeding. Seated by the man's bedside were his wife and two children in loose white garments.

The children, on seeing the king, sought shelter by their mother's side as she stood with obvious pain. Fear showed on the children's little faces as they held tightly to their mother's gown and stared at the floor as their mother did. The mother bowed waist deep when the king stood in front of her. She made a muffled groan of pain as she bowed. Her discomfort was noticeable as she erected herself with Amo Obib's help.

The king's eyes paid close attention to the mother and her children. The mother was visibly ill at ease in his presence and her children frightened. He became uncomfortable as Amo Obib noticed it too. 'Is this how my subjects see me as their king, in fear?' he asked himself. "Do not be frightened," he said in a calming way to the mother.

The mother did not react. She stayed motionless and so did her children. She had heard so many stories from her husband of what the king ordered done to families to be frightened.

A gap in spontaneity made Amo Obib interject, "She is still in shock," then turned to the children, knelt, and beaming, asked pleasantly, "Have you eaten?"

The children looked at Amo Obib and nodded.

"Would you like a red apple, then?"

The children nodded eagerly, then glanced at their king, then looked at the floor and slowly moved behind their mother as though the king was a beast ready to snatch and devour them.

Amo Obib saw what the children did. He stood, and to the mother asked, "And, you?"

"No, thank you," as she started to bow.

Amo Obib immediately held her shoulder and said, "You need not bow."

Uncomfortably, she looked at him and asked, "You are their leader. How should I act and address you with respect?" then stared at the floor.

"My name is Obib and calling me Obib is fine. And you are?" he asked in a friendly way.

Though uneasy, she got the courage to look at Amo Obib again and, with a faint smile, said, "I am Teema," then pulled her children by her side and said, "These are my children. My daughter, Dinky, and my son, Juls. My husband's name is Jocam. You are so kind to have helped us," then looked down again.

Amo Obib noticed her uneasiness, unsure of how to act. "Do you know that I chose to free the men that harmed you and your family?" he asked, poised to observe her and her answer.

Teema's eyes still avoided eye contact, answered, "The woman named Ningning explained. I do not understand, but you are wiser than I, and for that, I accept your judgment and harbor no malice to the people who harmed us."

"I am so glad to hear that," the amo reacted.

Teema looked at Amo Obib and said. "You are a very, very kind man," then looked at the floor again.

Amo Obib gently patted Teema's left arm to put her at ease.

Teema felt the gentle tap, and this time, she comfortably looked him in the eyes and beamed.

Amo Obib was elated by her response and beamed back, then excused himself to get the apples.

Teema's reaction and reply perplexed the king. 'Here is a woman whose family was tortured and yet forgave the stranger who freed them?' he thought. It defied his logic, his understanding but saw a better result and wondered why. "Teema, how is your husband?" he asked in a concerned manner.

Teema answered but dared not look in the king's eyes, "The doctor said he will be fine but has given him something to make him sleep, Your Highness."

The king asked nicely, "How long has Jocam served me?"

Still avoiding his eyes and visibly ill at ease, Teema answered, "My husband, Jocam, first fought with you against the Bagobos. He was the leader of a group of archers then and has been with you ever since, your Highness."

King Arth instantly recalled the battle he should have lost but won. The victory was a decisive military engagement that marked the zenith of his military campaign. It also was the victory that solidified his kingdom. It was the battle against the fierce and feared Bagobos.

At the height of the battle with the Bagobos, the king's last front defensive line, a mere fifty yards away, was breached. At first, three enemy soldiers got through the defensive gap and rushed towards the king with swords raised for the kill. Generals Odi, Suba, and Mismar quickly moved and engaged the three enemy soldiers and easily dispensed them. As his generals were fighting the three attackers, the king saw a few of his remaining soldiers rush to close the defense gap against a herd of pushing enemy soldiers behind the defense line. The king quickly assessed their situation---there were far more enemy soldiers than his men could hold back. A breakthrough was imminent as the defense line slowly deteriorated before the king's eyes. The king's will to live withered to fight till death. It was at that moment that the king's archers came running from behind him with a bag full of arrows carried on their backs. A momentary closure of the defense gap gave the archers just enough time to form two lines of fifteen each in front of their king. The frontline archers were kneeling, and the back standing poised to launch their arrows once the frontline defenses gave way, and it was soon to come.

When the frontline defense finally broke, enemy soldiers poured through the widening defense gap with swords held high. It was then that the archers launched their arrows---the front row first and the second row next and repeated the sequence.

The king, with his three generals, defended the archers. Any of the four or all would move in front of the lined archer each time enemies, missed by arrows onslaught, broke through the gap in the defensive line. When the attacker got killed, they would move back behind the archer's line and wait for any enemy that came rushing towards the archers and would act immediately. The king and his general showed courage and determination in making sure none of the enemies could get near the archers that the archers never panicked and were at ease at launching their arrows in rapid successions to enemies only a short distance fronting them. In their unified actions, the king, his three generals, and the archers, had become an instant cohesive and organized team of determined warrior defenders.

Soon, enemy bodies piled, one on top of the other, forming a wall of dead enemy soldiers, eight bodies high, fronting the archer's line. By this time, the archers, who brought thirty arrows each, ran out of arrows. They picked swords on the ground and stood alongside their king, the three generals, and all fought with their swords atop a heap of enemy dead bodies.

The sight of brave men fiercely fighting on top of a wall of fallen enemy soldiers took the better part of the enemy's fighting spirit and started to retreat. The same sight got the better of the king's army that they chased the retreating enemy. Before the end of the day, the king had won the major battle of his life.

However, there was another thing the king recalled from what Teema had said---it was the archers' leader actions during the height of the battle against the Bagobos. In the king's mind, he distinctly saw the archer's leader led his men to a location fronting him; heard the leader giving orders to form and hold two lines when an overwhelming number of enemies were charging; he distinctly heard the archer's leader encouraged his men by shouting to hold their ground as archers launched their arrows and later shouting to go on fighting with swords atop dead bodies. However, the king may have been so exhausted that, right after the battle, he slept from exhaustion on where he once stood without thanking the archer's leader. He may have been so engrossed in his glory in the days that followed; seen so many brave men fight alongside in many battles that he may have become callous to the sight of good deeds of others to him that he completely forgot what the archer's leader and his men did for him. Though the king had witnessed many brave men fight alongside, he realized none brought him to the pinnacle of glory as the brave archer's leader did. When Teema mentioned her husband was a leader of a group of archers during the battle against the Bagabos, it made him recall that one man, the archers' leader, he was most indebted. The leader saved his life, and the king did not go out of his way to find and thank him. What Teema said made him recall the archer's leader bleeding on the left side of his head as he held his grounds unflinching at the thick of the battle that he asked, "Teema, does Jocam carry a battle scar?"

Teema answered, "Jocam's left ear is missing and bear a large scar below the ear, Your Highness."

Never was he so stunned by what Teema had said. With a heart overwhelmed with indebtedness, the king went to where Jocam laid and stood by the bedside. He looked at the sleeping man's face. He recalled the man's deed but not the face---the archer's face the king saw at the battlefield was so covered with fresh blood and dirt to be unrecognizable. The man's long hair had covered his left ear and lower jaw. Ashamed of his neglect and afraid of his guilt to surface to what he may see; the king was apprehensive. With his right pointing finger, he carefully moved aside the man's long hair that covered the left ear and jaw. He saw the ear missing and the scar of a large wound on the lower jaw below the ear exactly where they should be from his recollection. So heavy with emotion to what he failed to do and what he should have done, the king leaned down and hugged the man lying on the bed as best he could. After a moment, he moved back, leaned forward, and kissed the man's forehead. He stood and faced Teema, and said, "I now realize I have neglected my people, more so, the ones who fought and struggled to make me a king, as Jocam did. Teema, I am ashamed to admit that I did not even bother to thank him when I knew so well, he did so much for me. This will have to change," he said with conviction. "When he gets well, I want your family to see me."

The sight of the king hugging her husband in the bed, kissing her husband's forehead, and the king's admittance of shame and sincerity touched Teema. In that flitting moment, Teema forgot she was talking to her king and looked at him with a smile and said nicely, "I will, Your Highness."

There was something in the way Teema looked, smiled, and how she replied that deeply touched the king. He felt gratified and overwhelmed by the wonderful feeling brought by his simple humility and care. 'This is something the sword cannot bring about,' he thought. 'Is this the power Amo Obib was referring to?' Before he could say something, Amo Obib came back with two large red apples and gave them to the children. Soon after, they left.

Timely and Fruitful

As the Amo and the king headed back for the ground floor, the king said, "I thought of what we discussed yesterday . . . about love and fear. It makes sense to me now. Teema and her children's reaction to you and me made me realize the difference between instilling fear and what love and caring can bring about. I believe the woman when she said she forgave and harbor no malice to the people that tortured them but do not understand why. How strange. Your sense of justice and values seem to work. I like it."

Amo Obib attentively looked at the king.

"I want to be close to my people," the king admitted, "But there is a wall that stands between me and my subjects. Is it because I am their king that this be so?"

Amo Obib gave it a brief thought. "It is because you always act as their king."

"But I am always their king!"

" **Be their king when you represent them, but an ordinary man when with them."**

"An ordinary man when with them," the king echoed. "I have not done that for a long time . . . be an ordinary man, I mean."

"I think, too long," Amo Obib replied.

The king grinned. He now accepted Amo Obib's straightforward and honest answers. Freshly recalling how Teema bowed with discomfort before him and on seeing a soldier a short distance away, he called the soldier's attention.

The soldier ran to him and bowed waist deep, then stood erect and said, "Your Highness?"

"What is your name?" the king asked.

"My friends call me Ticboy, Your Highness."

Pleasantly, the king said, "Well, Ticboy, effective today, the king, any member of the royal family, and any high-ranking officer will be afforded respect by simply nodding their head. Bowing waist-deep is no longer mandatory. I want you to spread this decree to my people."

"Yes, Your Highness," Ticboy answered and bowed waist-deep instinctively.

"Did you understand the decree, Ticboy?" he asked candidly, beaming at Ticboy.

"Yes, Your Highness but I . . ."

"You need not explain. I understand." He purposely placed his hand over Ticboy's shoulder in a friendly gesture to prove something to himself, "Do you prefer this decree than the old one, especially when your back hurts?" the king joked then observed Ticboy's reaction.

"Yes, Your Highness, most especially when your back hurts," Ticboy replied elatedly, smiling in a laughing way. "I will go and tell everyone of the change," sounding enthusiastic.

"Go before they start bowing waist-deep when I meet them," the king said as he tapped Ticboy's shoulder.

"Yes, Your Highness." Ticboy beamed and, in a deliberate motion, stood erect, nodded his head, then left running.

It was then that King Arth realized the difference in response in how he typically communicated with his soldiers, his people. The warm feeling conveyed by physically expressing it. He turned to Amo Obib, delighted knowing the amo had seen what transpired. "You know . . ." the king started unsure how to phrase his words, ". . . when we were with Teema's family, there was a moment there that I wished she referred to you as her king and I, the kind man."

"It will please you to know that in time, you will be both."

With vigor, the king said, "Your arrival is timely. Our relationship will be fruitful."

To that, Amo Obib smiled.

The Orientation and Population Census

When the king and Amo got back to the ground level, the population census was well on its way.

The Durians were well organized. One group took individual data and photos then gave them their ID card with their picture on it. Another group made a quick medical exam. Once fifty were processed, a Durian conducted an orientation.

The Durians did whatever was possible to make the people comfortable and at ease with them. They told them who they were, where they came from, and the help they needed. They made it explicitly clear that the Durians were not gods, nor did they possess any supernatural powers. They had them touch their arms, which most did, and answered all their questions.

The Durians paid attention to the children, not by intent but by their nature. They would hold, cajole, and even briefly played with them. The children, with little inhibitions, responded by flocking around the Durians playfully. The sight of the children at ease with the Durians took the fear out from the older ones. Soon the people accepted them for what they are, not gods, but merely kind people from a world among the stars that needed their help.

After the orientation, they gave them the freedom to roam freely and unwatched.

The New Kingdom

A short walking distance to where the king's people were having lunch," the king said to amo, "This is an appropriate time to mingle with my people."

"Never miss an opportunity to be with them. Figuratively, they are your children."

"Indeed, they are. Would you mind if you left me with them?"

"Not at all, and by all means, please do," the amo replied, and they went separate ways.

The king headed to where people were eating. Short of tables, most were seated on the floor. When the king neared, the people nearby merely smiled and nodded their heads. He smiled back and kept on smiling as he walked by. He was pleased to note the guard, Ticboy, spread his new nodding decree exceptionally well.

As the king neared the food-serving counter, he noticed the servants he sent to help Thel serve food to the many in line, hastily prepared his table. Their leaving disrupted the activity behind the food counter and left Thel and other Durians by themselves handing over food, in a paper bag, to the many that formed lines. He addressed his servants, "Do not attend to me. Go back and help the Durians attend to my people." However, by then, his dining table was already set.

The king's table was lavishly prepared with especial food to feed thirty comfortably seated. Instead of going to his table, the king got families from the food line to dine at his table. On seeing an old woman, he personally escorted her and her family of four. He told the old woman to sit on his distinctly elegant chair at the head of the long table.

The old woman was reluctant. She said, "I cannot sit there. It is for you, the king."

The king gave it a thought. As he grinned, said. "Today, you are the Queen of the Kingdom and I, your servant. Please do it for me and enjoy your meal," sounding like a man who needed her help.

Disturbed by the request, the old woman asked, "And you?"

"I will fall in line like the rest of my people. I have been absent for a long, long time."

The old woman stared, then boldly asked, "Can I hug you as though you are my son?"

The king looked at her. As he smiled, said, "I will take it as though you are my mother."

They hugged, and the people around applauded as they hailed, "Long live our king!"

The king joined the food serving line and got his meal in a paper bag like the rest and ate at the public area seated on the floor. Visibly overjoyed by the people's response, the king took full advantage of the opportunity. After eating, he walked around and mingled to as many of his subjects---not as a king but as an ordinary man. In his mind, he wished the prince was with him **to see the difference between a kingdom ruled by might and one ruled by the heart**.

Atlantis

Later that day, the king searched for Amo Obib. He found him cleaning the kitchen with Ningning. He said to amo, "I think I have found what I have long been seeking. I do not know how to repay you for what you have given me."

"Just help us," Amo Obib said.

"I will do whatever is in my power. In your honor, I will rename my kingdom and this city from this day forth, Duria."

"You are so kind. Can we call it Atlantis? In Durian language, it means 'God's land.'"

"Atlantis, it will be."

The Programs

In education, people classified by age and intelligence, were led using holographic human-like guides to classrooms. The holographic instructors asked the group to put on a small earphone and focus their attention on a visual teaching screen that was slow at first and got progressively faster. Later, it became a high-speed learning tool. The people never realized they were placed in a trance and taught the Durian language, reading, writing, and basic mathematics. The result surprised them later when they realize they could read, do basic math, and speak the Durian language in less than half-an-hour. Later and through gradual steps, people with a higher degree of comprehension took high-speed courses in advanced fields.

Unable to control his curiosity, the king asked the amo, "I know you will say it is not magic, but how could you teach people a language or a skill without teaching them?"

"It is a very complex process, but have you ever wondered how a spider can build a web of similar design without being taught?"

"Yes, I once wondered how spiders could do that without any means of communication."

"We, Durians, call it preconditioned static knowledge. Your knowledge, be it language or skill, is etched in your brain in a precise location. Accessing the location, you would recall. We merely copy Durian knowledge, be it language or skill, to that location."

"So, if you copy a face and name in my brain of a person I have never met, I will recall this person's face and name as though we met before?"

"Exactly, but this static memory is fragile and is limited to skills and not emotions. Unless used in the immediate future, it will be forgotten. Once used, it will be part of the recollection. That is why the spider knows how to build a web. It is etched in its brain and used."

"If I understand you right, you copied your etched language in your brain and pasted it to a human brain?"

"That is how it's done."

"Now, I can sleep soundly."

The amo laughed.

The king went through the educational process without the prince who was invited but refused to come. The king, by his request, took administrative and management subjects.

On recruitment, Femed and her team synchronized their activities to Commander Nerus' skill requirements and construction schedule. They needed twelve thousand workers initially and focused recruitment on what is now known as China and India.

At first, the Durians did the recruitment, then trained Migrants did it for them. In a relatively brief time, they enticed and relocated whole towns and villages to Atlantis. Nengut became the liaison between the Durians and King Arth and was in-charge of civic and cultural functions.

Months later, tens of thousands of workers were at Commander Nerus's disposal. Using holographic-trained site construction managers and supervisors, and with a unified Durian language, Atlantis burst from the ground as weed seeds thrown over fertile land. It grew so fast the scenery from the palace towers changed daily. The king, proud of what he saw, could hardly believe the transformation---the barren lands around the citadel were developed to have roads, electrical and drainage systems, railroad tracks, parks, housing units, and everything city dwellers would need.

Within the confines of the pyramid ship's huge cavern, they built Durian's administrative and engineering offices needed to manage numerous projects. They also built school rooms as the initial holographic learning had its limitation---it could only implant principles in the brain. Its enhancement required applications of the principles through classroom teaching and laboratory training using specialized holographic instructors as well.

The Durians were terribly busy. With everything the Durians needed to manage all the projects confined within the ship, they hardly ventured out, and the majority never did. With thousands of projects to simultaneously monitor, control, and coordinate, they had no time to spare for themselves. Undermanned, they worked eighteen-hour shifts each day, ate their meals at their desk, and relied completely on King Arth to resolve whatever problems existed outside of the project.

Understanding the enormity of the Durian's task, the king supported the Durians. Though he wanted to see Amo Obib more often than he wanted, the king avoided it. He knew that if Amo Obib spent an hour with him, the amo would have only five hours for himself and to sleep. On the few occasions that they met, he enjoyed the philosophical issues they engaged in and relished on what he learned.

Six months later, factories dotted the designated industrial zones. King Arth inaugurated the first steam-driven train. After a few months, the first steam-powered electric generating unit went on a limited operation to provide the industrial complex electricity, later, the city. From then on, progress grew exponentially.

Though the Durians were open with their technology, they purposely hid something---making explosives. They, instead, used the airships' powerful laser to blast obstacles at the expense of its limited fuel.

Before the end of the second year, the king abolished slavery, the death penalty. He left the law in the hands of capable people, regardless of origin, to conduct the judiciary duties. However, the police force and the army remained Egyptians exclusively.

In that same year, the king granted the Migrants equal rights as Egyptians in commerce and trade. He also granted the right to own land. The business-minded took full advantage of it and directly competed with the Egyptians in the huge Migrant markets that now numbered over a million. The competition got the prices on basic goods and commodities down, much to the king's liking. However, the Egyptians who became rich and powerful by monopoly deplored the king's decrees.

The Migrants were extremely grateful and fortunate for being part of Atlantis. They were freed from bondage, social neglect, and of the injustices and abuses from merely being underprivileged in the localities where they came. Their life had changed far from better---it was extraordinarily good and rich in quality beyond what they dreamed. Foremost was the respect they got as human beings! Mindful of their blessings from the Durians, the Migrants were always at their best on whatever assignment is given and worked ten-hour shifts, four days a week with days off staggered such that the projects were never disrupted.

The king visited the Migrant's community regularly, as he promised. He made sure the Egyptians, police force, and army never mistreated them and participated in Migrant community programs with Nengut and, on some occasions, with other Durians. The Migrants understood and sympathized with their benefactor. With all their benefits and treatment, they were extremely loyal to them.

The king knew social discriminations existed. The Egyptians, with their unique physical features and special privileges during the early years, retained most of the top managerial functions. In time, they became a social class. The term, 'The Privilege' was referred to them. However, there were no social distinctions among the Migrants. They mingled freely among themselves despite their racial differences.

Although the king created a law on discrimination, he could not stop the subtle occurrence as Egyptians favored Egyptian in hiring preference. They continued to make fun of the Migrants in their local language. The king tried to bridge the social gap by being close to the Migrants, but the Egyptian elites misconstrued the king as being bias.

If there was anything that marred the project, it was Nengut's death a little after the first year. She became progressively ill of bone cancer that finally disabled her in the last month of her life. Never was the goodwill she built expressed so profoundly as on the day of her death. People cried openly as they walked pass the hibernating capsule where she was laid to rest. Shorthanded, the Durians had no one to replace Nengut's civic duties. However, the people, Egyptians, and Migrants, assigned to her, understood what Nengut envisioned. Through the civic organizations she created, her projects continued with King Arth's unwavering support.

The king, who worked closely with Nengut before she died, enacted the Trade and Commerce Laws soon after her death. The laws regulated the mechanics of conducting business with Atlanteans. The laws stated: no one can conduct business or enter trade with Atlanteans unless licensed by the Atlantis Government; goods traded must not be produced using slaves; minimum wage law enforced; and human rights respected. Noncompliance to the law meant imprisonment for Egyptians, an exile for Migrants, and, outside the realm, disbarment from any form of trade with any person or entity within King Arth's kingdom.

The enforcement of the Trade and Commerce Laws was the fulfillment of Nengut's dream and the answer to Amo Obib's prayer. It was the Durian's way to instill discipline, control, institute fair labor practices, equitable wages, and endeavors on respecting human rights. Most of all, the Trade and Commerce Laws abolished slavery in King Arth's kingdom and severely curtailed the use of slaves outside his domain.

King Adazil and King Silrab considered the Atlanteans trade and commerce laws as an infringement on their sovereign rights but had no option but to comply. King Arth's licensers and inspectors stringently enforced compliance to the Atlantean trade laws and were free to perform their duties within the realms of the other kingdoms when it came to inspections and enforcement. Since the enacted laws served to protect the people, regardless of kingdom, the people rallied behind the Atlantean laws that it was hard to circumvent---the people complained on the slightest violation and later formed labor unions to protect workers' interests which King Arth fully and openly supported. King Adazil, who amassed his wealth through forced labor and slavery, deplored the laws. He circumvented it by imposing higher taxes and intimidation through the seizure of land. King Silrab saw the good in the laws and complied, but in the process, alienated himself from other members of the royal family and the wealthy whose incomes came from the use of slaves.

In compliance with the Trade and Commerce Laws, the king declared Tugbok as the port of entry for goods coming from King Adazil and north of King Silrab's Kingdoms. Though it was more logical to have the trading center nearer Atlantis, the king chose Tugbok to help his son. The ungrateful prince thought it an act his father was obligated, logical or not.

Altogether, the Atomic Converter Project progressed smoothly to everyone's satisfaction---the king, the Egyptians, the Migrants, and, especially, the Durians.
THE CRISIS

Atlantis had become a magnet for human settlement. Its population burgeoned from forty thousand to over five million in four years. The king, with Amo's knowledge, took measures to restrict human influx to his city as outsiders came from across the Mediterranean Sea, the Middle East, and southern Africa, as they are known today. The king diverted migrations to adjacent provinces and kingdoms that could use the manpower. By this time, the city's reliance on Durians to augment food supplies had ended. The entrepreneurs took over the function, and more became rich. And, as the city of Atlantis grew, the neighboring towns and cities prospered. The adjacent kingdoms flourished as well.

Prince Otil, who had the autonomy to rule south of King Arth's kingdom, stayed in Tugbok. Since he left the city four years ago, he never set foot on Metropolitan Atlantis.

Tugbok, the Seat of Prince Otil's Power

Tugbok thrived by supplying Atlantis, mainly agricultural and farm products. When it officially became the port of entry for goods from King Adazil, and north of King Silrab's kingdoms, Tugbok became the second richest and fastest-growing city next to Atlantis. As Tugbok prospered, so did Kings Adazil and Silrab's kingdoms. Though Tugbok's wealth substantially came from the commerce brought by the adjacent kingdoms, the prince deplored the thought of the realm doing business with whom he considered enemies. He was not so concerned with King Adazil, but having King Silrab, whose father caused his mother's death, profit from their trade was something he secretly loathed.

For the kingdom's security, King Arth allowed the prince to build and maintain an army but limited it to three-fourths the combined size of King Adazil's and Silrab's armies. The prince's army size was enough to deter any of the kings east of the Nile River from invading his kingdom, and King Arth strictly monitored the number of soldiers his son had. Though Prince Otil had the freedom to expand the realm westward but forbade him to cross the river Nile---King Arth had a non-aggression pact with both eastern kings.

Although King Arth's kingdom greatly expanded to the west, the prince could not take credit. All came forward to pledge allegiance to King Arth freely. King Arth's kingdom grew four times larger than King Silrab, and King Adazil's combined, without a drop of blood spilled. King Arth attributed it to love and care's power.

With Prince Otil's army, King Arth placed less time in maintaining his army's fitness. He concentrated on creating a government patterned after the Durian system to make Atlantis a model city for the other kingdoms to follow. In doing so, he hoped, in time, to encourage the other kingdoms to forget war and live in peace and harmony. However, King Silrab and King Adazil were worried over Prince Otil's growing army. More so when King Arth openly declared Prince Otil as his rightful successor to the throne. The declaration opposed the king's earlier proposal of abolishing the Monarchial System in favor of a parliamentary form of government. In fear of what the prince could do, militarily, the two secretly agreed to strengthen and unite their armies while military superiority was still in their favor.

Both kings knew the Durians were peaceful people. Their religion forbade them from participating in any form of warfare. However, they were unsure if the Durians would provide war aid to King Arth should their project be jeopardized. Since it was critical to proving this, King Silrab and King Adazil secretly financed a mercenary army to attack a remote outpost, Mintal, and see how the Durians would react. It was King Adazil who made the arrangement.

An attack on Mintal could not be associated back to King Adazil or King Silrab as Mintal was at the south-west-most side of the King Arth's kingdom and had no strategic military value to either king. King Arth must address the problem as it was in his area of responsibility. Nevertheless, a contingency plan was agreed for their armies' immediate mobilization should King Arth uncover their connivance and retaliate.

Three months later, the mercenaries attacked Mintal and decisively won. King Arth sent three thousand soldiers to recapture Mintal using traditional weapons of war: swords, spears, catapults, and bows and arrows. To this incident, the Durians did nothing---not even allow the use of their trains to transport soldiers and supplies to the location. The trains have prescheduled activities tied to the Durian projects, which King Arth respected. Thus, the soldiers sent to regain Mintal traveled conventionally by foot, horses, camels, carts, and wagons!

Prince Otil, through unsubstantiated reports, guessed King Adazil was behind the Mintal attack. It actually did not matter. With a well-trained and ready army, the prince was eager to do battle with any of the kings east of Nile River but not together.

The prince knew King Adazil had fortified all Nile river crossings to his kingdom. The prince's battle plan was to bypass King Adazil's river-crossing fortifications and attack his kingdom from where it was most vulnerable---from the rear through the Bucana Gorge passage. But the gorge was at the northern fringe of King Silrab's domain, and a fortification guarded its entrance. Nevertheless, he was unconcerned. The prince had already mobilized his army in a pretense of a military exercise and was at the river border adjacent to King Silrab's domain. A flotilla of barges, secretly built and hidden, waited only for an order to move the prince's entire army across the Nile River in King Silrab's domain. The task could be accomplished in less than half a day. Once the prince's entire army had crossed the Nile River and even informed of its crossing, King Adazil's fate was sealed – he would have no time to mobilize his army and defend his kingdom from an attack coming from the rear of his dominion. The only crux to the prince's plan was King Silrab's Bucana Gorge fortification. He could not afford a delay fighting to gain access to the gorge's entrance as it would give time for King Adazil's army to regroup. However, the prince was certain King Silrab had no choice but grant safe passage through the gorge. King Silrab had only 19,000 soldiers spread over his kingdom against the prince's concentrated 30,000 fully trained and well-equipped army. So certain of his victory to either king, he daydreamed of boasting his accomplishment to his father. To this, he sent General Irag to inform King Silrab of his plan with leave to hint on the prince's option to attack King Silrab's kingdom instead, if the king refused.

Though the prince's information was right on King Silrab's 19,000 soldiers, he was unaware of recent developments---unaware that the 19,000 soldiers were stationed and not far from the fortified garrison at the gorge's entrance.

General Irag and King Silrab

King Silrab, informed of Prince Otil's military buildup at the river crossing within King Arth's kingdom, was with his generals in the war room looking over a map on a large table. Though the military buildup across the Nile River showed signs of being only a military exercise, the king wanted no surprises, and planned an offensive strategy to attack Prince Otil's army should his army cross the Nile River on a minute's notice.

"It would seem that Prince Otil is mobilizing his entire army without King Arth's knowledge," a general commented.

King Silrab, a cautious man, gave the general a look.

On the king's reaction, the general continued to explain, "Prince Otil's mobilization, if not merely a military exercise, is not meant to attack us otherwise King Arth, whose military forces are nearer to our border, should have mobilized his army but has not. The prince is not a military tactician but not a fool to attack at one focal point whose terrain is overwhelming to his disadvantage. The area's topography would more than offset the prince's numerical superiority should we attack. The move . . ." he stopped as a soldier entered the room in a rush to speak to the king.

On hearing the message, the king turned to his generals and asked, "Who knows of Prince Otil's general named Irag?"

"I met him once," a general commented. "He is Prince Otil's best friend and a high-ranking officer in his army. Much like the prince, he is arrogant - all muscle and no brain," he added.

"The muscle head is here with a message from the prince. Let me hear him before we conclude our plan," the king said, then left the room with a couple of his generals.

King Silrab sat on his throne flanked by his two generals. He signaled the guard at the door to let General Irag enter the throne room.

General Irag, holding a sealed letter, entered the throne room arrogantly. He casually walked and leisurely looked at the hall's furnishings. The robust general on the king's right, irritated by General Irag's discourteous act, leaned, and whispered to the king, "Do you want me to cut off his head?"

Without turning his head, "Let me hear him first," the king answered in a muffled voice.

General Irag was about to step up to the king's podium when the same general of King Silrab, with his hand on his sword and eyes staring in a challenge, stood between his king and General Irag.

General Irag stopped on his tracks. He sensed the tension and was intimidated by the larger man before him with his right hand, cradling his sword's handle. General Irag said, in a courteous manner to the general, "I bring a letter from my prince, Prince Otil, to your king," holding up the letter toward the king.

"I will give it to my king," the general sternly said as he intercepted the letter from General Irag's hand and passed it on to his king.

King Silrab, agitated, remained calm. After reading, he said to himself, 'I must not antagonize the prince's plan,' he thought _,_ then asked, "The prince is rather vague in his letter. Is the king asking permission to use Bucana Gorge within my kingdom or merely informing me of what he intends on doing?"

"The Prince's army is crossing the Nile and heading for the gorge as we speak, thus, merely to inform," General Irag said with authority. "You are in no danger provided you grant the prince's simple request . . . lest he diverts his attention and head here instead," General Irag hinted with a malicious grin.

Though extremely agitated, the king remained calm and said, "I no longer have an appetite for war," acting his way. "Why is the prince waging war against King Adazil?" he asked in a casually interrogative manner

"King Adazil instigated the attack on Mintal and must pay."

"Mintal?" King Silrab feigned ignorance. "Where is that?"

"West of Atlantis," the general snapped discourteously.

"Is King Arth aware of what is going on?" the king asked.

"No. The prince wants King Arth blind and out of it. The prince wishes to surprise his father of his coming victory."

"I prefer having the prince as my neighbor rather than King Adazil. Please tell the prince: I will keep his plan a secret and grant him safe passage through my kingdom and the gorge," sounding congenial. "However, his army must stay within the confines of the dried riverbed lest it be misconstrued as preparing for battle against me."

Familiar with the terrain, the General Irag replied, "I understand and will relay your condition to my prince."

"I will send twenty of my soldiers with you as escorts to ensure the prince army's safe passage in my domain and will inform the garrison commander at gorge's entrance to allow safe entry for the prince's army through the gorge. Please tell the prince I wish him success and look forward to a fruitful relationship between his kingdom and mine."

Pleased with King Silrab's blessing and message, General Irag left in good spirit.

King Silrab's War Plan

Soon after General Irag left the throne room, King Silrab, fuming mad, went back to the war room. By coincidence, King Adazil's most trusted general, General Sidro, was his guest and was called to the War Room.

King Silrab, General Sidro, and the king's generals stood around a table with a large map of the region's topography. The king briefed General Sidro as he illustrated Prince Otil's plan on the map and said, "Prince Otil's army has crossed the Nile and will attack your king's kingdom from the rear via Bucana Gorge. With thirty-thousand men, it will take them two days to reach the gorge's entrance."

Distressed and with grave concern, General Sidro commented, "Prince Otil's plan will work since you allowed his army to use the gorge. My king's armies are concentrated at the Nile River crossings. Redeploying the army will take time and too late to do anything unless you give my king time to mobilize."

"King Adazil remobilizing his army is not necessary. In fact, his army is where it should be, at the river crossing. You and I will make the gorge the prince's army's graveyard."

The general was utterly surprised at the king's statement. "I came here with only twenty-five military escorts," he retorted

"That is more than sufficient," the king replied.

Clueless and eager to know, General Sidro said, "Please explain."

"Are you familiar with the terrain at Bucana Gorge?"

"Very familiar. It was the route I took to get here."

King Silrab illustrated his battle plan on the map and concluded, "When the front-end of Prince Otil's army nears the gorge's exit at King Adazil's side," pointing the gorge's exit on the map, "most, if not all of his army, will be inside the gorge. If you . . ." he continued, then, with a glint in his eyes and a grin, looked at the general and asked, "What do you think?"

"What if the prince does not take the bait?" General Sidro asked.

"The prince's numerical advantage will not mean much if he uses the dry riverbed, the only route he can take to the gorge. The seasonal river flow has gouged out a deep riverbed. There is hardly a place where the Princes' army can climb out of its embankment. The terrain is very much in my favor. My nineteen-thousand-army is not far and will be immediately mobilized. Either way, victory is mine. However, my army will have minimal casualty and material losses if the prince uses the gorge. Understand what I mean?"

"I understand you completely. Atlantis is ours!" General Sidro hailed. "I will leave immediately and assure you no soul will exit the gorge at King Adazil's end. I will send a courier to inform King Adazil of what we jointly intend to do. My king will not miss this excellent opportunity. We will meet each other at the valley below Bansalan Pass and march to Atlantis together as one army."

ARMIES AT WAR

Carnage at the Gorge

The sun had set. Prince Otil's thirty-thousand-army had crossed the Nile River and camped within the dry riverbed within King Silrab's domain. One side of the dry river was an imposing vertical sandstone wall, hundreds of feet high that followed the dry river's contour. The other side of the dry riverbed was a natural barrier of eroded earth wall, no less than twenty feet high, scraped by the seasonal river flow. Five miles away was Bucana Gorge's entrance.

In the absence of their commanding generals, five army officers headed for the prince's regal tent to seek detailed orders for the following day's march. Worried over a possible entrapment within the gorge, they needed an order to send the seven-thousand cavalry regiment ahead to secure the entire way through the gorge.

Loud music and boisterous laughter from drunken men and women came from within the prince's regal tent. It was easy to surmise the sexual and drinking orgy going on inside. The sentries at the tent's entrance held back the five officers' entry but reluctantly allowed one with two military escorts to enter. It did not take long for that one officer to be thrown out of the tent. The guards mocked and laughed at him. "You should be thankful the prince did not cut off your heads," said one guard as he booted him to the ground and laughed after.

Humiliated, the officer dusted off the dirt from his uniform as he stood and walked back to his group.

"What happened?" a waiting officer asked in disbelief to what he saw.

"Fuck those drunken idiots," the booted officer said in disgust as they walked away. "I nearly lost my head for a worthy cause!" he said in anger.

"What will we do?" someone asked.

"Obviously, nothing and march in the gorge at first light," the booted officer replied.

"What about the cavalry going in first . . . our insurance," another asked with trepidation.

"Will you give the order?" the booted officer asked him.

"Not me," came the instantaneous reply.

The prince, not long ago, beheaded a fellow officer for giving an order in his absence. The prince admitted the officer did the right thing but cut his head just the same. The prince would never tolerate his prerogative superseded.

The booted officer asked again, louder this time, "Will anyone here give the order?"

There was silence.

The Slaughter

It was past noon the following day. The prince and seven generals came out of the royal tent in their loincloths. Some held their aching heads, others stretched out their limbs, bathing under the autumn sun. At times, they covered their noses from the occasional dust stirred by supply wagons as it passed some distance away.

"Where is my special cavalry regiment?" the prince asked a sentry. The prince was very particular of his special five hundred cavalry regiment that guarded him. It was the showcase of his stature and power and would flaunt the regiment on every parade occasion: five abreast carrying all the twenty colorful banners of his entire seven-thousand main cavalry regiment. Of the five hundred, a hundred was his elite cavalry guards – the best of the best. He never went anywhere without the elite guards. They served as his personal security.

Pointing, the sentry replied, "Over there, my prince. Five hundred of them."

The prince looked and saw saddled horses tied to brushes and the cavalrymen loitering around. "Where are the rest?"

"The main cavalry regiment of seven thousand spearheaded the march. They are deep in the gorge together with the foot soldiers."

"Have someone prepare our breakfast."

"It's past noon, my prince. Would you prefer lunch prepared?"

"So be it. I want to bathe," the prince laconically said.

"I will have it ready, my prince," the sentry replied.

Two hours before dawn, the prince and his generals in military uniforms saddled their horses. Together with the prince's special five hundred cavalry regiment, rode towards the gorge's entrance, half a mile away. They passed supply wagons along the way. When the prince got to the gorge's entrance, the supply wagons were still going in, in a single file. The prince saw at least fifty wagons still to enter the gorge.

Since the prince's special cavalry regimental's formation could not be maintained alongside wagons within the gorge and the prince deplored that from ever happening, the prince decided to wait when all the supply wagon got in. He ordered his special cavalry commander to leave his four hundred special cavalry regiment at the large holding ground between the gorge's entrance and the garrison. The prince, with his generals and hundred elite cavalrymen, rode to the top of a high embankment to avoid the dust steered by the wagons that was thickest near the entrance of the gorge.

From the top of the embankment, the prince had a clear view of the supply wagons going in the gorge. His four hundred special cavalry regiment remained idle in front of the garrison. The setting was almost perfect as King Silrab could have imagined except for the prince, being at the top of the embankment, some distance to the garrison.

At that same time, the front of prince's seven-thousand cavalrymen was less than a fourth of a mile away to the gorge's exit. A lookout man, at the top of the gorge, on seeing Prince's Otil army emerged from a bend within the gorge waved two colored flags with both hands. General Isidro saw the waving flags. With over five thousand oxen and horses herded near the gorge's exit, he ordered his men and local villagers to get the herded animals to stampede. Spooked and driven by fire, the animals panicked and dashed to the only escape it had - through the gorge. In a minute, a mass of hysterical oxen and horses sprinted in panic towards Prince Otil's army within the gorge.

The seven-thousand cavalrymen that spearheaded Prince Otil's army had no inkling of the danger that loomed ahead until their horses became restless. Soon, they heard rumblings that progressively got louder. For a moment, they wondered what the sound was until someone shouted, "Stampede!" By then, their horses had gone wild, unseating most of its riders. The same horses stampeded away from the rumbling sound and crushed unseated riders as they galloped in a wild sprint towards Prince Otil's foot soldiers fifty yards behind.

Mass hysteria, confusion, and screams rippled back from the cavalry regiment towards the foot soldiers, over twenty thousand. But their ordeal had yet to end as General Irag's stampeding herd was fast approaching, a mere three hundred yards farther back. The animals' hooves stamped the ground violently, creating rumbling sounds that got magnified by the gorge's high walls to become close series of loud thunders.

At the same moment, General Sidro ordered the stampede, the complaisant prince was on horseback and still at the top of the embankment at the other end of the gorge. The prince, oblivious to the danger, saw a burning arrow shot at the top of the ridge. Dark smoke trailed as it flew skyward. Before the arrow reached its peak, archers lined the top of the twenty-foot high west garrison wall. In seconds, thousands of arrows rained down on the prince's cavalrymen nearest the garrison. Simultaneously, three-thousands of King Silrab's foot soldiers barged out of the garrison on a four-pronged attack. A group of foot soldiers blocked the entrapped cavalry's escape route; another group directly attack the cavalrymen nearest the garrison; another to capture the supply wagons and pile them at the gorge's entrance. A thousand of King Silrab's cavalry chase the prince and his elite security cavalrymen with him.

The captured wagons were piled one on top of another at the gorge's entrance and set on fire. The huge bonfire blocked the only exit Prince Otil's army had within the gorge and sealed their fate.

Beyond the garrison arrow's range, Prince Otil's confident posture changed to confused fright when he realized the entrapment. Wide-eyed, his fear heightened when he saw King Silrab's cavalry charging towards them. In the spar of the moment, he ordered his cavalrymen to retreat and were chased by King Silrab's cavalry. Outnumbered, the prince ordered a courier to ride out and seek his father's help as he diverted the chasing cavalry's attention, his only heroic deed.

Within the gorge, the carnage was dreadful. The sharp stench of blood was heavy in the air. Bloodied handprints and finger clawing traces painted the gorge's bottom walls. Loud and weak sounds of moans and cries for help came from heaps of crippled and crushed bodies on the ground reddened by blood. Soon after, General Sidro and King Silrab's foot soldiers entered both ends of the gorge. They finished off the dying and killed those who managed to survive the onslaught.

The courier Prince Otil sent to seek help from his father was cunning. The moment he got his mission order, he stripped himself of his uniform and sword and left him in his tunic and a hidden dagger. He headed south rather than west, away from Metropolitan Atlantis and deeper in enemy territory. Who would suspect a rider riding away from his homeland without a weapon on him? He rode in full gallop between towns and villages within enemy territory and stole horses along the way to replace the one he exhausted without an incident. He repeated this almost the entire night. Before sunrise, he stole a boat moored at the riverbank then crossed the Nile River. Safe within King Arth's territory, he commandeered a horse and headed to intersect a railroad track. He got there in time. A steam-driven train headed for Metropolitan Atlantis was in sight.

On seeing a man waving in the middle of the rail tracks, the freight train operator pulled the brakes and stopped the train. He helped the exhausted courier climb up into the train operator's cabin. The courier hastily gulped water and took large bites off the bread given. When the train operator asked what had happened, the courier replied, "I have an urgent message for our king," and fell asleep from exhaustion.

The freight train stopped at the heart of the metropolis two hours later. The courier saved over three days had he taken the direct route to the metropolis on horseback and, most likely, would have failed. He commandeered a horse and rode through the streets, headed for the boulevard that leads directly to the palace. As he rode, he weaved his way through the city's clogged main street. It was full of wagons, some empty and some full of goods. He saw herded and unsaddled horses, oxen, and goats being led in haste; groups of tense young men hastily jogged their way through the crowd; he saw lines of men in front of the armory building; he was witnessing general mobilization at its peak.

When he got to the palace, he saw General Odi busy coordinating the mobilization with his men. He hurriedly approached the general, nod his head, and said. "General Odi, sir, I bring an urgent message for the king from the prince. Where can I find him?"

"Follow me. I'm seeing him."

As both men briskly walked, the courier curiously asked, "Are we mobilizing to give aid to the prince?"

The question General Odi amused. He grinned and whimsically replied, "Why should the prince need aid? He has a larger and better army than the king. King Adazil's army has crossed the Nile River - an act of aggression that will be dealt with swiftly," he forcefully added with no sense of concern.

The courier realized the general was unaware of the military campaign launched by King Silrab against the prince. It dawned on him that King Arth was not prepared to battle on two fronts. "This will be a difficult day for our king," he sighed.

"Why?" General Odi reacted in surprise.

"King Silrab attacked and trapped the prince's army at Bucana Gorge. I was sent here to seek help from the king."

"Silrab against the prince . . . at Bucana Gorge?" the general reacted aloud in disbelief.

Uneasily the courier answered, "Yes Sir!"

General Odi realized the gravity of the new situation. "This is something the king must hear immediately," he said and jogged with the courier towards the adjacent building, for the War Room.

King Arth, with General Mismar and Suba, stood near a large table with a map that depicted all three kingdoms in the region. Colored wooden icons representing military units were laid out over it. Black icons, representing King Adazil's army, were packed together in disarray above the word 'Bansalan Pass.' North of it was Prince Otil's army icons colored red and arranged in battle formation directed at King Adazil army's rear. Similarly, King Arth's army, in blue icons, was south of the Bansalan Pass. His army formed a wide 'U' that completely blocked King Adazil's army out of the pass. The prepared layout meant one thing---the battle plan was agreed on and only required execution!

The atmosphere in the war room had no sense of urgency though the general mobilization outside was chaotic. As seasoned military men, they knew the chaos outside was normal and would settle down hours later. The atmosphere abruptly changed when General Odi barged in the room with the courier. The two walked hurriedly towards the king as General Odi got the courier to stand in front of the king.

The courier got tongue-tied that the king commanded forcefully, "Speak."

"I bring bad news, Your Highness. Prince Otil ordered me to seek for your help. His army is trapped," said the courier.

General Mismar reacted, "The prince engaged in battle this early. Trapped?!" He looked at the king for an answer.

"I'm as surprised as you," the king responded without any sign of distress. He then addressed the courier, "Is that all?"

"Yes, Your Highness. The message was passed on to me while chased on horseback."

General Odi saw the king was concerned but unalarmed. He prodded the courier, "Tell the king with whom and where."

The courier replied, "With King Silrab at Bucana Gorge, Your Highness."

"With King Silrab . . . Bucana Gorge?!" the king roared in disbelief.

General Suba was shocked and exclaimed, "Our battle plan was based on confronting King Adazil with the prince's army participating."

General Mismar interjected, "That changes the scenario completely." He was the king's military strategist and had high regard for the general's talent. "Silrab is no fool when it comes to war strategies. I'd rather fight Adazil with a thousand fewer men than Silrab with a thousand more. He is cunning! The prince's act was premature and not planned at all."

The king reacted, **"The young are impulsive and inclined to use muscle over brain,"** then asked, "How many of the prince's army was trapped?"

"Over twenty-nine-thousand of the thirty, Your Highness," the courier replied.

The king was stumped. He stared at the courier with unease and asked, "You seem so sure of your numbers, why?"

"It was the supply wagons that were going in the gorge. The supply wagons always stay at the rear of a marching army, Your Highness."

The king understood and believed the courier's number, over twenty-nine thousand. "How many soldiers did the prince have when you left?"

"When I rode out, he had less than a hundred of his elite cavalrymen."

What the courier said was something the king did not want to hear. He needed his son's army badly in the campaign against King Adazil. He was deep in thought as the reality and criticality of the situation sunk in.

General Mismar said to King Arth with a sense of trepidation, "I need to ask a question to the courier."

The king nodded.

General Mismar had the courier face him and said in a very deliberate manner, "I want you to think very carefully before you answer . . . Did you notice anything strange while you were with the prince . . . anything?" he stressed.

King Arth looked at Mismar with an inkling of what the general was up to but hoped it was not what he thought. He looked at the courier, eager to hear his answer.

The courier replied, "We must have angered the gods."

"What made you say that?" the king asked, looking intently at the courier.

"I heard a continuous sound of rumblings coming from the direction of the gorge while I was with the prince."

"Loud rumblings?" Mismar stressed the words.

"Like rumbling thunders. I was some distance away from the gorge, and still, I heard it."

Mismar looked at the king. "Remember the 'what-if' war simulation we played with the Bucana Gorge considered years ago?"

King Arth replied in dismay, "I do . . . stampede," He remained silent as he considered the outcome of a well-executed stampede with Prince Otil's army within the gorge then said to the courier, who looked haggard and tired, "There is food in the next room. Help yourself and rest after."

When the courier left, King Arth, with his generals, turned and viewed the map on the table. General Mismar was on the king's right side, where he always stood when with the king. With the king's right hand, he unceremoniously swept all the army icons to the side of the table. "I need two army icons," he said without referring to anyone. He leaned on the table with both hands and stayed motionless as he looked down at the map.

Mismar, anticipating what the king may need, had army icons in his hand and handed the green fort-like icon representing an entire army to the king and held on to others.

The king took and placed the green fort icon right at the entrance of Bucana Gorge on the map. "That will represent Silrab's army," he explained. He got a red fort icon and said, "This will be the prince's army." He held on to it for a moment then placed the icon on its side next to King Silrab's standing army icon, "Consider the prince's army annihilated . . . gone," he stressed in a deep voice.

The generals understood what the king meant---they were present during the stampede simulation years ago.

General Suba wondered aloud, "Why would Adazil dare attack us on a guess that King Silrab would annihilate the prince's army? Too high a price to gamble."

"He did not guess," Mismar snapped, "He was certain! With the prince's army out of the way, nothing can stop King Adazil's army from crossing the Nile, passing through Bansalan Pass, and attack Atlantis from the north."

"Now it makes sense," General Suba thought aloud. "Silrab has to move his army and attack from the south!" he added.

Mismar reacted, "He has to, to ensure an easy victory!"

The king heard General Suba and Mismar. Without a word said, he took the army icon and placed it over Bansalan Pass on the map. "That will be King Adazil's Army. He took King Silrab's green army icon on the table and moved it across the Nile River within his kingdom.

Mismar said to the king, "I surmise the Toril incident triggered this war. You should have talked to the prince when I informed you of his plans to wage war against any of the kings, months ago."

"I should have and am now paying for it. Where do we stand?" the king asked Mismar without taking his eyes off the map.

Mismar stared at the map. The icons on it seemed like chess pieces in his mind. With both hands, he repositioned the king's army icons and lumped them together over the word Metropolitan Atlantis. He took King Adazil's blue army icon, place it north of the metropolis, and said, "King Adazil's army will come from the north through Bansalan Mountain Pass. Their presence there will prevent reinforcement from the north-west region. He has over twenty-thousand men." He took King Silrab's fort icon and placed it south of the metropolis and said, "King Silrab's army will come from the south and poise to cut reinforcements from the southwest. He has nineteen thousand men. The two armies will converge at Matina Crossing late afternoon on the third day and will march and be here three days after. Altogether, we have a little over fourteen thousand against thirty-nine thousand. We cannot defend an unfortified metropolis, nor can we meet any of their armies' head-on. We have a better chance if we take our army and retreat southwest and meet up with the three thousand men, we sent to Toril. Then we . . ."

"Then recruit, train an army, and retake Atlantis?" King Arth said sarcastically.

"Yes!"

"They'd be invincible by then."

"Invincible?" Odi echoed.

The king answered, "They would have access to Durian resources to modernize their army. We have no chance of winning against a modern army in addition to their superiority in numbers."

"The Durians will stop them!" Odi interjected.

"With words?" the king snapped. "They will never get the Durian technology - that I am certain. But who will stop them from using the massive amount of materials stocked at the Durian warehouses and convert them for warfare? Our army's sword is no match against swords made of Durian steel. It will easily cut our sword in half!"

Bluntly, Mismar said, "We need time to prepare and defend Atlantis. Time, we do not have. Our situation is hopeless unless the Durians come to our aid and the Migrants too. There is no way around it. The Durians must give us time to prepare and defend Atlantis else we have no chance of winning."

Suba joined, "Even if we get the Migrants, we have less than seven days to train them. The worst part is, we do not have the weapons to train them with. The weapons our soldiers have are the only weapons we have. We have none to spare. You must also consider that Metropolitan Atlantis has no perimeter defense. An attack can come anywhere from over hundreds of miles of perimeter. That by itself is a nightmare to defend. The metropolis is just not prepared to go into war."

The king briefly stayed silent then said with a sense of urgency, "We need the Durian and Migrant's help. Signal the Durians to tell Amo Obib I am coming over for an urgent meeting. Mismar, present me a war plan that does not interrupt the Durian project," he instructed then hurriedly walked out of the room. Once out of the building, he took the nearest saddled horse at the courtyard and rode off in full gallop.

Need for Migrant's help

On horseback, the king took the busy main boulevard that headed straight toward the pyramid ship. Amo Obib, informed of the king's arrival, wasted no time. He ordered Goopersh to send an airship to pick up the king. The airship intercepted the king less than a mile away from the palace and brought him to the pyramid ship.

The king wasted no time either when he got to the pyramid ship. He explained the situation as he and Amo Obib stood next to the parked airship. On the king's request for Durian assistance, Amo Obib bluntly replied, "We Durians cannot, in good conscience, participate or provide aid for warfare. We can only offer you protection by placing an impregnable barrier around Atlantis."

King Arth was not surprised by Amo Obib naivetés on military matters. "They will ravage the kingdom outside barrier until I come out."

"How about your army?"

"Not only are we outnumbered, my men are also unfitted for battle and materially unprepared. The situation is critical."

The amo gave the situation a thought then asked, "Goopersh, how long a time do we have to maintain a barrier around the whole of Metropolitan Atlantis?"

Goopersh replied in its metallic voice, "Ninety-seven days."

Amo Obib said to the king, "Do as much as you can to save Atlantis from falling into the enemy's hands within ninety-seven days and take whatever you need from our warehouses."

King Arth was taken aback. "Are you aware of what that will mean?" he asked.

"It will be the end of the Durian civilization. Ending my civilization is not my intention. It is a hard decision to make, but my civilization is doomed without you. I have seen you change for the better. You are a good king. The people in this region will have a better life if you remain their king."

"Amo Obib, my intention is to save both your civilization and mine; prevent a war, even at the cost of my life. If you are amenable, can you allow Femed to speak on my behalf to the leaders of the migrant community of the situation and my need for their help?"

"I must deny your request. I or any Durian cannot, in conscience, ask people to participate in war or in anything that might lead them to harm."

"I give you my word; the migrants will not be harmed nor participate in a war."

Baffled, the amo asked, "Why will you need the Migrant's support then?"

"There are so many variables, and I'm too pressed for time to explain. There will be no war, and, again, no Migrants will be harmed. You have my word," the king stressed.

For a moment, Amo Obib looked into the king's eyes. The king had always kept his word and sensed the king's desperation and decided, "On your word, I will tell Femed to speak on your behalf. However, I have to tell her to emphasize that the Migrants are not required but free to make the choice."

"That is all I ask. I must go. Thank you so much for everything. Po-ogi si bobi," the king said. He hugged the amo then immediately turned and boarded the airship.

The amo noticed the king's manner of expressing himself before he left. He strongly felt the king's farewell was his last.

The Migrants

Femed had an emergency meeting with the leaders of the Migrant community. She explained King Arth's predicament and stressed the migrant's freedom to choose if they would come to the king's aid and risk their life or not. Soon after the meeting, word rapidly spread throughout the migrant community.

King Arth's Plan

Back at the palace, King Arth entered the war room and headed directly to the war table where his generals were. He leaned on the table with both hands and studied the layout Mismar prepared. He stared at his army icons lumped together southwest of the metropolis without saying a word.

On the king's silence, Mismar went straight to the point, "Without Durian intervention, we have no way of winning."

"I was hoping you'd come up with something different," the king said, then instructed, "Odi, and you, Suba, take five thousand men each. You are to hold back King Adazil's army for as long as you can at Bansalan Pass then retreat to Atlantis. Mismar, take four thousand and fortify Atlantis."

"That is the entire army. And you?" Mismar asked with concern.

"I'll take a small contingent and intercept King Silrab's army at Matina Crossing. I will make a deal with him. He knows he cannot trust Adazil. It will only be a matter of time when Adazil turns his attention to his kingdom. In exchange for marching together against King Adazil and helping the Durians after, I will cede him my throne to him. Your life will be much better under Silrab than under Adazil."

Odi said, "That may be a long shot if you consider the long-standing animosity between your family and his. All your invitations to King Silrab to come to Atlantis or your visiting him were denied. I don't think that is a wise choice. He hates you."

King Arth turned to Odi and replied, "That is my only option." He addressed all the generals and said, "Should you see black smoke coming from my location, see Amo Obib and take his offer to protect Atlantis by placing a barrier around the metropolis. You have ninety-seven days to plan and save Atlantis and take whatever is needed by our army from the Durian warehouses."

Mismar reacted, "That will mean the Durians' death."

The king answered, "Amo Obib is aware of that. You have ninety-seven days," he repeated.

Mismar responded, "In that case, we take the entire army and retreat south; meet up with our 3,000 men at Toril then rally the people outside of Metropolitan Atlantis to join the army. Let the Durians put up the barrier to prevent our enemies from using Durian resources for war for no more ninety-seven days. We destroy all their food and drinking sources outside the metropolis and starve Adazil's and Silrab's armies before we engage them. That is a winning proposition. You will end up the King of the entire region."

"Mismar is right. You don't have to make a deal with Silrab!" Suba added.

King Arth looked and asked the three, "Do you know what that would mean to the Durians if I did nothing?"

Mismar replied coldly, "It will mean the Durians' death. But it is now a question of survival---their lives or ours."

"I agree," Odi followed.

Suba said, "I also agree. Let . . ."

"Say no more," King Arth stopped Suba. He knew Mismar's plan would work, but he also knew it meant a victory at Durian's expense. "Implement that strategy should I fail."

Mismar stressed, "Why gamble your life? We have a winning plan."

King Arth replied, "I don't think I can live with my conscience knowing the Durians will die for us without my trying to save everyone . . . us and them. The Durians have done so much for us. They deserve a chance to life as we do. I must try to save everyone. I have but one option---make a deal with King Silrab," he paused, then calmly continued, "You are all good soldiers and my friends. We have fought many battles together. As your king, I want you to follow my wish."

They hugged each other, as they do before the battle.
THE GREATEST BATTLE

It was a cloudy day but not the one that would bring rain. King Arth's armies marched out of Metropolitan Atlantis in three directions, shaded by the clouds that made the arduous march pleasant but not their trepidations over what would happen to each of them in the battle to come.

King Arth, with a hundred soldiers, headed to intercept King Silrab's army. General Odi and Suba went separate ways to flank King Adazil's army on both sides of Bansalan Pass. An hour later, General Odi changed course to intercept King Arth. He could not see his king go without his protection should King Silrab not agree on his king's proposal. He was not surprised to see General Suba with his soldiers waiting at a junction. Later, they united at the metropolis with General Mismar grumbling why generals Odi and Suba took a long time to turn back.

"Do you know our act constitute a mutiny?" seriously, Mismar asked.

"There's no law against disobeying an unreasonable command," Odi remarked.

Suba interjected, "The better way of looking at our situation is to figure out what Arth will do when he sees us."

"He'll cut our heads off for sure," Mismar seriously said then boisterously laughed. The other two laughed heartily with him. Together with their armies, they marched to intercept King Arth.

The generals rode ahead of their combined soldiers and caught up with King Arth in the middle of the afternoon that same day. Saddled on their horses, Mismar said to his king, "Your Highness, we have a mutiny. We cannot stop the soldiers from going with you."

"Fools!" the king disappointedly said aloud, "All of you have a better chance with the Durians. Tell your men to go back while there is time."

"I don't think you can stop them. I tried. The three of us tried. The soldiers said that this is the best time to be with their king. It just so happens, we three agreed. I say we fight our way through King Silrab's army if he disagrees with you, head south, and regroup while the Durians protect Atlantis. We will . . ."

A soldier on horseback, alerted, "Your Highness, a lone rider is heading this way."

The king turned and noticed it was a Migrant on horseback riding hard and stopped almost in their midst.

The Migrant, still on his horse, excitedly requested, "Your Highness, please stand on a wagon and look toward the west."

The king was surprised at the strange request from a Migrant who held a spading fork, a home-made wooden club tied to his saddle, and a kitchen knife on his waist belt.

The king, excited, climbed a supply cart and looked west with his hands shading his squinted eyes from the blaze of the setting sun. Through the glare, he saw something at a distance. He struggled to make sense of the unusual dark feature that hugged the horizon before him. As he strained to make sense of what he saw, he realized the dark feature was the Migrants. They filled the width of the horizon.

The Migrant proudly announced, "Over two million . . . they all came for you, Your Highness."

The king rode his horse and headed to meet the Migrants. As he got closer, he noticed they were waving their wooden clubs, hayforks, sharpened poles held over their head as they chanted, "Long live our King. Long live our King . . .."

Amid the cheering mass, the king dismounted and walked among them. Tears flowed freely from his eyes while hugging as many as he could. Soon two men raised him in the air on their shoulders as the people chanted ever louder, "Long live our King." As they did, the king looked at the multitude and remembered what Amo Obib said nearly five years ago, 'Replace fear with love and compassion, and they will come to raise and proclaim you their king.'

It was the crowning moment of the king's life. Never was he so moved by the support he received for the little things he did for the Migrants. He said to himself, **'Truly, no greater power in the world can rise above what love and compassion to your brothers and sisters can do.'**

That evening, King Arth, his generals, and five representatives from the Migrant army, headed by Chanlai, planned their war strategy for the following day.

The Plan Executed

Late in the morning of the third day, King Adazil's army had reached the highest ridge of the Bansalan Pass that overlooked the vast valley within King Arth's domain. On high grounds and three miles away, King Adazil saw King Arth's army in its entirety spread over the sprawling grassland below. With disbelief, he could discern rows of columns of soldiers he estimated to be a thousand each, half-a-mile wide, in a battle formation. Behind the columns were blocks of a thousand men. There were so many, he did not bother to estimate. The sight was far from the 14,000 soldiers he expected to engage. He threw away his dreams of grandeur and ordered his army to turn back and leave King Silrab to do battle with King Arth's army by himself.

On seeing King Adazil's army retreat, King Arth smiled. He redeployed his army and the Migrants to face King Silrab's approaching army that was nearing the mountain's bend.

King Silrab, being on low ground, could not see what King Adazil saw at the ridge of Bansalan Pass. When his army made the turn on the hill's bend towards a vast relatively flat ground, he saw, in the distance ridge, and to his great surprise, King Adazil's army marching back, retreating. Before him, was King Arth's army of 14,000 in battle formation. He was not concerned. He knew King Arth had neglected his army's fitness and was not prepared to go to battle against his 19,000 well-armed, equipped, and trained army. The situation was something King Silrab had long dreamed and laughed at the thought of how dumb King Arth was to have the audacity to even prepare his army for battle. How he overrated him through all these years. ' _This will be an easy victory,'_ he thought. With confidence, he ordered his army to move forward and go to battle formation to face King Arth's army. Before he could give the signal to attack, he saw King Arth waved a red flag tied to a spear he held vertically.

On King Arth's signal, the Migrants came out of hiding from the hills behind the king's army. It filled the vast valley before King Silrab into a sea of warriors. Spread-out, the migrant's encircled King Silrab's army on three sides, over two million strong! He was not prepared for what he saw and now, realized why King Adazil turned back, and he had fallen into a trap.

In full battle gear, King Arth, with his three generals, rode halfway between his army and that of King Silrab's, a flung arrow's distance away. The king signaled his generals to wave their banners.

On the sight of the general's waving banners, the Migrants and the king's soldiers waved whatever they held over their heads. The valley fronting King Silrab glittered under the sun from the objects King Arth's entire army held and waved over their head. The frontline soldiers visibly waved their polished shields and spearheads; the second line, their shining shields and swords; and the third line, the archer's bows and arrows. The Migrants behind were so distant from King Silrab's men to discern that polished metal, frying pans, cups, plates, spoons, and anything that shined tied to a stick or pole were being waved. Together, the entire valley dazzled brightly from the sun that the opposing army shielded their eyes from the glare. As they waved, they repeatedly hailed in unison, "Long live King Arth!" The broad valley floor reverberated to the sound of his hailing army shouting at the top of their lungs. Rocks fell off the surrounding ridges from the horrendous sound they made. Moments later, the king raised his hand. The generals threw their flags on the ground and drew their sword. There was an unnatural sound heard in the air as King Arth's army prepared themselves for battle then an eerie silence followed. Tension was in the air.

King Arth and his three generals, on horseback, rode to the middle of the battlefield with General Odi holding a white flag. From there, king shouted at the top of his voice addressing King Silrab's army: "I come before you in peace," he paused as he waited for his words' echo to subside. "Drop your armaments and move back," he paused again. "You have my word as king . . . no harm or retribution will befall you . . . Fight . . . and it will be your last. . . On that . . . I also give you my word."

King Silrab's soldiers knew how brutal and unforgiving King Arth was to his enemies. They also knew King Arth always kept his word. To the king's warning, sounds of armaments dropped by King Silrab's soldiers reverberated. Sounds that crescendo to an eerie cacophony of clangs, clings, thuds, and sounds of thousands of footsteps from soldiers moving back and treading on weapons of war that littered the ground. King Silrab could merely watch his men and dreams desert him. It was far from his illusions of conquest a moment ago, much farther from what he thought might be. Soon, he was alone in an open space; saddled on his horse; resigned to his fate.

"King Silrab," King Arth called out, "we will have to settle the bad blood between your family and mine today." He dismounted his horse, drew his sword, and walked toward King Silrab. His generals dismounted and walked ten feet behind with swords drawn by their side.

King Silrab dismounted his horse then drew his sword. He knew he was no match against King Arth's skill in combat. Only his dignity and pride got him to stand his ground and face King Arth.

When they came within ten feet, King Arth stopped and said to his generals, "Should I die, I want you to set King Silrab free and let him rule his kingdom. Do you understand and swear?"

The generals, taken aback by the king's command, remained silent. It was only when the king shouted 'swear' angrily that they swore.

King Silrab reacted, "How noble of you to offer me my life and kingdom in exchange for your life. In return, I pledge this, should I win, I will never raise an arm against your kingdom, and all family debts are paid." He knew a surprise attack was his only chance of winning and he suddenly swung his sword at King Arth's head.

King Arth effortlessly parried the strike. He could have easily killed King Silrab, there and then, had he struck back but did not. He continued to be on the defensive as King Silrab wildly swung and thrashed his sword at him.

Odi noticed the lost opportunities to strike the fatal blow at King Silrab, commented, "Why doesn't he kill him?"

On hearing Odi's question, Mismar replied, "I don't think he wants him dead."

King Arth continued to parry King Silrab's strikes until a chance came and made a move. He got King Silrab's sword to fall on the ground.

King Silrab froze with King Arth's sword at his throat. He shut his eyelids tight in anticipation of his gruesome death. "Please make it swift," he begged.

In a normal voice, King Arth said, "Open your eyes, King Silrab."

King Silrab did and, to his astonishment, saw King Arth held out his sword with its handle toward him. King Silrab took the sword and held it by his side.

King Arth said in a deep voice, "I seek peace. Kill me now if you think it will heal the bad blood between your family and mine, and you will still have your kingdom, as I have sworn." He then extended both arms and added, "Else, take my arms as a token of our desires to have our kingdoms live in peace."

King Silrab reflected. There were many reasons to swing the mortal blow and settle old family debts. King Arth, long ago, had put two of his elder brothers and many of his kin to death. He raised the sword poised to strike.

King Arth did not waver from his stance; his arms still extended; his eyes on the other king.

Still poised to strike, King Silrab said, "Even if I personally killed your son?"

"Even so," the king choked on his word. "Neither you nor I can do anything to change that now," he sadly said, and briefly looked away, his hands partly lowered. He faced him and extended his arms again and, with a firmer voice, said, "It is in the past. There are new and brighter days before us and our people. My offer stands."

King Silrab hesitated, smiled, then forcefully flung his sword away. They held each other's arms, then hugged each other. To this, both armies cheered aloud, "Long live, King Arth. Long live King Silrab."

Kill Him for My Mother and Me

After King Arth and Silrab parted, King Arth sadly said, "Can I have my son's body?"

"He is alive. But . . ."

"I understand."

"No retributions?"

"You have my word," King Arth replied.

King Silrab turned and shouted, "Set Prince Otil free."

Prince Otil emerged amidst King Silrab's soldiers. In loincloth, his exposed skin, including his face, showed ripped flesh from lashings; dirt and dried blood caked around his wounds all over his entire body; fury pasted on his face. He picked a sword on the ground and ran toward King Silrab.

King Arth moved to intercept his son as he said to his generals, "Protect King Silrab . . . even if you kill my son."

The generals rushed in front of King Silrab with swords drawn poised to protect King Silrab.

King Arth, with arms extended sideways, blocked his son's path toward King Silrab as he repeatedly pleaded, "It's all over. It's all over."

The prince tried thrice to go around his father's extended arms. Unable to succeed, he stood in front of his father and shouted in heightened determination and anger, "I must kill him."

King Arth slowly lowered his arms and said in a pleading tone, "You must not . . . It will not solve anything."

"Then I will kill you," Prince Otil furiously shouted, staring vilely at his father.

"You have to," the king said as he stood and looked at his son in the eyes.

"You put more value on his life than my honor? You are willing to die and protect a pig whose family killed your father and wife . . . my mother! What kind of king . . . or man are you?" Prince Otil screamed with disgust; saliva splattered out of his mouth as he spoke; his eyes stared furiously at his father.

King Arth stayed silent. He was calm and showed no fear. His fate at his son's whims. He was prepared to die.

The prince continued with wrath, "If you love me, my mother, and your father, kill him for us!"

The king implored, "It is because I love all that I must not. Please understand. It is for everyone's best."

"I will kill you myself," Prince Otil said, raising his sword and started slashing the wind around his father, unable to get himself to strike the king.

The king stood still as the sword swung an inch away. The generals could do nothing but watch in alarm.

Finally, Prince Otil threw the sword, dropped on the ground on his knees, and, in frustration, cried.

King Arth knelt in front of his son. He wanted to hold, wrapped his arms around his son but torn skin and flesh were all over his body. He said, "My son, forget the past and look forward to a new and better tomorrow. Forgive and forget as I have done. Please do it for me. I love you."

The prince, in despair, cried in a faint voice, "Twice you dishonored me. How can you do that and say you love me?"

The king answered, "In time, I pray you will understand. Just remember I do love you with all my heart," then helped him stand, holding the prince's hands carefully. "We will get the Durian doctor to bring you back to health. They will mend your wounds so no scars will show. You will see . . . everything will be better than before."

On hearing a humming sound, the king looked up and saw an airship overhead.

The king and the prince were flown back to Atlantis.

Loss of a kingdom

Over a month later, a small group of protesters vehemently against the abuses of King Adazil's monarchy, marched through the city's wide boulevard towards King Adazil's fortified palace. Their call for solidarity against the maltreatment and oppression of their king and his cohorts to the people drew spontaneous support along the way that, in a relatively short time, it had become a huge crowd of angry people who strongly felt wrongly ruled.

Informed of the marcher's cause, the commander of the military garrison ahead ordered his men to join, protect, and head the assembly. Without hesitation, the soldiers at the garrison were on the street, in full battle gear, eager to welcome the protesters and march ahead of them.

Word rapidly spread that most of the city's population joined the march. When they got to King Adazil's fortified palace, all its gates were wide open, and the palace soldiers were at its perimeter walls waving delightedly to welcome the protester's arrival. King Adazil and those loyal to him barricaded themselves within the palace's inner walls. They surrendered peacefully the following day after King Adazil flung himself off the palace tower, so they said.

Two weeks after, the representative to once King Adazil kingdom came to see King Arth. They brought with them the gruesome decapitated head of King Adazil and that of his military generals singly wrapped in linen. Separated were over a hundred sacks full of human heads. Heads of people associated with King Adazil's atrocities and oppression. They handed King Arth a letter of declaration with hundreds of signatures from representatives of different sectors in their community. It declared King Arth, their king.

King Arth, with dismay, looked at the decapitated heads on the floor and sacks full of heads nearby. He wanted to admonish but instead warned that no blood be spilled henceforth. He instructed the representatives to elect a Governor and a governing body to rule an autonomous province under his kingship and forbade the formation of an army. Thereafter, the king banned Prince Otil from forming an army. He gave lifetime pension to old soldiers and the young retrained as policemen that carried no weapon except for the few that guarded his palace and the armory.

With no prodding from King Arth, King Silrab followed King Arth's examples. The two kingdoms flourished in peace in the years that followed.

Prince Otil recovered completely from his injuries. With the Durian's medical technology, he showed no scars from the lashings he received from the hands of King Silrab's men. For a while, the prince isolated himself in Tugbok. Unarmed and monitored, he was of no threat to anyone. Five months later, he visited Atlantis, on his own accord, to which the king was ecstatically happy, and thereafter, the prince visited Atlantis regularly.

King Arth was so happy with the prince's regular visits that he granted the prince's request to have a mansion built as the prince's residence at Metropolitan Atlantis. The prince chose a site adjacent to the Atlantis' proposed convention center where government events would be held. Though it would have been better to have the mansion built within the large park some distance to the convention center, the Prince insisted on the location. He reasoned the conveniences of being near a site where major government meetings will be held as the prince planned to actively participate in governing the kingdom with his father.

The mansion, built ahead of other construction projects, had several large guest houses, a personal gym, and a spacious yard. High stonewalls surrounded the compound to ensure the Prince's privacy. It was a large compound that befitted a powerful prince.

ECONOMIC CRISIS

Giza's landscape dramatically changed from the day Amo Obib negotiated with King Arth to what it had become twenty-three years later. With a population of over nine million, the metropolis had expanded. It had transformed the vast grassland into a beautiful and well-planned megapolis identical to the city's model shown to the king decades ago. The only thing that changed was the prince's residential compound that was added adjacent to the convention center. The pyramid ship, which once stood alone in the wide-open grassland, was now at the heart of Atlantean government buildings and adjacent to the largest park and grandstand in Atlantis. Surrounding, in turn, were the residential areas, then the commercial, followed by the industrial zones.

High-rise residential complexes dotted the residential areas like island communities spaced by beautiful parks between each other. Each had gyms, small and large auditoriums, a shopping center, and, outside, swimming pools, playing courts, spacious children playgrounds, and an army of maintenance workers, deeply dedicated to their work.

The Durians could have easily skipped this high level of comfort to the people of Atlantis and cut the project completion time by a fifth but did not. They balanced their need to the time they had to make Atlantis a beautiful place to work and live. The people knew and appreciated what the Durians have done and reciprocated by working at their best.

With Atlantis' four massive cold fusion electric generators and the Durians' obsession to distribute electrical power for its convenience to the populace, no house was without electricity. Electric transmission wires snaked out of Atlantis physically linking it to every dwelling in King Arth and King Silrab's kingdoms, and the Autonomous Region, once ruled by King Adazil, and further on. Arth's kingdom, by this time, had stretched westward to the fringe of the Sahara Desert, three-hundred miles to the west.

Using Metropolis Atlantis as a model and with King Arth's assistance and support, King Silrab's kingdom and the Autonomous Region were as modern and progressive as Atlantis. Together, they agreed to rename the entire region, both east and west of Nile River, Atlantis, and the inhabitants proudly declared themselves as one - Atlanteans. Amo Obib's prayers, Nengut's dream, the Durian's hope, became a reality.

Except for the king, prince, high government officials, and civil service transports, there were no private vehicles. There were no aerial crafts for public transportation within or outside Metropolitan Atlantis either. Instead, the region had a well-planned, electrically operated public commuting and rail transport systems. The transport system crisscrossed the whole of Atlantis that brought anyone within walking distance to any place within the metropolis. The system gradually expanded that by the fifteenth year, all the major towns and cities in all kingdoms have identical systems in place. This transportation system was so elaborate that no known inhabited area in the region was more than three miles away from the railway and all led back to Metropolitan Atlantis.

The police force, still manned exclusively by Egyptians, performed their duties unarmed and never had a problem. The citizens were law-abiding and their authority was never questioned nor did the police force abused it. If there was a policy the Egyptian police force strictly enforced, it was the ban on any form of armaments, which now included the Egyptians. Though the Egyptians protested the random search, the Migrants thought nothing of it. It was part of their staying agreement with the Durians. No right-minded Migrant would dare violate any of the settlement laws as it meant deportation back to his or her native homeland. No one wanted to go back.

Despite technological advancement, swords, bows and arrows, and spears were still the army's primary weapons. Since the king disarmed the military decades ago, the weapons stayed in a guarded armory building.

At this time, the work on the atomic converter had reached its peak. The underground doughnut-shaped structure of the enormous atomic converter machine neared its completion, and so were its support facilities. Most of the work was within the atomic converter's inner structure--- laying out miles upon miles of super-conductive wires and installation of super-magnet casings. Simultaneously, they assembled and tested the machine's sophisticated electronics.

The Durians absorbed a substantial portion of the industrial outputs that propelled the region's economy. Most of the Durian projects were nearing its completion. Unless the region absorbed the displaced workers from the Durian's project scheduled shutdowns, economic chaos would ensue. To help alleviate the problem, the Durians handed more consumer technologies to the private sector and sold the excess capacities of their manufacturing plants. Since the private sectors were slow to react and layoff schedules were uncomfortably near, Femed brought her concern to the king's Minister of Commerce, who also was the Chairperson of Economic Development Board. The Minister assured her the government was aware of and had addressed the issues, and there was nothing to worry about. Months later, the first groups of laid-off workers were easily absorbed by the private sector. However, succeeding scheduled layoffs would result in progressive unemployment problems. With work on the atomic converter winding down to specialized fields, larger layoffs loomed ahead. The government was not ready. To this, the Minister of Commerce, and his staff of five had an emergency meeting with King Arth.

In the palace conference room, the minister and his staff briefed the king on the probable unemployment problems. King Arth lost his temper and shouted, "I thought this problem was resolved a long time ago!"

Nervous, the overweight Minister replied, "Your Highness, the private sector is hardly responding to the incentives given to create new industries to absorb the layoffs. They seem not to realize the opportunities. I do not understand. As far as government projects are concerned, we are undertaking so many we do not need. Adding another might arouse Durian suspicion."

"I don't want the Durians to suspect anything!" the king fumed. "We have a little over a year to keep this problem from them. They have enough problems on their own, and I do not want them bothered by ours. Does everyone understand?"

The words 'Yes Your Highness' resounded. They have not seen their king's temper flare since the Durians came. The ones they remembered, almost three decades ago, heads literally rolled on the ground.

"How many people are we talking about?" the king thundered.

The Minister answered meekly and in fear, "We estimate around two-hundred thousand in the next ten months."

"Two-hundred-thousand!" the king echoed and fumed again. "You better give me a solution, or I will lift the ban on public executions to the six of you!"

"Your Highness," the Minister said in haste, "I propose we use the laid-off workers to build monuments until such time when we have a solution to the problem."

The Minister was lucky. The king wanted monuments built in his honor and that of the Durians. "Good idea," the king said and noticed the minister and staff were tense and afraid, added, "You can relax. I have no intention of beheading anyone . . . at least not now," he seriously added though he meant merely to frighten.

"Oh, thank you, Your Highness," the Minister replied, wiping the sweat from his face with his handkerchief.

"Building monuments is a clever idea," the king reacted. "With a two-hundred thousand workforce, it must be big. But what kind?" he wondered aloud.

"A version of the pyramid ship made with quarried sandstones whose outer surface would be made of white marble slabs. The monument will last forever," he answered, and nervously waited for the king's reaction, sweating again as he held his breath.

"I like that . . . a pyramid monument . . . last forever," the king mused aloud, at last, to the Minister's relief.

The king visualized the pyramid monument in his mind as he took full advantage of the cushioned chair's backrest while fiddling his beard. In his mind, he saw a huge white marbled pyramid glimmer under the sun that dominated the landscape for miles around. The king then said, "Ok, a pyramid monument. The Durians will not suspect. We will build the pyramid in Durian's honor and suggest Nengut be entombed within the pyramid's heart as a memorial. But don't expect me to finance this forever, or you will have to pay for it from your salary," the king said jokingly.

The Minister half-heartedly laughed as he again wiped the perspiration off his forehead and neck this time. "That will solve our problem."

"Meanwhile," the king said, "I want you to work on the outcropped rock at the plain. I want that sculptured to my emblem, a reclining lion. Lest the Durians hear of it, I do not want the laid-off workers complaining to the kind of work they will end up. The Durians told me that on their planet, people do not fuss over the type of work they do. So, make sure the 'Privileged' do not fuss either," the king said, referring to the white-collared Egyptian workers employed by the Durians and scheduled to be laid-off. "Mr. Minister," he stressed, "I do not want the Durians to hear, more so, be bothered by our problems. Should they ask, we have no problem. Do you understand?" he said aloud.

"Yes, Your Highness," the Minister replied, normally breathing this time.

"Juls, Dingky," the king called out.

Juls and Dingky rushed to their king and together said, "Your Highness."

"Juls, since you screen and schedule the people that see the Durians, make sure the Durians will not hear about any of our problems regardless of kind."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Dingky," the king continued, "make sure the press releases rosy articles always."

"Yes, Your Highness," Dingky, the king's Press Secretary, replied.

"Gentlemen, as I have said, we have a little over a year to solve this problem. If worse comes, we will resolve it after the Durians leave but not before. They have done so much for us. That is the least we can do," the king concluded and ended the meeting.

The Giza Monuments

A day later, the king proudly presented the model of his plan to Amo Obib. It was a small-scale pyramid monument painted in luster white laid on top of a carriage.

Amo Obib liked the idea and said, "We will help you build it. We have excess capacity. We can use twelve of the airships for this purpose and will share the cost."

"I refuse your offer," the king replied. He had a good idea of how fast they could build his proposed monument with full use of the airships. Had he known; he would have made the model gigantic. "It will be made purely by the sweat of humans to show how grateful we are."

"We are just as grateful. A joint venture to express our gratitude to each other, wouldn't that be fair?"

The king hid his concern knowing the amo's suggestion was logical and fair, replied, "Okay. Since it is joint, I will sit with my designers and come up with a grander plan but similar in format."

"I will leave the design and details to you," Amo Obib replied.

The following morning, the king, with his architects and construction engineers, were present in a large room. Dozens of clean blackboards, chalks in bowls, and a large stack of paper supplies were ready and on one side of the room and, on the other side, pens with ink cartridges laid atop engineering drawing tables. Dozens of excited draftsmen waited at the adjoining room for instructions. The thought of being part of a coveted group to leave their mark on the planet that will last forever was enough to anticipate, with overwhelming eagerness, the work that laid ahead.

In loose white tunic and slippers, King Arth was prepared for the long, tedious planning ahead. Seated at the end of a large rectangular conference table, he started the meeting decisively, "Gentlemen, I want something designed and built within fourteen months, with more or less than 200,000 workers and twelve airships at your disposal. I want it such that I can justify the workforce to the Durians." After that, he actively participated in the planning.

As the day dragged on, numerous models were thrown; the blackboards cleaned many times; and used drawing papers have littered the floor. As they planned, always, the use of the twelve airships was a problem---they could easily build dozens of pyramid monuments using the airships.

Midafternoon that same day and after numerous models considered, the king had a feasible proposal. It was not just a large construction project, but the results would be an engineering marvel of structures to awe people for the generation to come. Instead of one pyramid monument, which could only absorb a small portion of the scheduled laid-off workers, they opted to build three pyramids whose size and position to each other would be symbolic. The model depicted three pyramid-shaped monuments laid out in the same positions as the three stars on the belt of constellation Orion in the night sky. The belt signified the proximate location of planet Duria in the cosmos. The pyramid's size would be relative to the brightness of each star on Orion's belt. The largest of the pyramids which was identical to size of the Durian's pyramid ship, would serve as King Arth's tomb; the second largest was where Nengut would be laid to rest. The smallest of the three pyramids was Prince Otil's tomb. The pyramids would be built three miles from the king's Lion Monument (the Sphinx at Giza).

Added to the project were public buildings that surrounded the pyramids --- museums, cultural centers, and theaters. The spaces between buildings made into parks with man-made lakes and wooded areas to accent the place. The three pyramids would be built using purely of sandstone blocks and its outer shell with white marble slabs as together they would last forever. The rest of the project buildings were to be made of structural steel wrapped in concrete, granite flooring, marble walls, and extensive use of glass panels. Granite stones would be used to entomb the burial caskets as granite was harder than marble.

The physical construction, its supervision in the building of the pyramids and the surrounding architectural structures, the etching of inscriptions and polishing of granite and marble used were human's share in the joint venture. The twelve airships would be used exclusively to quarry the hundreds of thousand sandstones blocks weighing over a ton each and its transport to the site. The king's architects chose the large park adjacent to the parked pyramid spaceship as the construction site. The project would absorb all the laid-off workers and have full control over its duration. If they fell short on their schedule, they would use more the airships.

King Arth presented his plan to Amo Obib the day after. Though Amo Obib thought it grandiose, he agreed with one additional feature---a directional beacon to be left at the heart of the largest monument.

Next day, surveyors were staking construction markers at the park.
POWER STRUGGLE

Twenty-four years have passed, and over a year in advance, the Durians announced the atomic converter's inauguration day but withheld their departure date. They issued an open invitation to a weeklong celebration hosted by the Durians that included free food and accommodations during the festivity's duration to anyone who would come to Atlantis. The invitation extended to the workers and their families in South and Central Americas as they intended to transport them over.

Three months before scheduled project completion, the Migrants' Chamber of Commerce, an association of Migrants businessmen, had a secret emergency meeting. San Ki, President of the Chamber, presided. After issues concerning the Migrant's welfare were discussed, he addressed the crowd, "It is imperative we start planning our future. I see no future for us, Migrants, in this kingdom once the Durians leave or if King Arth dies prematurely . . . whichever comes first. Threats to take advantage of government incentives in new businesses aimed at absorbing laid-off workers from the Durian projects are signs of impending problems. We cannot present our concerns to the Durians. They will not be here to protect us. Neither can we go to King Arth, who is so blinded by his righteous cause to see what is going on around him. Nor are we safe if Prince Otil takes over his father's throne. The prince, through reliable sources, said that Migrants would make good slaves.

"We have to take matters into our own hands before it becomes too late. If we are to become someone's subjects, we would prefer our leader to come from the Migrant community. At least we control our destiny. Does everyone agree?"

The hall resounded with a 'Yes,'

"Changlai, a general of an army from where he came, will present his plan for your approval," Ki concluded and gave the podium to Changlai.

Changlai, very Chinese looking with a ponytailed hair, stood at the podium and went straight to the point, "Whoever controls Durian technology controls the world. It is vitally important we control it. Our success lies in two things---timing and complete surprise.

"Our informant said that Prince Otil will not allow the Durians to leave and will take control once the ship is fueled. We will do it just before when they least expect it. We will need five-hundred well-armed men and another two-thousand . . ."

As Changlai explained his plan, a Migrant standing at the rear asked another alongside, "How come Changlai knows about this and not the king?"

"Because the king prefers to be blind and deaf. Brave as he is, he is scared to hear the truth about his son," the other responded.

"Do you know two of his three closest friends are dead?"

"Who?"

"Generals Suba and Odi. Only Mismar is alive. General Odi mysteriously disappeared on a hunting trip while General Suba had a mysterious freak accident. I even heard Prince Otil had something to do with the derailment of the train that killed King Silrab and his family. The new king is a good friend of Prince Otil. It is all too much of a coincidence for the king not to notice."

"But why?"

"Blinded by love for his son and fulfillment of a vow he made to his dying wife, they say."

"Doesn't anyone tell him this?"

"No one will dare. The king will blindly protect the prince. Besides, the prince has many spies planted everywhere."

"King Arth is a good king. I like him."

"I like him, but that will not save us."

"He still has a lot of followers."

"The wrong ones like us," he mocked. "He needs the army."

A Migrant seated in front of the two turned and addressed them, "Shut up, you two."

Changlai concluded to a hushed crowd, "It is important that the Durians do not suspect. We continue what we are doing until the ship is ready for refueling, then we strike!"

* * *

A week before the inauguration, the Migrants Chamber of Commerce held an urgent secret meeting. The warehouse used was small to accommodate the over one-hundred packed within. The stifling heat made everyone sweat and worsened the tense situation. Arguments and heated discussions sparked among members in small tight clusters as they waited for Changlai's arrival.

Unable to contain his frustration, one stood on top of a desk and shouted, "Listen, everyone. The Durians promised to help us build our own city in a place of our choice. With that offer, I do not see any reason why we should go on with our plan to take control of the Durians and their technology."

"Yes, I agree," said another in the crowd aloud. "There is no sense fighting if we will have our own city."

"Where is Changlai?" someone asked impatiently.

"He will come," Ki answered.

"The information we paid was too expensive," someone complained.

"Yes," agreed another and added, "We also paid dearly for the swords. How do we know Changlai is not pocketing our money?"

Ki replied, "Changlai is an honest man. You can trust him," and on seeing Changlai enter the room, said with relief, "Here he comes. Changlai," he called out aloud and waving at Changlai to come directly to where he stood.

Changlai weaved through men in the packed room and on reaching Ki, said, "I'm sorry for being late."

"Glad you're here," Ki said with great relief. "The members are having second thoughts. Many feel we are doing the wrong thing."

Changlai's face reddened. "Let me address the members," he said to Ki, agitated.

"Please," Ki eagerly responded.

Changlai found a crate and stood on it. He bluntly addressed the crowd in an angry voice, "I have no time as you businessmen do things at your leisure," he taunted aloud. "If there is a difference between you and me, I deal with lives, not money, and have no time for idle chatters. If you decide not to push through with our plan, I will not argue," he said strongly. "But before you make that decision, consider very carefully . . . this is our only chance. Once this opportunity is gone and you are wrong, think of what our life will be under the prince. Remember, the Durians' promise is worth nothing if Prince Otil gets to the Durians first. For your information, the reason for my being late was I had to see an informer to confirm the information I got from another informant. Hear me well," he stressed forcefully, "Prince Otil will take over his father's kingdom during the inaugural dinner ceremony at the Convention Center. Once in power, we, the leaders in the Migrant community, will be under his rule. I think you have a fairly good idea what kind of life that will be. I say we go as planned."

Ki and Changlai went to another room and left the members to argue the pros and cons among themselves. At the end of a vociferous discussion among members, they decided to go on as Changlai planned.
INAUGURATION DAY

After twenty-five years and eight months and, with four months to spare, the Atomic Converter was fully operational. The three pyramid monuments constructed needed but the inscriptions within their hallways and chambers for its completion. King Arth's lion monument, an imposing sight at the large park, was completed. The museums, the convention center, the public theaters, and the parks with its lakes were all done and to be inaugurated in successive days after the Atomic Converter's inauguration day as part of the week-long celebration. At the quarry site were two massive and polished granite obelisks. Each a hundred fifty feet tall and fifty feet wide at its four-sided surfaces bore Amo Obib, and King Arth's deeply inscribed message was done. The obelisks would be brought and placed at its site as part of the grand ceremony on the day the Durians left Earth.

The Durians officially announced the postponement of their departure date to help build the city they promised the Migrants---a sparsely populated island in the Mediterranean (known today as the island of Crete).

* * *

The Durians did not dream so many would accept the open invitation as Atlantis burgeoned in population in a week. Cities, towns, villages, and hamlets hundreds of miles beyond the realm, and those in the Americas became ghost towns almost overnight. Over a million workers and their families from South and Central America were ferried by the airships to Atlantis. They stayed in tent cities prepared by the Durians. Far beyond the Durian's and Atlantean's expectations, people, on their own, traveled great distances to witness the inaugural events that the Durians ran out of places to accommodate them. Despite the multitude that came, there was never a problem---the Atlanteans', through the years, adopted the Durian philosophy of helping each other that no dwelling in the whole of Atlantis was without guests. With a unified language among those who participated in the Durian project, vocal communication was not a problem.

Everyone was having a wonderful time. There were many things to do and see---circuses, cultural programs, games, races, and everything conceivable to keep the people of all ages occupied and entertained. With the sky turned to gigantic screens above the parks, thousands lay on the park grounds with wireless headphones over their ears and viewed documentaries projected overhead. These sky screens would show all the inaugural events publicly.

On the eve of Inauguration Day, the stadium ground nearest the pyramid ship was packed to capacity. At areas nearest the stage, families occupied the bleachers way before sunrise. Those that stayed much earlier got the seats closest to the cordoned area reserved for the special guests fronting the stage.

The dining hall within the Convention Center was grand and opulently adorned. Twelve large and impressive chandeliers lined its ceiling, highlighting the gold and silver trimmings on pillars, statues, paintings, and the beautiful murals on the walls around. A jubilant mood was in the air over the hundred tables with ten guests on each comfortably seated.

King Arth, in his elegant king's robe, was in his exceptionally good mood. Delighted as he walked from one table to another, entertaining his guests. The Durian's were in their snug-fit white uniform and still wore their moccasin shoes. Like the king, the Durians moved around, happy to entertain their guests too---the Durians were hosts as well. At a given time, the Durians congregated in one area within the hall. Commander Nerus, on a podium, announced aloud, "Please excuse us for duty calls. We will see you at the stadium in an hour," and the Durians left.

The grounds around the stage and the path from the stage to the pyramid ship were covered with lead sheets to protect the Durians from radiation that streamed from the earth's core. For safety reasons, a guarded grilled gate was installed to limit entry to the pyramid ship. Only Durians and authorized personnel could enter as strangers, and there were over a million, could easily get lost in the labyrinth of hallways inside the pyramid ship.

When the Durians got to the stage, Indit, in-charge of the programs, was shocked to see thousands of small cut white papers littered on and around the two-level stage. To her relief, she saw Changlai supervise the cleaning crew. She walked over to Changlai and asked: "Changlai, where did all these small cut papers come from?"

Changlai explained, "On the last program, they decided to use, at the last minute, cut papers to dramatize snow falling. Apparently, they cut the papers smaller, dumped more at the blowers, and, to make matters worse, a strong breeze scattered it around. I am deeply sorry for all this. Do not worry. More men are coming to help clear the mess."

"Thank you so much, Changlai. I can always depend on you," she said and walked toward the ship.

Changlai looked sad and felt guilty as he watched Indit walk away. He personally liked her and worked under her supervision many times before. He loved and respected the Durians but had to betray them. He had no choice. It had to be done.

Indit was surprised to find Juls, the son of Jocam and a good friend of hers, guarding the gate to the ship. When she got near, asked, "Juls, why are you here?"

"I was instructed to guard and lock the gate once the main program starts.

"Where is the family?"

"They're somewhere out there most likely watching some side program. We will see each other later," sounding edgy.

"Is something bothering you, Juls?"

Juls was uneasy when he responded, "It must be the crowd. I've never seen so many in one place."

"Come to think of it, it really can make you jittery. They're having a wonderful time though, with all the activities going on. Do not worry---everything will be fine. I must leave you. We only have less than an hour-long intermission, and I still have so many things to attend to. Po-ogi si bobi, Juls," and she went in the ship to get something then came back the same way.

The Cost of a Mistake

Miyas and two other Durians, a short distance away, were manning the fuel transfer controls at the rear of a large lower stage. On the left and right side of the lower stage was where the equally divided number of Durians would sit. Two elegant chairs at the center were for King Arth and Commander Nerus, who represented Amo Obib. Missing were Amo Obib and Ningning, who by their vows on worldly affairs, would watch the ceremony inside the ship.

At the center of the upper stage, a large lever was on top of a waist-high platform. King Arth and Commander Nerus, together during the inaugural ceremony, would pull down the lever to mark the end of the twenty-six-year project and start the fueling process. High above the platform was a large gauge with bands of yellow, green, and red colored areas and one large bold pointer. The pointer was resting on the left end of the yellow band to indicate the off position. The gauge was functional and was there to dramatize the fuel purging and status. Adjacent to the large lever was an extra-large wheel that controlled line purging and later the fueling rate. Caloy, a Durian, operated it. The wheel, too, was a functional and, again, was there to dramatize the fueling process.

The stage's backdrop was the pyramid spaceship whose entire surface lit in dazzling colored patterns. The changing patterns displayed were an awesome and mesmerizing sight to watch against a dark background of the night sky.

"Initiate fuel line purging," Miyas ordered the two Durians operating the purging control consoles. The two acknowledged Miyas then started to set switches and dials on their respective consoles.

Miyas went up from the lower to the upper stage to Caloy, who stood alongside the control wheel. The wheel controlled the amount of anti-matter that would purge the fuel line of atom size contaminants before actual anti-matter fuel transfer could take place. "Caloy," he said, "you control the amount of anti-matter that goes into the fuel line. Make sure the needle stays dead center in the green area of the dial."

Caloy candidly asked, "If it went beyond, would it blow up the planet?"

"Nothing of that kind,' Miyas smirked jokingly. "We will be handling a minuscule amount of anti-matter during line purge. And there will be no explosion but an implosion. You see, anti-matter is highly attracted to metal objects. It has enough attraction to leap to small metal objects weighing no less than two ounces, as a small nail, five miles away. On contact, it will destroy its atomic structure and generate heat so intense that it will incinerate organic matter a quarter of a mile around within a second. Can you imagine what would happen to this civilization knowing that metal acts as a conductor for anti-matter?"

Caloy gave it a serious thought and, in shock, replied, "The entire region is wired to Atlantis by electrical, communication, and rail tracks! Large buildings are built with structural steel, and wooden structures have nails in them. It will incinerate the whole area! The whole of Atlantis and the regions around will vanish from the face of this planet and leave no trace. Only the Lion monument and the three pyramids being made of sandstone and marble will remain in the entire region. How come I know of its destructive force only now?"

"Prevent needless anxiety," Miyas answered. "We have full control over the process and instituted measures to prevent that to ever happen. The information is passed on a 'need to know' basis. That is why I am telling you now. Your sole role is to turn the wheel counterclockwise to shut-off if anything goes amiss. For safeguards, we have ten minutes to react before the dial reaches the red area. Three minutes for it to reach its limit, and ten seconds more when the final warning siren is activated. All you need to do is turn the wheel counterclockwise to its 'shutoff' position. I will be watching the gauge at a distance and can shut it off from my console as another safeguard. That is why the dial is extra-large. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"When the line purge is done, we will wait for King Arth and Commander Nerus to formally pull down the lever and start actual fueling. It will take a little over a week to fill the fuel tanks. Purging will take exactly forty-five minutes. By then, the king and his guest will be here and seated. Are you set?"

"Yes," Caloy answered.

Miyas went back to his console and noticed the Migrants cleaning both the upper and lower stages and the grounds around. He thought nothing of it. He turned on switches on his console then signaled Caloy to begin the purge process.

Caloy flipped switches then slowly turned the wheel clockwise as he watched the gauge's pointer move slowly to dead center on the green area, and he let go of the wheel.

Underground and, for the first time, the massive Atomic Converter whined. The purging process had begun.

Summer is here

King Arth was entertaining his guests at the convention center's dining hall. He was euphoric---he had accomplished his dreams: respected not only as a king but as a man. Of having a beautiful metropolis, he was so proud of. Most of all, in fulfilling a promise to Amo Obib that meant so much to him.

Commander Astig, officer-in-charge of security at the stadium, was in his formal soldier's uniform. He entered the dining hall and spotted his king, chatting with guests at a distance. With a smile pasted on his face, he walked casually toward the king, weaving through dining tables lavishly filled with food and guests seated around. He stopped a step away from the seated king, who was having a lively chat with someone at the table. Unaware of his presence, the commander casually smiled to guests who looked in his direction. At the first opportunity, the commander made his presence known to his king.

The king acknowledged the commander's presence, stood out of his table, and took a step next to the commander. The king's right ear slightly turned to the commander's lips, who spoke in a muffled voice. The king's jubilant mood abruptly changed but hid his concern outwardly. He excused himself diplomatically from his guests, smiling as he did, and followed the commander. Along the way, he got Jocam, who was his personal aide. The three headed for the adjacent government building.

It was a holiday; the building was unoccupied. A posted soldier opened the huge main door wide enough for the king, Jocam, and commander to pass, and closed it behind them. The sounds of their footsteps reverberated on the walls as they walked on the marble floor of a spacious hallway. Ahead, was the building's well-lighted atrium.

When the king and commander got to the atrium, the king noticed two tied men were kneeling on the floor guarded by soldiers. Close-by were swords piled on top of a spread-out black blanket. Commander Astig explained, "There are fifty swords there, Your Highness. They were accidentally found bundled on that same blanket not far from the stage. More may be hidden, and my men are now searching discreetly. Only a few trusted men know of this."

"Good," the king commended.

"We traced the swords back to the palace armory. On investigation, we found these in place of real swords." Commander Astig showed a wooden replica of sword handles glued together. "It made them look as though real swords were on the upper shelves."

As King Arth examined the wooden handles asked, "How many?"

"I estimate over four-thousand. The exact number will come soon."

"And these men?" the king asked, looking at the tied captives.

"The one on the right is the armory supervisor. In line with our investigation, we went to the supervisor's house and found him struggling with the assassin, the man next to him, and came to his rescue. For that reason, the supervisor is very eager to talk. Your Highness, General Mismar is behind this."

The king was taken aback, in shock. Mismar was the last person he would suspect. Finding it hard to believe asked, "How sure are you?"

"Certain, Your Highness. General Mismar dealt directly with the Armory Supervisor, and the assassin happens to be his aide. The aide talked, too. Your Highness . . ." he hesitated and seemed uncomfortable to continue.

The king noticed the hesitation. He said, "If it has something to do with the prince, tell me now."

"The assassin led us to a secret tunnel in a basement room within the Convention Center that is not far from the dining hall. We sealed the tunnel as a precaution. The assassin said the other end of the tunnel led to . . ." he hesitated again as he looked at the King with anxiety.

"Led where?" the King snapped impatiently.

"To your son's . . . Prince Otil's mansion compound," he answered. He paused then continued on the king's silence, "For the past few days, staggered numbers of people entered the prince's mansion compound and only a handful left. Your Highness, I sense tension amongst the soldiers."

The king pondered on what was reported. He glanced at the armory supervisor and recalled Mismar telling him, in confidence, that he suspected the prince had plans to overthrow him once the ship was fueled. To which, the king planned to discreetly arrest his son and hide him right after the dining ceremony that evening. He did not want the event marred by a scandal or Amo Obib to suspect a problem was brewing. With the supervisor out of the way, regardless of who wins, Mismar would find himself on the winning side. He stared at the swords on the floor as he pieced bits of information together then realized Mismar's information might be a diversion. He could not risk misjudging and decisively said to Commander Astig, "Arm the men at the stadium; reinforce the security at the stage immediately. Get the Stadium Commander to secure and bring all the Durians inside the pyramid ship. Have the Durians seal all entries to the ship. Secure all entries to the underground Atomic Converter as well. Do it now and fast."

"The Durians want no military presence," the commander reminded.

"They do not know what is good for them. Go," he forcefully ordered.

"Yes, Highness," he said, nodded and left hurriedly.

The king called Jocam and said, "Find General Serif at the banquet hall and tell him, 'Summer is here.' He knows what to do. After, summon Mismar and the prince here. Be very discreet as I want no one, especially the prince, to suspect."

"Yes, Your Highness," Jocam replied and hastily left.

The Big Snake

Mismar, in his formal robe, was escorted by Jocam and two soldiers. When they got to the building's atrium, the soldiers held Mismar's arms, and Jocam bound Mismar's wrists together tightly.

Mismar was, somehow, not surprised and offered no resistance. The guards brought him before the king.

"Why, Mismar?" the king said then, lost for words, walked away, utterly disappointed.

Mismar motioned forward but was held back by a soldier. The king saw what Mismar did and signaled the soldier to let him go.

Mismar, with wrists tied in front of him, rushed to the king's side. Mismar retorted in a low, angry voice, "Why? You did nothing when you knew the prince was plotting to overthrow you. And when he does, where will my family be. I have six adoring children and a wife. I will do anything . . . anything," he stressed, "to protect my family . . . even betray you. All those loyal to you are in grave danger because you did nothing to protect them. It is I who should be asking you, why?"

"Why?" the king echoed despairingly in a faint voice only Mismar could hear. "Many times, the question rang in my head, 'Why not cut the snake's head while it is easy to hold.' Each time I'd say, 'Trust him, love him, show him what love and care can do, and he will see things differently tomorrow.' I was buying time. When did you turn to his side?"

Mismar replied, "Remember the day I warned you of the snake growing in your midst? You got mad knowing I was referring it to your son. The worst part is you did nothing to my warning . . . nothing!"

"We can still work this out," the king said, in desperation, holding on to Mismar's arms and looking him in the eyes. Mismar was the only childhood friend he had. He did not want to lose him, more so, to render judgment for his betrayal as he realized Mismar had a good reason to betray him. "We fought so many battles we thought we'd lose and ended up winning. I'd forget this ever happened. I will not abandon you."

"Things are different now, my dearest friend," Mismar said in a sad, subdued voice. "The snake has grown too big . . . It is too late."

The king knew how good Mismar was on his intuitions. "Is it that bad?" he asked.

Before Mismar could answer, footsteps echoed from the hallway.

King Arth whispered, "You are still a dear friend. Forgive me. I have to do this for your sake." He then struck Mismar's face violently, knocking him down to the marbled floor, and kicked him.

The prince emerged out of the hallway toward the atrium no longer in his formal attire at the dining hall. He was in his white tunic with a sheathed sword on the left side of his waist, a sharp-pointed knife was on the other side. Fifty of his men, with swords at hand, walked as a group behind him. He anticipated a fight but immediately concluded the king was not prepared for it. Only five soldiers were with the king. He eased up as he walked toward the king.

General Mismar was on the floor and the king stood by the general. Tied and kneeling, a few feet away, were the general's aide alongside the armory supervisor.

The Prince nonchalantly looked at Mismar with wrists bound and lips freshly bleeding held up by two soldiers. He recognized General Mismar's aide. With arrogance, said to the king, "I can tell you have unearthed my plan,"

King Arth ignored the prince's remark. He noticed the air of confidence only noticeable of someone in full control of the situation. Now he understood what Mismar meant . . . a big snake.' "Do you have to resort to insurrection when I assured you of being the heir to my throne?" King Arth asked the prince.

To which the prince replied passingly, "My ambition does not include waiting."

"Your ambition?" the king said in rhetoric. "Your ambition has blinded you. All these years, I hoped and prayed you would see things differently. See what ruling with love and respect for our people can accomplish. It is not late. You can . . ."

"Ah, love and respect," the prince repeated mockingly. "Love has nothing to do with it . . . power," the prince roared.

"Power has consumed you. There is something far greater than power . . . love, my son is the ultimate power, and I know that to be true. I have seen the wonders it brought. Our kingdom has grown a hundred folds without a drop of blood spilled. Never have we experienced peaceful coexistence with everyone. All these brought about by love and care for . . ."

Prince Otil interrupted again and sarcastically said, "You talk of love as though it can stop a sword swung to cut your neck . . . a sword can. You talk of love as though you can get respect from robbers about to steal your robe and sandals . . . a sword can."

"You must understand the power of love," King Arth replied desperately. "It is not something that will change things instantly, but in time will change everything for the better."

"The sword is power. You yourself taught me that."

"I said that long ago and was wrong. If I proclaimed you king in return for the safety of the Durians . . . compassion and kindness to the people associated with me, will you take it?"

"Compassion and kindness?" the prince scuffed. "I feel nothing by being compassionate---nothing from being kind. But I feel like a man; a king; a god when I see people beg mercy for their life. Power is everything."

"You are so wrong. Power is not everything. Listen before it destroys you, for in the end, you will surely lose. I was like you once, obsessed and consumed at getting to the top. The struggle and the battles fought had me too occupied to see the miseries I brought to people as I ruthlessly pursued my goal. When I finally got to the pinnacle of power, at the very top, and looked around, my son, hear me and hear me well . . . when I got there, I found nothing but a desert . . . a vast empty and lonely place devoid of life. Standing there, I asked myself, 'Is this all I get? Is this my reward for all the pain, suffering, and death I brought?

"The Durians came at the right moment in my life. They showed me the other way to the top. I tried it. When I got there and looked around, I found myself in paradise, surrounded by happy people. Take my kingdom for what it's worth, my son. I give it to you with all my heart. And, if my presence makes you insecure, I will exile myself, never to return. But you must give your word to help the Durians leave this planet."

Infuriated, Prince Otil reacted, "I despise the Durians for what they have done to you! You were once a real and mighty king I was so proud of. A man! Now you talk to me like . . . like a woman. The Durians have turned you into a weakling who convinces and asks people. **A king does not convince, he commands! A king does not ask, he takes!"** he shouted. Lowering his voice, he said, "Being a titular king to a parliamentary form of government is not my idea of ruling. Besides, your kingdom is too small. I want to rule the world, and the power to do it is within my grasp.

"I would have considered your offer if you had a kingdom to give. However, you have none. The kingdom stands by the might of its army. Something you taught me and something you forgot. See what love and care brought you, my father," then the prince addressed the king's two soldiers holding General Mismar and said, "Let him go."

With no other options, the king's soldiers set General Mismar free.

Mismar, with a grin on his face, walked to the prince with his arms extended in a gesture to unbind his tied wrists.

The prince grinned back at Mismar. He drew his sword as he said, "Mismar is your most trusted friend. For you, my father, I will give what is due to him." Instantly, he swung his sword at Mismar's neck and severed his head.

Mismar's head fell and rolled on the floor. Its eyes remained open while its decapitated body went through spasms on the floor. The prince moved to the side to avoid the blood squirting from Mismar's headless neck. He was amused at the horrible sight of a body whose tied arms and its legs were thrashing about. He laughed, entertained at the gruesome spectacle. His men laughed with him.

When Mismar's headless body remained still, the king, resigned to how evil his son had become, asked, "And how do you intend to control the leaders within the realm?"

"Some have pledged allegiance to me. The rest will just have to die tonight," the prince answered casually then aloud, "King of kings, Ruler of the World and, with the Durian's technology, Lord of the Universe," the prince arrogantly bragged with his hands flailing in the air. "You have been ruling an imaginary kingdom for years, my father. Think of what 'wealth and power' did to your kingdom of 'love and care.'" He paused, then said in a different tone, "For your life, pretend that you are still king. I do not want the Durians to suspect, and the refueling disrupted . . . if that can be avoided."

"You are a misguided man," the king said in resignation. "I pity you. My life will not be enough to pay for the countless lives you will take as king to fulfill your worthless dreams of grandeur. I'd rather die than give in."

"That is something I was hoping to avoid, but that can be arranged," the prince coldly replied.

The king said loud and forcefully, "We have a tribal law which states: If the son wishes to take over his father's rule, he must fight for it in combat."

"I make the laws. Your life is not worth fighting. Think of what will happen to those loyal to you. There are still a lot of them, and their life is dependent on yours. You die . . . they die."

"I see no bargain there," the king responded. "My living or dying will not alter their fate . . . I always thought of you as stupid and a coward!" mocking aloud, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Coward!" retorted the prince. "I always wondered who the better swordsman is. Give my father a sword, and no one intervene. To the victor, the spoils go. To the death."

"To the death," King Arth echoed, taking off his robe and his thin-rimmed crown and gave them to Jocam. The king took Jocam's sword from its sheath.

The king and prince launched at each other as soldiers watched a duel to the death. The king and prince have equal skill that the contest was a match to watch. Soldiers, heightened by the skillful display of swordsmanship, cheered their champion expertly parry swings and stabs. But the prince had the edge as the duel dragged on---his youth. Soon the toll of the years showed on the king's skill, and the confident prince started to play and boisterously humiliated his father before everyone as they fought.

The king paid no attention to the prince's mockery of him. He knew his only chance of winning was to get his son to talk himself out of breath. He did not make it obvious but struck back timing it in the middle of the prince's sentence.

A few minutes later, the king said as they paused to rest, "You are much better than I thought."

The prince replied as he took deep breathes. "You taught me well, my father."

"Too well for your own good," the king answered.

"It is time to take my turn to the throne. Your death is coming." The prince suddenly launched at his father with his sword. The king parried the strike, and they continued to duel with the prince giving it all he could for the kill.

The king taught his son well but not all. At the right moment, he made his move and got the prince to drop his sword. As he held his sword in the air for the final blow, he saw his wife's frightened face over his son's face. He saw the prince go for his dagger, but the king's sword froze in the air. In that fleeting moment, the prince stabbed his father. The slim, pointed knife pierced the king's left chest and its tip stuck out of the king's back, red in blood.

The king dropped his sword from his raised arm, then held on to his son. As he slipped and with his last breath, said, "I love you, my son," then limply fell to the floor dead with eyes open; mouth with blood creeping out of it, sliding down his cheek, and dripped on the floor.

Standing by his father's dead body, the prince extended his hand to Jocam to hand over the crown.

Jocam did not react. To this, a soldier placed a knife on Jocam's throat, and another took the crown from Jocam's hand and handed it over to the prince.

The prince got the crown. He held it with both hands and examined it with pride. Seconds later, he unceremoniously crowned himself then, referring to his father's remaining loyal men, made his first king's command, "Kill them all."

Fight for the Durians

The new king, King Otil, was unaware that at the time he was summoned to see the king, General Sarif was at the dining hall and was told by Jocam, 'Summer is here.' The general excused himself from the guests he chatted with and hurriedly left the hall. He went directly to a room where several of his trusted officers were instructed to remain. On entering the room, he said aloud, "Men, we have secretly planned, for months, for an event we hoped would not happen. But it has come, and you have your instruction. Go!" He turned to his aide and said, "Light the rooms and hurry."

At the stadium grounds, one high-rise public building of the many surrounding the park was clearly visible. Being a holiday, none of its windows were lighted. Then three windows on the fifth floor became lighted.

Most people on the stadium grounds did not notice the lighted windows. To those who did, though it being insignificant. However, to the men wearing a day-to-day robe that hid their soldier's uniform and fully armed, it was significant. Instructed not to run, they hurriedly walked to their assigned location to secure it without arousing suspicion from the crowd. Their instructions were to secure all facilities associated with the refueling of the Durian ship.

The Stadium Commander saw the lighted rooms and acted immediately. His instructions were to secure all the Durians; bring them to their ship, and have the Durians seal all ship entries. Unlike Commander Sarif, whose men were instructed to hide their identity as soldiers, the Stadium Commander's order was to visibly show military presence, in force. His men, in soldier's uniform, were fully armed and remained hidden in four separate buildings nearest the stadium. They numbered four-thousands altogether and emerged out of the buildings in haste to secure their assigned orders.

At the stadium grounds, people milled around, waiting for the final program to start. Except for Amo Obib and Ningning, who were in the pyramid ship, the rest of the Durians were somewhere near or on the stage. Miya's crew was at their post. Changlai and the men he supervised were still cleaning the area on and around the stage. To the left of the lower stage, a Migrant ran to Changlai. "Armed soldiers are coming from both east and west," he said in haste.

Changlai immediately reacted. He hurriedly went up to the upper stage. He saw soldiers with swords drawn running towards the stage. He jumped back to the lower stage; stumped hard the floor three times; and at the top of his voice shouted, "Taypa lasi." Four hundred armed Migrants stormed out from under the stage whose goal was to herd the Durians together and bring them to the ship and have the ship's entrance sealed.

The Migrants cleaning the stadium grounds got their swords from its hidings. Elsewhere, women with swords hidden within their robe distributed swords to men who, minutes earlier, were just strolling leisurely the area.

The commotion got Caloy's attention. He briskly walked to the edge of the upper stage. When he realized what had happened, he rushed back to shut off the purging process. He had his hands firmly on the control wheel when a Migrant forcefully shoved him from behind that got the wheel to turn the other direction. Pushed hard, Caloy's momentum got him to fall from the upper stage to the stage below and was knocked unconscious.

Miyas was standing nearer Caloy's control wheel than his console. On seeing Caloy fall from the upper stage unconscious and the dial's pointer edging toward the red area, he rushed for the wheel but, by then, the Migrants had swarmed the upper stage. He ran back toward his console to shut off the purging from there but was shoved and forced to join the herded Durians on the ground. When he saw the dial's needle edge toward the extreme end of the red area, he pleaded with the Migrants guarding them to turn the wheel back. In the confusion and the guard's heightened attention elsewhere, no one heard his plea. Desperate, he tried to escape captivity, but an alert guard instinctively swung his sword at Miya's head, but with no intention to kill, hit Miyas on the head with the flat side of the blade and knocked him down then dragged him back together with the herded Durians.

On the stadium grounds, people panicked, and the pandemonium broke, as a fierce battle for possession ensued between the Migrants, who were bent on holding on to their captives, and the soldiers, determined to rescue them.

A few moments earlier, Indit, on hearing Changlai's shout and saw armed Migrants ran out from under the stage, immediately called out and waved at the Durians nearby to follow her. Nine did, and the group ran along their escape route towards the ship. When they got to the gate, it was locked, and Juls was motionless at the other side with his back towards them.

"Juls, Juls, open the gate. Juls please," Indit pleaded.

Soon, there were fifteen of them crowded at the front of the gate. All were pleading desperately for Juls to unlock the gate.

Juls stayed motionless.

Seconds later, a group of Migrants came and herded the Durians back to the stage. They should have brought the Durian inside the ship. But their instructions were, to herd the Durians together near the stage then bring all inside the ship with Changlai with them.

Indit managed to slip from the group and ran back to the gate. As she ran shouted, "Juls, please open the gate."

A Migrant running behind Indit pushed hard her back. She tumbled and rolled on the ground. When Indit tried to stand, the Migrant kicked her hard on the thigh of her right leg before she could stand. She fell back on the ground again, moaning in pain this time.

Juls heard Indit's moan of pain. He turned and saw a Migrant forced Indit to stand. To this, he opened the gate; hit the Migrant with his fist; took his sword; and hacked the migrant to death. He saw five armed Migrants come back. He stood by Indit on the ground as he said in haste, "Indit go for the gate!" But Indit was too hurt she could not stand, though she tried.

Juls fought the migrants and, after killing two, was stabbed from behind and fell on the ground beside Indit.

Indit, in pain and nose bleeding, knelt by Juls' side and asked, "Why, Juls? Why?"

Juls weakly replied, "The Migrants have my family. Forgive me."

Pulled away, Indit shouted, "Po-ogi si bobi, Juls. We love you."

In the ship, Amo Obib and Ningning viewed the outside commotions through the large monitor. On seeing the confusions on and around the stage and the king's soldiers battling their way towards the herded Durians, Ningning cried out, "Goopersh, do something."

"Shutting all access to the ship." To Goopersh, that was its only option.

"Can we levitate them from here?" she asked Amo Obib frantically.

"They have to be directly under the ship. If we get the ship to fly up abruptly, the vacuum created under will suck and drag them high up in the air, and later, fall to their death. We are stuck here. We will negotiate once things settle. The Migrants will not harm them."

The Durians, who were herded and guarded in separate groups earlier, were now bunched as a group at the west side of the stage. They remained at the spot as the fighting between the Migrants and the soldiers raged at the path that led to the ship. Miyas, whose head had blood, hurriedly stood on a chair. He saw the purge dial's needle at the farther edge of the red area. He shouted to his fellow Durians, "We have to call Amo Obib's attention to leave. The atomic converter will soon implode."

To Miya's prodding, the Durians waved their hands in the air and shouted at the top of their voices, "Leave, it will implode! Leave, it will implode!" A few seconds after, the ten-seconds warning siren sounded.

Amo Obib and Ningning helplessly watched the commotion on the screen seated on the command chair. When they saw the herded Durians waving and shouting, Amo Obib ordered Goopersh to zoom in the camera to the group and had the sound intensifier focused on their voices. He heard their warning to leave, then the ten-seconds warning siren blared. Instinctively, he ordered, "Goopersh, disengage fuel line and fly six miles up now!"

The ship hummed. Simultaneously, the purge line disconnected then the ship abruptly flew straight up. The vacuum created beneath the ship sucked everything around. It lifted the whole stage, all the Durians, and the people nearby in the air to fall back at random to their death as the spaceship rapidly ascended six miles above then abruptly stopped and hovered.

Thousands of lightning shot out from the Atomic Converter's rim underground. It came out of the ground and struck metal objects in every direction. As the lightning struck objects, it instantly split into thousands of jagged intense white lines that wreaked havoc to the structure's atomic composition and caused it to implode in a very bright flash. High rise building's steel frame disintegrated, and the whole structure crumbled to the ground. In mere seconds, the whole of Metropolitan Atlantis became one huge bright ball of light then the light collapse into itself.

Simultaneous to Metropolitan Atlantis' obliteration, railroad tracks, electrical and phone lines became conduits of destruction and death as the dreadful scene replicated itself. It spread outward from the metropolis toward the Autonomous Region, King Silrab's domain, and far beyond. Innocent looking metal objects as wood nails, jewelry, coins, and the likes within five miles from the lines became targets as lightning arched to it and leapfrogged to similar things within five miles from them. Animals and trees beyond five miles and up to the horizon vaporized on the open fields from the intense heat generated. Farther on, the forest became an instant inferno.

Within a few seconds, the devastations to the metropolis, the neighboring areas---the cities, towns, villages, and hamlets were total and complete. Only whirlpools of white powdered dust, wafted by the wind, remained in its place.

As the devastation raged below, Amo Obib and Ningning were huddled together. Neither had the courage to watch the destructive force unleashed below as the Durians, the people, the buildings, the most advanced civilization on the planet turned to white dust. The two consoled themselves out of their shock, grief, and sorrow through prayers.

A couple of minutes later, they looked at the screen. The sprawling Metropolitan Atlantis and the surrounding cities were gone---erased from the surface. So were the lives of the many innocent whose only fault was being there. Everything vanished. The destruction left no trace of their existence. A shallow grayish-white crater with eerie white tentacles that spread hundreds of miles outward from Atlantis that in time, too, would disappear. Only the nearby Lion Monument and the three stone pyramids that dominated the plain remained. They stand as testaments for future generations, who would never know the great tragedy that had befallen the place. Of the civilization lost. Of the death to many innocent people brought by the greed of a few who hungered for wealth and power.

What an irony. The science and technology that could have brought wonders to their planet were gone. As for the people who hungered for power, control, and grandiose megalomaniac dreams, what have they achieved? Nothing and, strangely, everything. Devastated, Amo Obib ordered Goopersh to head for the ship's haven to the far northeast.

As the ship flew toward its new location, the scenes of the devastation below became horribly apparent. The destructive force obliterated all organic material. Consequently, it converted the fertile land between the fringes of the Sahara Desert, three-hundred miles away, and Atlantis to an instant wasteland that now forms part of the present-day Sahara Desert.

Farther on were deserted villages and hamlets. People had traveled the distance to witness the festivities never to return. So were people who lived and participated in the Durian project in the Americas. They transported most, if not all, to Atlantis to participate in the most spectacular event of their lives, their last. The most advanced civilization on Earth and almost all, if not all, of the people who knew of its existence and traces, were gone!

When the spaceship was over the Pacific Ocean and at its deepest part, Amo Obib ordered, "Goopersh, eject contents in the cargo hold." To that command, Goopersh expelled all the buildings within the ship, leaving the area back to what it was when they landed over two million years ago---a humongous empty space.

Goopersh flew the ship to a predetermined location between Siberia and Alaska---now called Bering Strait. Within the strait was a vast, traitorous shoal littered with hundreds of uninhabited basalt islands. The area was ideal for hiding the spaceship. The sea around was shallow; the currents, treacherous; the weather changed from calm to gale force winds in minutes; and with many cragged basalt rocks that jutted out of the waves only at low tides, no seafaring vessel would dare navigate its waters. Neither would anyone bothered to explore the desolate and foreboding basalt rock islands. There, the spaceship went underwater to surface twentieth of its height inside the cavern of a basalt island. The island, no bigger than two football fields, towered fifty feet above the sea. After Goopersh maneuvered the ship within the island's cavern, it announced, "The ship is secured."

Amo Obib asked, "Goopersh, how much fuel do we have left?"

"Three years at conservative fuel usage."

"And the batteries on the hibernating capsule?"

"10,194 years."

"How many airships left?"

"One."

"Goopersh, activate the distress signal and wake us ten-thousand years from now."

"The distress signal is activated. I will wake you ten-thousand years from now," Goopersh acknowledged.

"Ningning," Amo Obib said sadly, "we have no other recourse but to wait for civilization on this planet to develop the technology themselves and help us directly. I pray they will have it when we wake. Come, let us go to the hibernating room." With his arm over her shoulder, he led her.

Ningning, said between sobs, "In my heart, My Amo, I feel God did not abandon us."

**Amo Obib replied,** **"He never did. He never will."**
EPISODE THREE

Last Chance

Ten thousand years have passed, the year was 1853 A.D. Young in technology, steam-driven trains traversed railroad tracks crisscrossing vast lands connecting cities and countries. Steam and sail ships set course and voyaged the open oceans and seas. Heavy smoke belched out of many huge foundries all day and night to feed the unsuitable demand for processed metal. It was the Age of Industrial Revolution at its early stage.

Waken from hibernation, Amo Obib left his capsule and immediately turned and looked at Ningning within her opened capsule. She was motionless. Her eyes were closed, cheeks still wet with tears though ten thousand years have passed. The memory of Atlantis' utter devastation still fresh in their minds as though the gap in time between sleep and wake never happened. It seemed they never slept at all. It was not a pleasant memory, sad to recall, heart drenching to remember. He saw tears swell from the slits of Ningning's closed eyes, then dripped out of them. He knew how she felt. He felt it himself---a deep sense of sorrow and sadness; of feeling abandoned---alone and helpless. "Are you all right, Ningning?" he asked with concern.

Ningning heard Amo Obib's concerned voice. In a sigh, she took a deep breath then opened her eyes, "I am," beaming as best she could. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, then held her husband's extended hands as she left her capsule. She felt his warm hands---it was of small comfort for her sadness and sorrow, but glad it was there for her. She said to herself, _'It is best I control my emotions for his sake and mine. The tragedy had happened, and nothing could be done to change it. Be positive.'_ She then took another deep breath then asked, "What should we do now?"

Amo Obib noticed the vigor from her voice and manner. He was relieved and acted as though nothing heartrending had happened. "We have to access the state of their technology and plan from there." He led her to their arched chair in the middle of the command room and sat alongside each other. Arms touching was a simple relief and reassuring in some ways. He noticed the three flight consoles fronting them with its wooden chairs. There was no sense to have them there --- just an abstraction, and worse still, a reminder. He ordered, "Goopersh, removed all three consoles."

"Removing the three flight consoles," Goopersh responded, and the consoles, made of magic liquid, melted to the floor and disappeared. But the three-armed wooden chairs remained at its place.

Ningning eyes stared at the empty chairs. It was symbolic of her lost friends. Friends she saw and worked with every day for almost three decades. Their faces flash through her thoughts---faces that smiled, laughed, faces that struggled like her. She tried hard to stop herself from crying but, still, tears left her eyes.

Amo Obib saw the tears on her eyes. "Pour it out, Ningning," he said nicely. "It will do you a lot of good . . . and take your time."

Ningning's calm posture melted on Amo Obib's words. She whimpered as she watched him take the wooden chairs and brought them to the hallway outside. When he came back, she sobbed on his shoulder until the last tear fell. She stayed motionless for a moment, then sat erect and said, "I'm fine now," in a controlled voice. She wiped her cheeks with her hands daintily then used the sleeves of her outfit to dry them.

Amo Obib wasted no time to change the melancholy atmosphere. He ordered, "Goopersh, launch a satellite and project the planet from space on the screen."

A golf-sized orb shot out of the ship into outer space two hundred miles directly above planet Earth. A few seconds later, Goopersh reported. "Survey satellite launched. Projecting planet image on the screen."

Planet Earth was on the screen. Most of its surfaces were on the dark side, but a crescent band at its edge glowed that obscured their view. Amo Obib instructed, "Goopersh, move the satellite to view the planet's dark side in its entirety."

The screen blurred for a second as the satellite moved abruptly to another location then projected the whole dark side of Earth on the screen. Earth's circular fringe glowed with the sun directly behind it and was clearly visible against the black background of outer space.

Amo Obib's hopeful anticipation turned to disappointment. He fervently hoped seeing patches of well-lighted areas on its surface---visible lights to mark cities and towns; lighted shorelines to discern its shores; lights to indicate advanced civilization. He saw no lights anywhere to illuminate his spirit. He felt disheartened.

But Ningning saw something Amo Obib missed as she strained to see what was on the screen and said, "There is a faint light at fourth quadrant's upper right side."

Amo Obib, eager to prove himself wrong, reacted immediately, "Goopersh, zoom on the brightest of the lights, fourth quadrant."

With eyes focused intently on anxiety, both viewed the planet's fourth quadrant magnified progressively to a spot. The faint-lighted area brightened, then became a cluster of lights; then crisscrossing lines of light. Goopersh stopped zooming over London's downtown district. Lighted gas lamps were spaced evenly on its streets; horse-drawn carriages with felt lamps rove its roads; people walked about with lanterns. The sight was no consolation to Amo Obib. He knew Duria took over two-hundred years from gas lamps to become technologically advance---they only had a little over a hundred years before the ship would ultimately run out of fuel and self-destruct. He held back his pessimism but noticed Ningning was just as analytical as him when he heard her asked, "Goopersh, how long did Duria progress from street gas lamps to nuclear-generated lighting system?"

Goopersh answered, "Roughly, two-hundred-fifty-three years."

Ningning glanced at Amo Obib. She saw a gloom had set in on him. Sounding optimistic said, "The people on this planet are a lot smarter than us. They will achieve that in much less time," she said positively, smiling at her husband.

Ningning's words sparked Amo Obib back to life. There was truth to her statement. Earthlings are highly creative creatures he observed and beamed at her. He need no longer worry on her state of mind. She was back to her usual self and inwardly thank God. He said, "It's too early to research on their state of technology to draw a conclusion at this point. Let us hibernate again and wake fifty years from now."

The Year, 1903

After fifty years, Amo Obib and Ningning, eager and excited, walked out of their hibernation capsule towards the arched chair. As they sat, Amo Obib said, "Goopersh, project satellite image of the planet on its dark side."

From a blank screen, planet Earth's dark side was projected in its entirety on the screen. To their great relief, major cities were illuminated. Lights plainly outlined the east coast of the United States. Amo Obib said to Ningning, "We have to sneak in their libraries to evaluate the state of their technology."

Ningning surprisingly asked, "You mean, go in and not ask permission?"

Amo Obib candidly looked and smiled at her. "Not until we know who we will be dealing with. Then, we decide if we are to make our presence known." He addressed Goopersh, "Goopersh, we intend to go in major book repository buildings to research on this planet's state of technology without their knowing. Send out rovers to identify five major libraries and provide us floor layouts of where the books are located. Observe, as well, their nighttime security."

"Will concentrate on public and university libraries," Goopersh affirmed.

"Good."

"Sending rovers," Goopersh replied. Simultaneously, five beetle size rovers, flew out of the ship in five different directions. Nanotechnology allowed each to have ten mosquito-size, highly sophisticated surveillance craft. The minute crafts entered closed book repository buildings through keyholes, crack on walls, vents, and, when necessary, drilled a small hole on its wall and scanned its rooms. An hour later, Goopersh announced, "I am ready to project images and layouts."

The first on its list was the Library of Congress in United Stated followed by the Library of Technology in Paris, France, then Cambridge Library in England, and two major libraries in Germany.

Amo Obib and Ningning spent time to study the library layouts, their nighttime security, and planned their move. They have themselves teleported to these libraries in the evenings and read on human's state of technology with minuscule surveillance crafts flying about to warn them of intruders. After a week and on the eve of going to hibernation, Amo Obib decided to prepare Ningning for things he thought might come. The opportunity came when they were having a snack in the kitchen. Amo Obib, resigned to their fate, said sadly, "I don't think humans will have the technology to help us by the time we run out of fuel. The fundamentals of atomic physics are still a mystery. It may take some time before they will understand the inner compositions and workings of an atom. I just want you to know."

Ningning asked nonchalantly, "Do you think you can plant a seed we know and not know what its fruit will be?"

The philosophical question surprised Amo Obib. It was far from the subject he opened and was not like her to miss the point. "Like an apple seed?" he asked, perplexed.

"Yes. Except we pray, it will bear something else, like watermelon."

Amo Obib gave her statement a thought. It contradicted itself. Why should he pray for an apple seed to bear something else? Watermelons? He glanced at her---she was not looking at him. He had seen the stance before and prepared himself for a lively discussion. "What do you have in mind this time, Ningning?"

Ningning faced him and said in a serious but enthusiastic manner, "You said we are forbidden to interfere with human thoughts. Humans must think and find answers for themselves." She paused, then asked, "Can we not act as a catalyst again as we did to the ape's eons ago?"

Amo Obib grinned as he eyed her suspiciously. He understood where she was leading him and set the stage for an unavoidable discussion. "We must never tell humans what to think or do. Humans must think freely and decide on their own."

"If a man was searching for an answer and found the solution, but for some reason, set it aside, would it be wrong to redirect his attention, praying he would reconsider and act on it?"

"As long as you do not tell him."

Ningning pulled her chair closer and excitedly said, "If it is possible to get him to reconsider something vitally important indirectly, that is, without telling him, and does, then he was not coerced; he exercised free will; and, most of all, he had a choice. We have everything to gain and nothing to lose."

Ningning's logic stumped Amo Obib. "And how do you propose to redirect his attention without telling him?" he asked whimsically.

"He found something he shelved a long time ago on his desk and would wonder how it got there!" Ningning snapped.

The quick-responding Amo Obib had no reply.

In his silence, Ningning knew she had driven her point. "You like fruit juice?" she casually asked with an air of victory.

"No, thank you," Amo Obib replied. Inwardly, he searched for flaws in her logic and arguments. A moment later said, grinning, "Ah, but the problem is, you must find the man that fits that example. Unable to read minds, how do you propose to do that?" smiling with confidence. He was sure he had cornered her now.

"If I find you the man, will you consider my plan?" she asked, eagerly, right after.

Amo Obib eyed her with anxiety. She was unfazed by his obstacle. He must think of his answer carefully as he knew she was up to entrap him in tempting fate. "Only if he fits exactly the criteria," he answered with trepidation.

"I have a copy of the man's research papers. His name is Albert Einstein, a brilliant theoretical physicist way ahead of his time. A genius," she said as she took a copy of a research paper, she hid behind the counter. "Here, take a look," handing him a thin stack of stapled papers.

On her confident reply, Amo Obib knew he had stepped into her trap. She is shrewder than he thought. Disquietingly, he took the copy and leafed through pages of assumptions and equations. He focused briefly on one then said, "Based on the man's equations, he...," he turned and realized he was alone in the kitchen.

Amo Obib studied Einstein's research paper. After half an hour, he concluded that Ningning was right. Einstein was indeed trying to prove that time was relative, the fourth dimension. The hypothesis seemed ridiculous---time is not absolute but relative to speed! The faster you go, the slower the time. Einstein must ride against conventional views; stay and pursue his approach in resolving scientific problems through sound and valid mathematical assumptions and equations. He had the answer that would pave the way in understanding the mechanics of an atom. If he could get the scientific community to accept his unorthodox method and its conclusions, then they may have a chance. A little nudge may, indeed, help.

He stood and to his surprise, found Ningning was sitting behind him at the adjacent table drinking fruit juice while reading a book. A full glass of juice waited for him. He moved to her table and sat without saying anything. He took the cup on the table and started sipping the juice pretending as if nothing significant had happened.

"When will we go?" Ningning snapped.

The laconic question choked the amo as he drank and got some of the juice to spill on his pants. He looked at Ningning, as he wiped his mouth and brushed off the juice spilled on his pants. "How did you find him first?"

"By accident! I was going over the notes of an Atomic Physicist Professor at the University of Zurich when I came across a research paper on a shelf that had gathered dust. It turned out to be a synopsis of a hypothesis given to the professor for comment. Apparently, the professor set it aside. The rest, detective work."

An hour later, at three in the morning, Ningning and Amo Obib teleported themselves to Einstein's bedroom while Einstein was asleep and placed a copy of his research paper on his bedside table then left.

When they got back to the ship, they entered their hibernating capsule and slept.
THEORY OF RELATIVITY

Fifteen Years Later.

In November of 1920, Ningning woke alone from hibernation and left the ship. She headed straight to and sneaked in the Berlin National Library in the middle of the night. She leafed through scientific journals. After an hour, she found the article she prayed to find. She made a copy of the article and the book the journal referred to. When she got back to the ship, she pasted the article facing Amo Obib on his capsule's transparent door; placed the book on the floor; then manually set the hibernating capsule to wake mode and left.

A minute later, Amo Obib's eyes opened with a hazy view of the pasted page on the transparent door in front of him. As it became clear, the boldly written formula on the page caught his attention:

E = mc2

It dawned on him that it was the Energy Formula expressed in Earthling form. He read, within the pasted page, the book's title: 'The Theory of Relativity.' Unable to control his emotion, he shouted with great relief within the capsule, "Einstein did it!" The critical concept toward understanding quantum physics using valid assumptions without physical proof was now a concept accepted by the scientific community. However, his demeanor changed just as instantly when he noticed the time. Ningning had awakened him seventy-five years ahead of schedule and was upset. He, however, did not command her to stay in hibernation for the duration but assumed she would. He picked the book on the floor after he left the capsule and slowly walked as he skimmed the book's pages. He stopped, now and then, that by the time he got to the kitchen, the bowl of hot soup and snacks were on the table.

Ningning sat motionless on one side of the table. Her poise and facial expression were that of submission---ready to accept the harshest punishment for her crime. Amo Obib, who a moment earlier, was determined to reprimand, nearly laughed but held back and said seriously, "But never again."

Ningning, on hearing, stood and, like an excited kid who escaped harsh punishment, went hurriedly to amo with a wide grin. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek, then led him to his seat at the table. She said, "I told you it would work. The man is a genius. But my husband, since we are awake . . ."

"Plant more seeds," Amo Obib snapped.

"Exactly!" she hailed.

"Ningning," he said in a deliberate tone of voice, "we have planted a good seed. Let it grow at its own pace with God's blessing. There is enough in Einstein's publications to excite the minds in the scientific community to work in understanding the atom's mechanics. Let us leave things in God's hands."

They hibernated.
THE NEW DURIANS

The Year, 1995.

Awaken from the hibernation, Amo Obib and Ningning sneaked in major libraries, research institutions, and top-secret military archives to read on human progress. It was Ningning's responsibility to research on human history while Amo Obib on current technology.

On Ningning's mission, she came across an article on the atomic bomb dropped at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. She was nauseated with grief and guilt after she read it. She felt the pain Amo Obib would go through if he knew but had to. She handed him a copy of the article when they got back to the ship.

Amo Obib, read the article. He stayed silent, his eyes moistened. He said to himself, 'With all the good that could come from understanding the power of the atom to the people of this world, the first thing they did was build an atomic bomb. My God, what have I done in my ignorance?' He hid his anguish for Ningning's sake. But Ningning read through Amo Obib's pretense. Neither spoke on the subject. They pretended it never happened and carried their guilt in silence as they continued their research.

* * *

A week of research later, both Amo Obib and Ningning had come to realize humans might not attain the technology level they needed before their fuel runs out. They had over two years left. Though humans could build the Atomic Converter for them if they provided the technology, the temptation was not there. The cold war between Superpowers, USSR, and the US had escalated that the governments focused their resources on creating weapons of mass destruction and delivery systems that could bring a war to an abbreviated conclusion not in months but within days! The Superpowers and their Allies seemed unperturbed at the prospect that World War III may destroy their only world. And, if it did and everyone died, no one would be surprised. How pathetic. For this, Amo Obib and Ningning concluded that handing over their atomic technology for the good it would do for humankind was no longer an option. For in that same technology, humans would have in their hands the capacity to destroy themselves, their planet, and even their solar system. They wanted no part of that.

Wary of their fate, Amo Obib said, "Ningning, I would like to go on retreat. Will you be fine?"

"You need not worry. Po-ogi si bobi."

The Retreat

Amo Obib went up to the Control Room the second time since they landed on Earth eons ago. When Goopersh turned on the light, he saw Karmar's Proposal One on the floor. It had lain there for over two million years. He recalled the torment he went through deciding on the issue then. It was not a pleasant experience. He felt frightened to undergo the same mental struggle again. He sat on the floor; reread Proposal One; and after, placed the folder alongside; then had Goopersh turn off the light.

Over two days have passed. Ningning was worried. The thought of him being weak and unable to come down got her to bring food and water up. She stayed and slept by the doorway of the Control Room as she dared not open the door and interrupt him.

Half a day later, with Proposal One in hand, Amo Obib found Ningning asleep on the floor, blocking the doorway. Except for her face, she was well under a thick white blanket. Alongside were jugs of preserved food, water, and eating utensils. He sat on the floor by her side and gently stroked her exposed cheek. It was as cold as the air around. He felt some relief just to see and feel her. She was his only consolation.

On the third stroke, Ningning's eyes opened. "My husband, Po-ogi si bobi," Ningning said as she hastily sat by his side and held him tight with both arms, trembling. "I have never been so worried and frightened. Please try not to leave me alone again if you can help it. Please," she said, then started to cry.

"How thoughtless of me." He cradled her with one hand, and the other gently stroked her head on his shoulder. "Never again," he said with resolute. "Are you all right?" he weakly asked through a parched throat.

"Are you?" she asked back as she wiped her tears.

"Yes, but I am thirsty."

Amo Obib was so weak Ningning had to nurse him back to health. On the second day, Ningning knew he had recuperated yet feigned weakness and stayed in bed, hardly saying a word. She sensed he was still in retreat and struggling with himself. She went along, finding excuses to leave him to his thoughts. A day after, Ningning found Amo Obib seated on her cot. She hastily sat beside him and asked pleasantly, "You need anything, Amo?"

"Ningning," Amo Obib said in a faint voice staring blankly at the floor.

Ningning knelt on the floor and looked up to see his face. It was sad. She held his clasped hands between her hands and waited for him to speak.

"Ningning," Amo Obib repeated his eyes on hers, "we have so much good to offer humans in our sciences and technology. All of it gone if we are to die. I have not found the answer but have made up my mind. You will have no part in this decision and I absolve you of any responsibility. But you will have to help me."

"What do you mean, my husband?" she worriedly asked, her eyes on his.

Amo Obib continued in melancholy, looking at her, "I cannot, in conscience, leave the humans to solve human problems when we have the solution. I cannot, in conscience, die peacefully knowing the good our technology can do to them are buried with us. It is sad for humans are not ready to get all at once . . . maybe fifty or a hundred years from now if they learn from their follies and live through it.

"There are many good humans that are carried by the tide of the misguided powerful few. I pray the good ones will band together and stop their leaders usurp their power for personal fulfillment or whims at their expense. We have to part with our technology as the need arises. Since we are not able to determine what it is and when. I have decided to undertake the last project. I want you to help me do something out of pure obedience without question. Do you understand?"

"I do. What do you want me do?" Ningning asked in reply.

"I love you, Ningning. Those are the words humans use," he said, sitting beside her on the floor then gently coddled her. "I am not sure if what I will do goes against God's wish. I pray it will not. I speak to you now as head not of our church but of our community, and command you to help me study ways to bring to life a human body with a Durian mind. Human bodied Durians who will live a human life and be part of their society. They can marry humans and rear families, but all their children will have Durian minds. They have but one goal: part off our science and technology when they see it fit to improve the world as they live and work as humans. I need your help. Will you help?"

Ningning consented.

THE HYBRIDS

The new Durians

For the need of a laboratory, Amo Obib and Ningning moved to the room Karmar's team occupied when they worked on the ape's genome project. The laboratory was adjacent to the room. They modified Proposal One to meet a new goal: four human females with Durian minds to go through gestation and leave the womb as young teenage girls in a month, and a year after to become young adults. Since Amo Obib would not undertake anything on a chance result, they reviewed everything and spent a couple of weeks studying how to accomplish their goal. As they did, they abducted humans while asleep and studied their bodies; got tissue samples; and took sperms and female egg cells for genetic analysis. The abducted humans were fortunate. They were people afflicted by some incurable disease or too poor to get medical attention. In exchange, they cured them of their ailment never to know the blessing they had from the Durian's hands. To the ranchers, who found dead cattle whose uterus were surgically removed and its blood drained, they spread powder on their haystacks and fields. It inoculated their livestock from diseases that ravaged the area and made the cattle healthier and heavier.

They used the cow's reproductive organ to create a biological womb to carry the human fertilized egg through its gestation period; made support machines out of parts taken from hospital and industrial trash bins. On a few occasions, they took machines and spare parts from stores and left money they got from ocean shipwrecks, on top of their cash registers. After another month, four functional cow wombs submerged in biological fluids were ready.

Their Children

On the day they were to splice the four human eggs and sperm cells with Durian genes taken from Amo Obib and Ningning, Amo Obib found the Durian Sacred Book Ningning left on his bed. A dried, stemmed rose stuck out from a page. Amo Obib opened the book to where the dried rose was wedged. An underlined passage read: God spoke to Amo Lam-a (the first Amo), 'Believe in Me, and I will take you to paradise. And, from your seed, a new world will come.' Amo Obib wondered, 'Does the passage refer to the Durian civilization that started from their first amo, Amo Lam-a, or does it refer to Ningning's and my seed as God's instruments to fulfill the prophecy of a new world---a new civilization of hybrid humans?' He was not sure and did not dare speculate as he had already made his decision. He knelt and prayed, "My dearest God, I hope I am fulfilling your wish. If not, I, alone, must bear the consequence."

An hour later, they implanted the altered fertilized egg cells in their respective womb machines.

The Children

Ningning and Amo Obib worked on shifts maintaining a 24-hour vigil on their biomechanical machines. After a month, they became proud parents to four healthy teenage girls. Coming from different human donors, in looks, they reared two Asians and two Caucasians. Since Amo Obib incorporated Norm's accelerated growth to the gene, the girls would rapidly grow to women in their early twenties within a month.

In the weeks that followed, the girls grew within the confines of the ship. Energetic, they wore down their proud and loving parents who attended to their needs and education. Of the girls, Lulu, a Caucasian, was unique. She had black hair, almond-shaped eyes, thin lips, and a nose that blended well with her face. Overall, Lulu was pretty but not glamorous looking. She stood apart from her three other sisters in ways neither Amo Obib nor Ningning could describe but merely noticed. She had the adventurous nature of her father, the determination of her strong-willed mother, and a natural-born leader.

To augment the girls' training and familiarize them with human ways, they watched good, wholesome family movies on TV with strong moral messages and selectively shown movies with the dirtier parts of human existence. Months later, Amo Obib and Ningning decided it was time to augment their education---mingle with humans.

The Excursions

It was Halloween day when Amo Obib and Ningning scheduled their teenage children to experience the world they eventually would live in. Halloween was necessary to divert people's attention as Amo Obib, and Ningning must chaperone the girls in their radiation protective suits. The two were in the girl's room with Lulu. Her three sisters anxiously waited at the corridor outside, knowing nothing of Lulu's surprise.

Lulu said to Amo Obib and Ningning, "Close your eyes and promise not to peek."

With parent's eyes closed, Lulu assisted each to their buggy jumpsuit with high collars that got just above their chin. "Don't peek," she kept reminding as she put on their hairpiece and facial makeup. She took a final look, then held back her laughter by covering her mouth. Even then, the muffled sound of laughter was heard by the two dressed-up couple.

Ningning, with her eyes still closed, asked, "What are you laughing at?"

Amo Obib played along.

"No, peeking," Lulu reminded again. "Open your eyes and walk out of the room on the music's third bar, okay?" She watched them nod their heads then she joined her sisters at the corridor.

On Lulu' cue, the girls started humming the tune to the King's March. Immediately after the first note, hilarious laughter came from within the room. They passed the sixth bar of the music, and still, the two were in the room laughing.

"Come out," cried one eager girl.

The two came out stoic. The girls burst into laughter as soon as they saw Amo Obib and Ningning. The two were colorful together in their high-collared cape and crazy-colored buggy suits. Their make-up and the colored wig differentiated the two. Amo Obib's colorful wig had weird things sticking out while Ningning's had wavy-stretched purple hair that stuck outward. Their faces were mottled with colored circular patches. A puckered bright red lip was painted over their mouth as though wanting a kiss.

When Amo Obib gave Ningning a surprise kiss on her lips, everyone almost died laughing, especially when Ningning chased him for more.

When things settled, Amo Obib said, "Lulu, this is the best costume I have ever worn. But it is too good. It will call too much attention to your Mom and me and that we do not want."

"I know," Lulu sighed. "But you two look hilariously wonderful."

The girls helped take out the crazy stuff off their parents and left them in their red-colored cape over their radiation protective suits. It made the two looked like kids in red-caped Martians outfits with two large almond-shaped dark glasses over their masks.

Amo Obib made a final check at the girls---they appeared like any other teenager at their age. "Whose younger brother am I?" he asked.

"Mine," Lulu said.

"And Mama Ningning?" Amo Obib said continuing to review their alibis and excuses, their address, why they were together, and other related questions asked of them that may arise.

Los Angeles

It was 7:00 a.m. A beetle-size electronic rover hovered above an alley, sending video images of the area below.

Amo Obib, holding a pyramid crystal with both hands, instructed, "Hold onto me, or anyone holding me, or you'll be left behind."

Ningning wrapped her arms around Amo Obib's waist. The rest huddled around Ningning and Amo Obib. He looked at the monitor and had it zoom on an alley below. Certain no one would see them materialize on the ground, he commanded, "Goopersh, transport."

The huddled group disappeared in a flash then reappeared on an alley that led to the famous street of Los Angeles---Hollywood Boulevard.

Everyone was apprehensive as they emerged out of the alley---four teenage girls, averaging five-feet-four-inches in height, in a typical teenage outfit accompanying two kids clad in caped Martian outfits. But as the group walked the street, nobody seemed to neither mind nor paid attention to the kids in their Martian costumes. It was Halloween, who would suspect? Soon they felt at ease walking alongside humans, some wearing creepy Halloween costume.

With money taken from sunken ships, the group did what any tourist usually do---sightseeing on tour buses and taking a lot of pictures. When the tour bus dropped them off at Chinese Grumman Theater, they looked at the foot and palm print of popular movie stars on the pavement the theater was famous for. Amo Obib asked common questions as to what movie the actor starred in as part of their human orientation.

As they walked around, a man lightly tapped Ningning's head with his finger. Alarmed, she went to Amo Obib's side and looked at the man thru her dark glasses with trepidation.

"Your mask seems lifelike," the amazed man said as he followed her. "Where did you buy your outfit?" he asked.

"My sister made them for us," Amo Obib answered for Ningning, sounding like a youngster.

The stranger talked to one of Lulu's sisters, "I sell children outfits and supply costumes for the cinema studios. I'd like very much to know how you made their Marian outfits," he asked eagerly.

"I love to, but I just don't have time . . . we're on tour," she answered.

The man persisted.

Lulu observed her sisters plead to the man to leave them alone. Since the man was persistent and on seeing two policemen at the sidewalk, said to the man, "It's a lengthy process, and we have to go. Come," and the group followed her.

Walking alongside Lulu, the man excitedly said, "You have something that will interest a lot of people I know. Are you interested in making money?"

"Please, we really have to go," Lulu replied as she led the group to two uniformed police officers at the corner holding on to their patrol bikes. "Officer, can you help us," she addressed one.

"What seems to be the problem?" the first Police Officer asked pleasantly, with a grin.

"This gentleman means us no harm, but can you detain him until we get lost in the crowd?"

The second police officer turned to the man and sized him up.

"Look, Officer," the man said before the officer could say something. "I'm offering a legitimate business proposition. They got something the cinema and children costume market can use and maybe make stars of the two alien clad kids. I want to make a proposition . . ."

Lulu interrupted, "Can you detain him just for a few minutes?"

"Like to press charges?" the officer asked.

"Oh, no. He really means us no harm."

"Okay," the officer responded.

The group hurriedly left but the man tried to follow. "Hold on, Buddy," the second Police Officer said as he restrained the man by the arm. "Can I see an ID?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

"Look, Officer, I'm in the cinema industry and . . ."

"I don't care if you're a Superstar. Can I see an ID, please?" the second Police Officer commanded.

The man pulled his wallet as he watched the group disappear in the crowd.

On a tour bus, a woman turned her head as she followed a passing site and accidentally saw Ningning, seated across the aisle, insert a potato chip through her mask, and ate. "How did you do that?" she asked in amazement as she looked at her.

Ningning, taken aback, looked at the woman without answering. Amo Obib, seated by Ningning's side and whose attention was somewhere else, missed the question. Lulu, seated directly behind the woman and clueless, asked the woman inquiringly, "She's my little sister. What did she do?" she asked pleasantly.

The woman turned and said to Lulu, "I saw her insert a potato chip through her mask."

Lulu reacted casually, "She likes playing tricks on people. She just made it look as though she got it through her mask when the potato chip is still in her hand. "Show her again," she said to Ningning.

With a clue, Ningning demonstrated: she took a potato chip out of the bag and pushed the chip seemingly into her mouth through the mask. She then showed the woman the chip on her hand and said in rhyme, "I trick her, I trick her."

"Silly girl," the woman said to Ningning as she laughed and waved her off with a grin on her face.

The group spent time to go in appliance and hardware stores to familiarize the girls with everyday household gadgets and work tools. They rode buses and taxis; went to malls; and did other things to orient the girls to the world they would eventually live in. Although people, at times, stared at their costumed companions, they paid no attention to them. If asked, they would answer: 'They are midget actors dressed for an alien movie shooting or a play.'

As time passed, they did more excursions and visited many countries. First, as teenage girls that escorted costumed kids and, in the following weeks, as women that accompanied two midgets to a studio or shooting location.

A month later, the four were physically grown women in their early twenty's. Their training shifted to basic household activities: cooking, carpentry, appliance and electrical repairs, and gardening. Later, they got abandoned cars and disassembled then reassembled them. The fun part was driving what they repaired within the confines of the spacious vacant floor space within the ship. The driving area had lined roads with intersections and pedestrian lanes. As one drove, the other sisters acted as signal lights holding on to red, green, and yellow colored placards. They even practiced parallel parking.

In the last few weeks, they learned secretarial skills, office administration, and all were adept in the use of office computers. On their final week, each went alone to the city assigned to them. Lulu was to start her Earth life in Los Angeles, California. Her three sisters to Moscow, Russia; Shanghai, China; and Davao City, Philippines.

Caught in the Act

On the night before their children's departure, Ningning could not sleep and left Amo Obib asleep in their room. She walked toward their daughter's barrack type bedroom and entered stealthily. Her children were fast asleep. With motherly adoration, she looked at the face of each of her children asleep as tears trickled down her cheeks. When she got to Lulu's bed, she saw an outline of a body on its side covered by a blanket all the way to the top of the head. As she got closer, she found the head was but a dark folded cloth. She lifted the blanket and found two pillows underneath. She tiptoed hurriedly out of the room.

Ningning located Lulu over the ship's tracking system and proceeded to the shop. As she neared a room, the floor crackled as she walked. She noticed salt sparsely spread on the floor. She knew the crackling sounds were loud enough to alert someone inside. In the room, she saw Lulu seated, looking attentively at the computer's screen. "Isn't it late for you to be studying?" Ningning asked as she approached her. She noticed an accounting balance sheet was on the computer's screen.

Lulu turned and, sounding surprised, said, "Oh. Hi Mama, . . . I am studying financial statements."

"Are you really studying accounting?" Ningning asked nicely in an investigative tone.

Lulu hesitated then confessed, "No. I'm not." Her head lowered in guilt.

"What are you studying then?"

"The design of the atomic converter to update . . ."

Ningning hugged Lulu from behind and cuddled her. "Please leave everything the way it should," she said in despair.

"It is not too late," Lulu responded with enthusiasm as she grabbed a stool and got Ningning to sit. "National Atomic Research Laboratory produces . . ."

Ningning interrupted, "NARLAB is a US government-owned high-energy physics research center in the Mojave Desert, California. The research facility produced 1.8 trillion electron-volts of particle energy in 1987. Construction of the Superconducting Super Collider started spring of 1992. Projected completion, late 1999 with a collision output of 25 trillion electron-volts. That's four-thousand trillion electron-volts short of what we need."

Ningning's knowledge surprised Lulu. "I know, but I came up with a design to increase its capacity. I plan to leak it to their scientist then . . ."

"Lulu," Ningning interrupted again and sternly said, "how long have you been doing this?"

In guilt, Lulu answered, "Almost every night for nearly half a year."

"My dearest Lulu, your Papa's heart will be broken if he knew what you have been doing and what you intend to do."

"Please do not tell Papa," Lulu pleaded.

"Promise me you will not go against your Papa and my wish."

"Can I give my answer tomorrow before we leave?" Lulu asked, her head slightly bowed, her voice hardly audible.

"Please do not disappoint your father and me," Ningning replied, then stood, holding out her hands for Lulu to take. "Come, I'll take you to bed."

"I love you and Papa," Lulu said, hugging Ningning as she wept.

"Your father and I know that. We love you dearly, too," Ningning answered as she gently rubbed Lulu's back then walked her to her room.

Last farewell

Amo Obib and Ningning were seated alongside each other on a bamboo bench by the airship's ramp side. Elsewhere, darkness. They were waiting for the children to bid them their last farewell. With helpless concerns and overwhelmed with sadness, they just sat---each to their own thoughts. Earlier, the amo had denied their children's request to stay with them till the ship ran out of fuel and, consequently, die with them.

Ningning, on seeing their children emerged from the fringe of the lighted area, said, "They are coming."

Amo Obib, whose mind was recollecting the past, was startled back to the present. He reacted, "What?"

"They are back. Each has a suitcase," said Ningning and they stood.

With everything said of their departure earlier, Amo Obib and Ningning hugged and bade one-by-one their children, 'Po-ogi si bobi,' before each walked up the ramp and entered the airship. Lulu was the last. Amo Obib said, "Lulu, your mother confided what she found out last night. I want you to promise you won't do anything foolish that may jeopardize your life and even your sisters," he stressed forcefully.

"But, Papa, I . . ."

"Lulu," Amo Obib said forcedly, "Promise!"

"I love you very much," she answered and, in a rush, hugged him and did the same to Ningning.

Ningning, as they held each other in a hug, reminded Lulu sternly as they parted embrace, "Lulu, you did not answer your father."

Lulu said to her parents as she broke into tears, "I cannot promise something I may not be able to keep though I give you my word I will try very, very hard," then took a step toward the airship; stopped and turned. "I love you, Papa. I love you, Mama," looking at each of them, then added, "Po-ogi si bobi."

Ningning moved quickly and caught Lulu before Lulu could turn. She got Lulu to kneel then embraced and cuddled as Ningning whispered to Lulu's ear, "Try very, very hard, but if you must, though I pray hard that you won't, be very, very careful." Ningning then moved back and in a normal voice said, "It will make your Papa and me happy . . . Please promise," she implored with a smile.

"I promise," Lulu replied loud enough for her father to hear. The promise made the amo grinned. "Po-ogi si bobi," Lulu repeated with eyes wet; hands waving goodbye as she moved backward up the ramp.

"Po-ogi si bobi," Amo Obib and Ningning said together as they waved back at their children tightly packed with waving hands behind the airship's closing door.

Amo Obib and Ningning watched the airship lift then pierced the ship's west-wall as it flew out of the ship.

Ningning said, "Can we sit and stay here for a moment?" sounding exhausted.

"Are you alright, Ningning?" Amo Obib asked, looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine. I just feel so drained."

"I understand. Take as much time," he replied, and they sat on the bench, each to their own thoughts.

A couple of minutes later, Ningning wrapped her arms around Amo Obib's left arm; leaned her head on his shoulder; and whimpered again.

They stayed seated for a few minutes more, then headed for the Command Center.

Ningning held on to amo's arm with her head on his shoulder as they slowly walked without a word uttered. On seeing the doorway to the transporter room, Ningning suddenly let go of her hold on amo's arm and hurriedly went inside the transport room. She checked a drawer's contents, then returned to Amo Obib, and held his arm again. "I hope Lulu will not do anything foolish," saying it with her composure gained.

Amo Obib replied, "Even if she did, she could not prove herself to be an Alien as much as I can convince you that I am human."

"She took one pyramid crystal," Ningning said passingly.

Amo Obib stopped walking and got Ningning to face him. He firmly looked at her. "When did you know?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

Ningning knew him well. She took his arm and led him again and said nicely, "That does not really matter. We cannot change anything now . . . As a father, the first thing you should learn is to trust your children. It is your fault anyway," she concluded.

"And how could that be?" Amo Obib said, baffled and protesting.

"You gave her one of your best qualities---being stubborn."

"Stubborn?" he protested aloud.

"Would I have convinced you to stop handing those crazy leaflets and speeches on liberalizing educational policies and left it to the Council of Elders to decide?" she asked.

"I doubt it."

"She's like you. It's your fault . . . so don't blame her."

'It's useless to argue,' he thought then asked, "What should we do?"

"Pray," she snapped.

Amo Obib strangely looked at her and said, "You know, Ningning, you are beginning to worry me. You have a weird way of getting people to see and do things differently. Remember the night . . .
EPISODE FOUR

Los Angeles California, 1997.

It was not a 'Sunny Los Angeles' that early autumn day. The sky remained overcast for days as the storm's eye lingered two hundred miles west of the state of California that brought intermittent rain to the otherwise dry metropolis. With the 4 P.M. rush hour, two and a half hours away and a Friday, traffic would get worse.

Twenty miles northwest of downtown Los Angeles, Camfer Incorporated was one of the small companies among several industrial giants within Chatsworth's industrial zone. The company ventured on high-speed printers and robotics. The brainchild of Greg Camber, who, with a classmate, John Paul (JP) Fernandez, formed the company soon after both graduated from the University of Southern California's MBA program.

Camfer Incorporated did well on their first five years but, like many upstart companies in the '80s, struggled to survive the global economic downtrend. Metropolitan Los Angeles economy had taken the brunt of the US recession and seemed to linger down the economic scale. The company's survival hinged on infiltrating the lucrative robotics market that both JP and Greg worked on since the company's inception.

JP's office was a mess. The only space that showed a deliberate organization was the top of his steel filing cabinet. It had a coffee maker, creamer, sugar jar, and two coffee mugs. He thought the coffeemaker a fire hazard and made certain its top was clear of anything combustible. Elsewhere, stocks of reference material, technical magazines, and computer printouts were on the floor, desks, and every conceivable nook. The bookshelves on one side of the room were overfilled that one would wonder why the wall had not given way. Yet he knew where things were in what he described as 'organized chaos.'

JP worked on a robotic computer program that served as Gilda's brain, an odd-looking robot on wheels. He labored two months, going home late, and coming in early, including weekends, to meet a demonstration deadline due four hours away. He deplored the idea of his partner, Greg, a mechanical engineer, and the company's marketing manager, making client commitments without consulting him. But he understood why---many computer printer manufacturers were ganging up on the little that was left of the market and Greg was under pressure to deliver or step aside against stiff competition. Gilda, which Greg mechanically designed, was in a prototype stage and had been ready for two weeks. The pressure was on JP to get Gilda's computer program up and running.

Midafternoon, Greg, furious, barged in JP's office and slammed five opened letters over JP's hands working on the computer keyboard. Three letters fell on the floor and two tethered over the back of JP's hands.

JP did not react. He knew its contents and merely flicked his right hand and got the letters to fall on the floor. "Say what you have to say, Greg," he said coldly, his eyes stayed glued to his computer's screen.

Controlling his temper, Greg said, "Someone told me RGI, Rosenthal Global Industries, was giving our company special preference. Bad info, I thought and laughed it off. For your information, Rosenthal Global Industries is the largest conglomerate in the world! They're in on almost every high-tech industry . . . warplanes, tanks, missiles, and even shipbuilding. Just doing business with them will boost a company's image. For some crazy reason, they mailed the letters to you, and you never gave them to me. You didn't even open some!"

"Who in RGI?" JP asked, irritatingly as he pretended to work.

"Some top procurement guy in corporate headquarter," Greg said, holding down his temper and voice. "That's beside the point. Do you know what's in those letters?"

"You opened them. So, what's in it?" JP asked coldly without looking at Greg.

"Request for product information, price quote, and an invitation to bid. Hear that! Request for quotes and bids. Rosenthal doesn't just send invitation or inquiries unless they are interested in the product," Greg said, keeping his voice subdued.

Face blushing red, JP turned his swivel chair and faced Greg. Cold and determined said, "I don't want any part of Rosenthal Global Industries nor any of its subsidiaries. Companies in the armament business are the scums of the earth. They earn money through people's blood. I want no part of that."

"You don't want them!" Greg replied sarcastically. "We need them. I'm your partner. If you forgot, I own half of the company, and that entitles me to half the say."

"Did you give me half of my say when you committed the project deadline to James Horsch?"

Letting off steam, Greg paced the floor then said. "What's wrong with you, JP? You in a crusade to save humankind? Are you one of those peace freaks advocating throwing flowers when they are being shot at? Wake up, man. You're in a dream world."

"As long as I'm around, we don't do any business with S.O.B.'s. If you want to do business with them, you're free to buy me out at a bargain."

"I'm in charge of marketing. That's for me to decide," retorted Greg. "I never argued on how you run production. That is your responsibility, and I respect you for that. But you must respect my responsibility too. I worry day and night figuring how to bring orders in, and you sit on it. We need Rosenthal's or any business badly. God damn, JP . . ."

"I quit," JP burst. He stood and started jamming papers into his attaché. "You can have the company."

"We'll dissolve the partnership!" Greg reacted and left the room, slamming the door behind.

Greg and JP's relationship were not bad and burst of temper had never happened before. They were always calm and deliberate in deciding company matters. Good friends but not buddies--- Greg was an extrovert and JP an introvert. As such, their relation stayed mainly on the company's business and rare social occasions.

A few minutes later, Greg came back. He stood in front of JP's desk and calmly said to JP, as he looked at him, "When I got you into this business, I promised you we'd rise or sink together. I'm not apt to break the promise. We'll find other ways to float," he said, extending his hand across JP's desk. "We don't do business with Rosenthal or any of its S. O. B.'s, and that's a company policy. We don't need their business to survive."

JP shook Greg's hand. He knew Greg was playing on his conscience, but also knew Greg was right. They needed any business they could get and getting business from Rosenthal Global Industries would put them in good market standing and, maybe, keep them above their debt.

Shifting the subject, Greg said, "I'm all set for the test."

"Wouldn't it be better to test the prototype with James Horsch present?" JP asked.

"So many things can go wrong. Worse comes to worst, I'll find an excuse to move the demo to a later date," Greg said, in a motion of leaving.

"Greg . . . you're right, and I apologize. You'll get all the letters," and with hesitation added, "Can we forget the incident?"

"What incident?" Greg quipped. "I'll see you at the cage, partner."

JP beamed. "Give me a couple of minutes."

Gilda

JP went in the R&D (Research and Development) test cage with a computer disk on hand. He went directly to a computer within R&D and popped the disk in its disk-drive and worked the computer's keyboard.

Greg, in his white shirt with long-sleeves twice folded, made final checks on their robot named Gilda. Sonny Dominguez, their Mexican machinist, helped Greg. The three formed the company's entire Research and Development division---Greg designed the robot's mechanics; Sonny did the fabrication; JP handled the electronics and computer program. Together, they built Gilda.

Gilda had two camera-lensed eyes on its head: a stubby neck on top of a barrel-shaped body. It moved on tracked wheels, and its mechanical links and motors were visible. The metal rods, pulleys, and joints from shoulder to the tip of fingers were exposed. Altogether, it was a mechanical skeleton with its circuit board visible as its backpack. Greg and JP were not concerned with its awkward look---it was a prototype and did not bother to make it presentable, at least, not at that point in time.

"I'm ready," JP said aloud to Greg at the far end of a narrow test area within the R&D. A thick chicken wire fence separated the R&D floor space from the production area. Outside the fenced area were the company's employees crowded tightly at its perimeter, curious and excited to see what Greg and JP had worked on since the company's inception.

Greg gave a 'thumbs up' to JP then stepped a few feet away from Gilda.

"Me, ready too," Sonny, who stood next to Greg, said in a heavy Mexican accent. His mustache made him looked much like Pancho Villa, the Mexican hero. He was a cheerful fellow, and everyone loved having him around with his extraordinary sense of humor.

JP returned Greg's thumbs-up gesture then swung his arms to the production employees packed tightly outside the R&D caged area.

"Gilda! Gilda! Gilda!" the employees chanted.

JP pressed the 'Enter' button on the keyboard.

Gilda did the first programmed routine: placing half-a-dozen odd-shaped blocks back into its corresponding slots atop a table and accomplished the task perfectly. It went to another table and viewed a picture of an assembled jigsaw puzzle with twelve distinct pieces and alongside the jumbled the pieces. Gilda reconstructed it and solved the puzzle at a speed that amazed everyone, and the crowd started cheering louder. Gilda went to the adjacent table and examined a cube made of eight irregular blocks then moved to the side where ten irregularly shaped blocks laid. It picked each piece, examined it, then assembled the cube noticeably slower this time. With a dustpan, Gilda swept the excess blocks and dropped them in a trashcan by the table's side.

Everyone laughed and cheered again.

The last test was crucial. Gilda was to fabricate and assemble components using a blueprint as a guide. Everything went well though the response time was slow, and Gilda's movements were jerky and, at times, hesitant. A few minutes into the test, the bolt held by the left mechanical hand slipped as it was being handed over to the right hand. Instead of the bolt, the right hand got hold of the left hand's palm and yanked out the arm from its shoulder. Electric wires shorted and mechanical links trailed the disabled arm. The main circuit board on Gilda's backpack began to smoke.

JP instinctively pressed the abort key on the computer as Greg rushed and pulled Gilda's electrical cord from the wall socket. He grabbed the nearby fire extinguisher and frantically sprayed at the flame coming out of Gilda's left shoulder and back. Sonny, with his left hand shielding his eyes from the fire extinguisher's spray, retrieved the circuit board at Gilda's back. It took but one short burst from the fire extinguisher to put out the flame.

"Damn!" JP said aloud, to the surprise of everyone. He was always cool and levelheaded, but not this time. He walked toward Greg, who stood by the crippled robot, and asked, "How bad?"

Greg leaned forward and checked Gilda's mangled shoulder then the disconnected left arm. "Two-three days," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck disappointedly.

Overhearing, Sonny interjected in his broken English, "Me come tomorrow. No overtime pay. Get Gilda running Monday morning . . . if Greg need me."

Greg grinned at Sonny. "Thanks, Sonny. Let me check it out first."

JP asked Greg, "Think you can stall the demo for Monday?"

"That may not be a problem, but I have to work on it now . . . I think we got something even with the lousy bolt slip. Is it a minor program change, right?"

"It seems minor, but it's not."

"How long?"

"A week at best. Two, most likely."

"We'll run it on the same program and move Horsch's demo late Monday afternoon," Greg decided. "We'll just cross our fingers and hope Gilda won't drop anything this time."

Sonny interjected, "Put extra rubber pads on fingertips. No slippage."

"Bueno idea, Sonny," Greg said in his few Spanish words, then turned to JP. "I have to find the motor that needs changing then buy them before the electronic store closes for the weekend. I'm supposed to pick up Horsch for our demo and discuss a programming project we may be interested in doing. That means you have to see him." Greg paused and looked at his watch, then continued, "It's two hours away, at four."

"I need a head start on the traffic then. It's bad going downtown in rush hours and a Friday, and don't like being late and give another excuse," JP said uncomfortably.

"See you tomorrow?"

"You bet," JP said and walked hurriedly to his office.

Beth Greer was the company's administrative officer, accountant, and secretary, among her other functions. She was fat and continuously perspired. If she had her way, she would turn the air-conditioner close to freezing. Sounding exasperated, Beth said as she and JP crossed path at the corridor, "Miss Katherine Davis of Rosenthal Global Industries called again."

"What did you tell her?"

"As always, you're out and leave a message. She left the same message to return her call. Why don't you just tell her to drop dead?" she said, sounding pissed.

JP ignored her remark. "Did you give Greg the unopened letters in my to-do box?"

"I accidentally opened one today and, seeing it pertained to sales, gave it to Greg. I also gave him the others you had on your to-do box. Did I do anything wrong?" she asked.

"No. Just curious," JP answered passingly and proceeded to his office.

JP stuck documents in his old leather briefcase. He changed his collared T-shirt to a white long-sleeved shirt he kept in his office for this kind of emergency and tacked it in his navy-blue slacks. As usual, he had a tough time getting his green-stripe-over-gray tie straight then donned his rusty brown sport suit. He was somewhat unsure of what was wrong with his attire aside from his brown canvas suede shoes. He thought people did not look that far. He left his office with his briefcase.

Beth was putting her personal belongings in a cardboard box on top of her desk when JP entered her office cubicle. As JP stood, Beth was surprised to see JP in his unusual attire and commented, "Boy, are you dressed to kill."

JP grinned, got a plastic ball pen on top of her desk, and placed it in his coat pocket.

"You're meeting James Horsch?" she asked.

"Yeah," JP answered shabbily.

"I guess I won't see you then, so I might as well say my goodbye now." Beth sensed the company was getting into trouble and thought it better to work elsewhere before she got laid-off.

"Goodbye?" JP sounded surprised.

"I gave you two weeks' notice. I hope you got someone to replace me. Boy, do you need one."

"She's coming on Monday," JP lied and wished she reminded him. He was terribly busy on the Horsch project for the past two weeks, he forgot. _'That is Beth,_ _no initiative,'_ he thought. "Wish you the best." He gave her a hug, and a pat on the back then went for the door.

"Don't forget to call me when everything's normal," Beth cried out.

JP turned and smiled. He knew they needed an office administrator but, somehow, was glad Beth resigned.

The Downtown Drive

JP's halfway drive from San Fernando Valley to downtown Los Angeles was not bad considering it drizzled. It changed when the half-way freeway drive was at the crest of Santa Monica hills. From there, JP saw the downhill freeway winding to downtown LA, ten miles ahead, jammed. Lined vehicles outlined a long freight train crawling on its track. With over an hour to spare, he was unconcerned and spent the time listening to Beethoven's 9th symphony over the car's CD. On the symphony's fourth movement, he sang loudly along with the choral as his car inched forward in the highway traffic. At the symphony's end, JP glanced at the car's digital clock. It was 3:36 p.m., and the hotel was a little under a mile to the south. From where he was on the freeway, he had a clear view of the newly constructed Rosenthal Global Industries high-rise building ahead. The building dwarfed other buildings in height and width at the heart of the downtown area. He tried to avoid seeing it, but the building dominated his front view. Agitated, he voiced out, "Of all places, why build it here!" as he slammed the steering wheel with his hand. He took the freeway's off-ramp knowing the side streets may be worse but took it, nonetheless. Soon he followed detour signs that got him farther to where he was going. Pressed for time, he avoided the jammed main thoroughfare and took the side streets.

He got to within a block of the hotel on a one-way street going the opposite direction. The traffic had not moved for almost two minutes, and his appointment was fifteen minutes away. He saw a public garage a short distance ahead and parked his car there.

It was drizzling when JP walked out of the garage and cursed himself for forgetting his raincoat. It was the raincoat this time. 'I must not be late,' he thought. Greg said James Horsch, the President of A & C Marketing International in East Berlin, was a hard man to impress and was particular about punctuality. This made him nervous enough to jog his way to the hotel.

At the hotel's front desk, five minutes earlier than his appointment, JP was dusting off the water droplets from his suit and catching his breath, too. He said to the receptionist, "James Horsch, please. He is expecting me."

The receptionist took a manila envelope from under the counter. "John Paul Fernandez?" she read the name on the large envelope ending JP's name with a pleasant tone coupled with a professional smile.

"Yes. That's me."

"Mr. Horsch personally gave me instruction to give this to you," she said as she handed a large manila envelope across the counter.

Meanwhile, a man auspiciously dressed as a tourist with a long-lensed camera was across the lobby. He zoomed and focused on a lobby object of the same distance to the reception counter. When focused, he swung his camera and took successive pictures of JP receiving an envelope and another set of pictures as JP left the counter. The man then fiddled with his camera like any other tourist.

JP pulled out a handwritten letter inside the envelope. It read:

Dear John Paul,

I must cancel our appointment in a minute's notice. I tried reaching you and Greg, but both of you were out. Your secretary said you were on your way here. I will advise you of a new meeting schedule sometime next month. Please accept my deepest apology for the inconvenience.

James Horsch

JP was so relieved his tensed posture relaxed. He called their office at the hotel lobby phone and spoke to Greg, who just came in from the hardware store. "Greg, Horsch canceled the appointment and set it for next month . . . I will make a special program to handle greased marbles so we can test and solve both problems . . . See you tomorrow? . . . Good, Monday . . . I surely need the rest."

Meeting Lulu

'It's a bad time to drive home with the afternoon rush hour traffic at its peak,' JP said to himself. Since the drizzling rain had stopped, he decided to kill time and headed leisurely to a familiar area a few blocks further on where he used to hunt for old coins. Coin collection was his hobby that started as early as he could remember until college when he got hooked on computers and forgot about it.

Two long blocks away, at the street's curb, Lulu stood outside the Los Angeles Bus Terminal. A panhandler approached her and asked, "Can you spare food money?"

Without hesitation, Lulu took her thick wallet out of her shoulder bag. Naively, she gave the panhandler a clear view of her wallet's content as she searched for a dollar bill.

The panhandler eyed Lulu's money greedily as she leafed through bills in her wallet then scanned the one-way street. Suddenly, he grabbed Lulu's wallet and crossed the street, running.

Lulu was petrified. Unable to scream for help, she watched the snatcher disappear among the pedestrians across the street. All her money was in the wallet. Desperate, she checked for a rare coin stashed away in her shoulder bag to ascertain it was there. All her other sisters had one, tacked secretly in their bag in case of emergency. Now she had to use it. She asked someone for directions to the nearest coin store or pawnshop. Two were not familiar with the area, but the third accommodated. "The coin store district is three blocks down this street, and some pawn shops are along the way," the man said, pointing the direction. "Most closes at five," he added.

Lulu thanked the man, and on seeing the corner clock read 4:54 p.m., hurriedly headed for the shops.

Penniless in a city full of stranger's faces, a look of anxiety was on her face. She walked briskly to a couple of pawnshops but, by then, found their doors closed. To her great relief, across the street was a coin store still open and headed straight for it.

JP was at the coin district when it started to rain. He took shelter under a storefront canopy he once remembered was a coin store long ago. He looked at the display window and relieved to see different currencies displayed. The sight brought old memories of his teen years when he was so fascinated with old coins and started a collection.

JP bought his old coins from what he saved from the monthly allowance that came from a fund made for him by his mother in the event of her death. She died when JP was seven years of age. The fund ultimately paid for JP's education; the venture capital on business (Camfer Inc.); and the money to buy a condominium where he presently lives.

The coin store was still open, and JP walked in.

The store's inside looked almost the same as JP recollected. What was different was the ceiling's white color that had mellowed with age to light gray. What was the same were the two long glass display counters on either side of the aisle and the glass display wall behind. But the store was less than what it used to. Dust had accumulated within small nooks and hard to reach surfaces. The checkered white and black floor tiles were worn out through countless steps and could use some mopping and some tile replacements to be more presentable.

JP knew where the good coins were displayed and headed directly for the deeper end of the store. Midway through the aisle, he stopped. A woman stood a step in front of him but looking the other way. She was standing at the center of the aisle with the suitcase between her and the counter. She was partly blocking the way. He noticed her back was heaving as if catching her breath and saw minute beads of raindrops on her dress and partly ruffled black hair. JP said politely, "Excuse me."

Startled, Lulu turned and realized she and her suitcase were blocking the aisle, said, "I'm so sorry." She moved to the side of her suitcase then smiled at him.

JP saw the worried look and the smile after. The transformation got his attention. His eyes stayed glued on her sweet smile and her almond-shaped blue eyes that went well with her face. JP stood still looking at her face. He was hypnotized.

Lulu, puzzled at the motionless man fronting her, looked down to ascertain there was room for him to pass.

Lulu's motion brought JP back to his senses. "I'm sorry," he apologized and quickly passed headed for the further end of the store.

At the deeper end, JP caught a glimpse of a burly man wearing a printed Hawaiian shirt in a small cramped office behind a beaded curtain. The man was not the kind old man that attended JP as a teenage customer. Not the old honest man who couched JP on what to buy.

Through a beaded curtain, JP saw the burly man thumbed hurriedly through pages of coin catalogs. Paying no mind to what he saw, he viewed the displayed coins under the glass counter before him. No sooner, JP got distracted on hearing successions of thuds. He instinctively turned to the sound's direction and saw the burly man slide an oversize book on a narrow desk that caused catalogs on the desk to fall to the floor. Curious, he observed the man hastily flipped through the thick book's pages; stopped, looked, and compared the coin the man held to a book page then use a loupe on the coin. Judging from his hasty actions, the man was extremely excited. Shortly after, the man straightened himself; left the room and walked toward the woman in a casual manner. The man somehow knew the woman was desperate in her manner. Even JP thought the same when he looked toward her direction.

Minding his own business, JP continued to view the displayed coins under the counter. But he could not help distinctly overhearing the conversation between the burly man and the woman as the narrow coin store was much like an enclosed sound chamber.

"$500," the man said, in a matter a fact tone, to Lulu.

"It's a rare coin. Surely, you must have made a mistake. Please give it a second look," Lulu said politely.

The man obliged. With Lulu on her side of the counter, they moved to a levered circular-fluorescent lamp with a magnifying glass at its center. The burly man turned on the lamp and examined the coin.

Barely two feet from the lamp and overwhelmed with curiosity, JP's eyes looked sideways. He saw a gold coin held under the light. It was roughly the size of a quarter and a small part of it encrusted by a cut coral whose size was large enough to hold with two fingers as the burly man did.

The man said to Lulu, "Okay, a thousand," saying the words passingly as though he was doing her a favor. The man then leaned against the glass wall behind him nonchalantly, his arms crossed each other over his protruding belly; his posture, unsympathetic.

Lulu extended her hand with a cutout page, "Here's a page from a coin catalog issued nine years ago showing the same coin in silver priced at $1,700. The one in your hand is gold."

The man insensibly left Lulu's hand with the catalog page in the air. "Look, lady, I'm not in charity but in trading business and have expenses to think of. Ok, $1,700. If you don't like my offer, you can take it elsewhere."

"You're the only store open . . . Sir, my purse got snatched with all my money in it . . . I'm looking for a job . . . no place to stay . . . the coin is worth far more than your offer," she pleaded.

JP clearly heard the conversation and pitied her. Without giving it a thought, reacted, "If he is not interested, I might. Can I see the coin?" he referred the question to Lulu.

Lulu looked at JP, then took the coin from the man's fingers and handed it over to JP together with the catalog page.

JP sensed her worry, her helplessness. It radiated out of Lulu's face. He got the coin and the torn catalog page. He held the coin where the coral had encrusted and examined it under the circular lamp's light. He noticed the broken coral's color was immaculately white. A faint acrid scent was in the air as if the coral was curved out recently. A woman's head was embossed on one side of the gold coin in mint condition. Its chin and part of the nose were hidden under the encrusted coral. Turning the coin over, he saw the coral covered part of the ruler's seal but still recognizable. JP was familiar with the coins minted in Alexandria, Egypt, during the Pleny family's two-hundred-year reign. Each ruler had their face embossed on a coin during their reign. Of the five rulers, four were kings and the last, a queen...Cleopatra. The coin, being gold, may well be a proof mint given only to the reigning ruler. If the coin is authentic, it would be worth more. How much more, that JP did not know. He compared the coin against the picture on the catalog then offered, "$3,000 for it?"

Lulu was speechless.

"Who the hell are you," the man blared in a threatening tone then said, "I'll give $3,500."

The man's sudden reaction was a dead giveaway. Certain the coin was worth more, he countered, "$4,500."

"$5,000," the man reacted.

"$6,000."

"Why you. . ." the man said as he glared at JP.

The man was about to move. "Make an offer," Lulu said, catching the man's attention.

The man froze on his track. "Six-five," he said.

"$8,000." JP countered. He was good in poker, his only vise during his college days, and was the man to beat among his poker buddies.

The man's face turned red. He looked at JP and said, "Why you . . ."

Lulu saw the anger on the man's face. She turned to JP and said, "It's yours for $8,000."

"I'll give you $9,000," the man reacted.

"The bidding is over," she concluded.

"His offer is $9,000," JP said.

"I heard him. It is yours for $8,000," saying it with a smile.

"I wasn't prepared for this, and the banks are close. I can take out $2,000 from a teller machine a few blocks from here and write a check for the balance. Would that be fine?"

"I'm giving you $9,000 . . . cash," the man blared and smirked at JP. "This guy is a scam artist. He'd run off with your coin the moment you leave the store."

Lulu understood the man's insinuation. She looked at JP in the eyes for a moment, then turned to the man and said, "I am selling the coin to this gentleman."

"Get the fuck out of my store!" the man roared as he pointed toward the door.

JP got Lulu's suitcase and together left the store.

"Lady, 10,000, cash," the man shouted from across the street.

Lulu ignored him and continued walking with JP.

JP said, "The man's offer is $10,000, and I can't go farther than eight . . . two thousand more and cash."

" **There comes a point when money loses its worth**. I can get by with $8,000. Do you normally buy coins at those prices?"

"The most I've spent on an old coin was fifty dollars and a long time ago."

"Why did you bid then?"

"Honestly, my intention was merely to raise the buying price."

"You are lucky. The coin is worth much more. Sell it."

"I'd be happier if we sold it and get my eight thousand back."

"The first arrangement is . . ."

"Please," JP pleaded.

Lulu gave it a quick thought then said, "Only if you accept ten percent of the gross over your eight grand."

Smiling, JP pocketed the coin then extended his hand. "I'm John Paul Fernandez. My friends call me JP."

"Luningning Spence," she replied with a smile, and as she shook his hand, said, "I thank God we met."

"I surely am glad we did," he smiled back and feeling what he said.

JP withdrew the money from a teller machine and handed it to Lulu together with the check he made. In turn, Lulu wrote JP's name and telephone number on a small notepad she got from her bag.

"Mind having dinner with me?" JP asked.

"I really must go," Lulu answered.

"I know you're in a rush, but you won't go far in this traffic. Please. Besides, we still have to talk on selling the coin."

"You sell it."

"Trust me with it?"

Baffled, Lulu replied, "I trusted you at the store. Why shouldn't I trust you now?"

"You got me there . . . Still, we have to talk like . . . where to sell."

"Auction would be best."

"I know someone who could help, but that would take time."

"I'm in no hurry. I really have to go."

"Noticed the traffic hasn't moved since we got here? Please. The restaurant is not far, then I'll drive you to wherever you want to go."

Lulu looked at the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Though reluctant, she saw JP's pleading through his grin. She coyly smiled and said, "Ok."

JP was so relieved and strangely happy. He never thought he could be that audacious and convincing to women as he had never done it before. He got her luggage and led the way.

From the sidewalk, JP guided Lulu to the entrance of a fancy restaurant. JP felt a slight body resistance from Lulu and instinctively stopped. He saw her peer through the restaurant's glass window. From her vantage, she could see the restaurant's insides brightly lit by overhead chandeliers; tables covered by clean white sheets with a slim flower base that held a solitary rose. The restaurant's customers looked sophisticated, and an attendant stood close to the glass door within. Lulu noticed all the restaurant's amenities and the people eating within. From what she saw requested JP if they could go to an eatery they passed earlier. JP obliged and found himself in a small self-serve Chinese restaurant. They served themselves then sat on a circular table big enough for their two partitioned Styrofoam plates and cups.

Before she ate, Lulu said, "I must apologize for being selfish."

"Selfish?" JP questioned.

"You may have preferred the other place. With so many people starving, I do not feel comfortable eating at expensive restaurants. I would rather give the difference to the needy. I'm terribly sorry."

"Don't be. If it is of any conciliation, I hardly eat in those types of restaurant but for a different reason. You are right though, on the 'many hungry.' But it wouldn't make that much of a difference . . . just too many of them out there."

**"It does seem that way if you think of the many but not to the lucky one that gets it. Little things do make a big difference,"** Lulu said in a passing way then started to eat.

' _She's charming_ ,' JP thought as he watched her fork the broccoli on her plate then thought not of what she said but on how she said it---spontaneous and casual. He became fascinated.

Lulu daintily wiped her lips, "It's hard to think of others and think of yourself as well. It pains me not to give a dollar to a needy when I need the dollar too."

"I know what you mean . . . I can't help but think of your name, Luningning, right?"

"Right. Call me, Lulu. It's shorter."

"Ok. Does the name Luningning mean anything?"

"Comes from an archaic language to mean twinkling star."

"You most definitely are," JP reacted. Taken aback by his reaction, he continued, "Where are you from?"

"Alaska."

"Your parents live there?" JP asked before he took a bite off his egg roll.

"They're both gone," Lulu answered in melancholy as the last scenes with her parents flashed through her mind. Her eyes began to moist.

"I'm sorry to hear that. My parents are too."

Lulu felt her guilt and held back her tears.

JP noticed her teary eyes and handed over a napkin. He regretted opening the subject and shifted the topic, "I overheard you were looking for a job and a place to stay. What exactly are you looking for?" he asked.

Lulu took the napkin and dubbed her eyes as she answered, "Secretarial, administrative work. I'm computer literate and good at spreadsheets and word processor," forcing some enthusiasm into it.

"Can you speak German?" It would be ideal if he hired someone who knew the language. Camfer's major clients were mostly based in Germany.

Lulu spoke a short sentence that JP did not understand but sounded German to him. She ended by translating that she can speak and write well in German.

"German by heritage?"

"No. My father was a career military man and was stationed in Germany, among other countries. The family moved to Alaska when he retired," she explained, with no hint of the sadness she felt a moment earlier.

"Would $4,000 a month to start interest you?"

"Po-ogi si bobi. I hope you're not going out of your way just to help me."

"Po-ogi si bobi?" JP echoed with a questioning look.

Lulu realized her mistake and said, "I'm sorry. I meant, thank you."

JP continued, "The company does need someone with your qualification. Being computer literate and the ability to speak German are definite pluses. Speaking of a place to live, my Aunt is looking for someone to share her house. It's three miles from the company. Stay here as I make a call." JP stood and went to a nearby payphone.

Lulu watched JP talk over the phone. She smiled at him when he looked at her and wondered how he knew she was looking for a job and a place to live.

They left the eatery soon after JP used the phone. The rain had stopped, and they headed for the parking garage. She was a good conversationalist that JP did not notice the time it took them to walk to get his car.

As JP drove, he asked, "You said your wallet got snatched?"

She looked puzzled and asked, "Did I tell you that?"

"I must confess, I eavesdropped at the coin store. That is the reason why I knew you were looking for a place to live, a job, and your wallet got snatched."

"Glad you did. My wallet had all my money in it."

"Sorry to hear that. Don't let the city's name Los Angeles, the City of Angels, mislead you. Be on the lookout for those people. It is sad for it seems to get worse as the years pass, and I am partly at fault."

Lulu looked puzzled again and asked, "How so?"

"Being complacent on my social obligations.''

Lulu grinned. "Thinking of it is a step forward."

Her reply intrigued JP. "Are you related to Mother Theresa?"

"Mother Theresa?" then remembered the Indian missionary who helped the poor. She daintily laughed. "What made you say that?"

The two continued their light and pleasant conversation and found they shared the same sentiments on the indifference of people towards each other and the sad state of the world socially. They, however, departed on how each treated the problem . . . JP ignored it while Lulu was doing her small share to help.

Place to Stay

Some distance from his aunt's house, JP gave Lulu advises on how to best get along with 'Auntie Juaning' as JP respectfully called her. "She can be a very good friend, extremely loyal, but a bad enemy," he stressed. "I must warn you; she has a crude way of speaking her mind, but she's nice and fun to be with once you get to know her strange sense of humor and crude manner of speaking."

"You need not worry," Lulu assured. "I get along well with people."

JP parked his car in front of his Aunt's two-story, three-bedroom house at Chatsworth's residential area. JP's aunt was standing at her house's front porch leaning on a post. Juanita Jones, her full name, or Auntie Juaning as JP respectfully called her, had a poise that revealed her displeased disposition. JP did not give Juaning a chance to say 'No' in bringing a Caucasian to live with her over the telephone and was adamant.

A Filipina, Juaning had the distinct looks of a Pacific Islander. Her hair and eyes were black; her skin, tan; and was a bit on the chubby side. Her hair had curlers on it; wore a colorful printed duster; and stood at the lighted balcony of her house with her arms crossed over her chest. She was a childless widow of an American soldier who died during the Vietnam War. She used to be a nurse working in a hospital in New Jersey. She left the job to become her frail sister's live-in private nurse and companion. The sister, who used to be a surgical nurse, was then two months pregnant with JP at that time. After her sister's death eight years later, she became JP's guardian and, together, moved to Los Angeles, where she worked as a private nurse. When JP started to work, he got his apartment. Since then, for nearly three years, she lived alone.

Months earlier, she mentioned to JP, in passing, of wanting a room rented to have company in her house. Extremely old fashion, she specified a Filipina with strong traditional values. Knowing JP was bringing a Caucasian, she was in a bad mood and determined to get rid of her politely.

JP was apprehensive as Lulu, and he approached Juaning standing at the porch of her home. He knew Juaning was not discriminative toward Caucasians or any other race, for that matter. She just did not want someone with a different culture to live with her, most especially, someone who cannot speak her dialect, Tagalog. But JP was confident he could talk her out to have Lulu stay with her long enough to find a job and move out or, at worse, get Lulu to stay for the evening.

As Lulu and JP walked towards Juaning, and before JP could speak, Lulu said in fluent and unaccented Tagalog (the National Language of the Philippines), "Magandang gabi po. Sana hindi ko kayo naabala." She greeted 'good evening' and apologized for whatever inconvenience she may have caused Juaning waiting for JP and her. An approach most Filipinas reared in the old Philippine tradition, would customarily take.

Juaning was surprised to hear her dialect spoken so well and politely by someone with blue eyes. Stunned, she forgot her plan. She stuttered, "Aaaaaba, hindi naman." (Ahhhhh, not at all.)

After the introduction, Juaning led both in her house. "Nakakain ka na ba, Lulu?" (Have you eaten, Lulu?) she asked---a common Filipino practice to ask a stranger when invited to enter their home to offer food.

" _Opo_ ," Lulu respectfully replied 'Yes.'

"Kung gayon kailangan natin nang pangpatamis," Juaning concluded pastries were appropriate.

Juaning glared at JP, who remained standing. JP did not understand a single word said. In Filipino tradition, her conversation to a guest was a cue for JP to serve them food as a family member and the extension of the host. Remembering JP did not understand the dialect, she said, "JP! Don't just stand there. Serve us something. There are pastries and soft drinks in the fridge, go, go," she commanded forcefully, her looks, irritated.

JP, worried over his Aunt's tone of voice and look, rushed to the kitchen and soon came back with drinks in both hands and pastries using his arm as a tray. _'I must be around to control the situation in Lulu's favor,'_ he thought.

"Napkins," snapped Juaning on seeing what he brought.

JP laid the stuff he carried on the center table with Juaning's help and again rushed to the kitchen and came back in seconds with the napkins, grabbed a chair, and seated himself.

Juaning said, "Look at him. He's lost."

Lulu femininely smiled. Juaning told her JP did not understand her native language, Tagalog. Lulu said in English, "As I was saying, my father was assigned in a US Naval Base in the Philippines. We stayed there for three years. We . . ."

Juaning interrupted and spoke to her in Tagalog, "Speak Tagalog and leave him looking stupid. I've told him so many times to learn the language."

"I feel sorry for him if we did," Lulu answered in Tagalog as she beamed at Juaning without glancing at JP.

"Leave that fool alone," Juaning said, and both women laughed.

JP did not understand a word of what they said. Since they were laughing, he went back to the kitchen and got pastry and soft drink for himself.

JP just listened to the two engaged in women's talk in a language he did not understand and cursed himself for not learning. He watched Lulu most of the time and was captivated by her charm, her lady-like mannerisms, her humor.

When Lulu mentioned to Juaning that she had spent fourteen hours traveling on a bus from Canada, Juaning said to JP, "You! Go home. It is late. This girl needs rest."

"It's barely nine and a Friday," protested JP. "I still need to explain her job . . . give her directions."

"You paying overtime?" she sarcastically asked, true to her crude way of communicating.

"No, but . . ."

"No overtime pay! Go home!" she commanded JP, and to Lulu said, "During my time, no one visits a woman and stays after six in the evening. Look at what is happening to the world today," she complained. "Come around and visit us. You're not doing that as much as you should," she admonished JP, then turned to Lulu, "Do you have plans for tomorrow?"

"Shop for clothes. Is it far from here?"

"You don't need to worry," JP said. "I'll bring the money tomorrow and drive you around."

"Are you forgetting me?" Juaning retorted.

"I'll drive you both tomorrow," JP corrected as he grinned at his Aunt.

"I really don't want to inconvenience any of you," Lulu insisted.

Juaning answered, "No inconvenience at all," then addressed JP commandingly, "Be at the bank before nine. Come here right after."

JP agreed and left, happy it turned out well and easy after all.

Both Single

The day after, JP drove down the narrow driveway at the rear of Juaning's house. It paralleled a rectangular greenhouse that occupied a fourth of a spacious backyard. A wide canopied swing hung from a large oak tree's branch that shaded most of the remaining open space.

Peering through the kitchen's back window, Juaning said to Lulu, "JP is here." They were at the family room that had a TV fronting a living room set; a dining table for six; and a service counter that separated the kitchen to the family room. The entire room was spacious despite the clatter of furnishings that did not match one another altogether. It was Juaning's vain attempt to have a beautifully designed interior.

Juaning opened the back door and stood by it. "You're in time," she said as JP approached the two-step stairs to the back porch.

"Good morning, Auntie," JP pleasantly said as he kissed Juaning on her left cheek as he customarily does after greeting.

"What's that?" Juaning said, sniffing him like a bloodhound.

"Hi, Lulu," JP greeted then turned to his Aunt. "What's what?" He feared something like this would happen.

"That smell."

"Men's lotion."

Juaning said in surprise, "I didn't know you use them?"

"You just didn't notice it before," JP replied then immediately turned to Lulu, "I got your money," handing over a bulging envelope.

With the envelope, Lulu momentarily thought of what to do with it.

JP noticed Lulu's immediate reaction and said, "We can go to the bank as well."

Lulu smiled and placed the envelope in her canvas shoulder bag.

"Now we can go shopping," said Juaning, delightedly.

Lulu reminded them again, "You really do not have to go out of your way."

"None of that," Juaning snapped then addressed JP, "I'm glad you brought her. It's like a dream come true, except she's white. But it does not matter now that I got to know her," as she beamed at Lulu adoringly. "She accompanied me to church, helped clean the yard, and even gave me sensible tips in raising my orchids."

Juaning turned to Lulu as they walked to JP's car and said, "Which reminds me, are you married?"

"Never been," Lulu daintily replied.

"Good!" Juaning exclaimed. "JP is a virgin. He'll make you a good husband."

"Auntie!" JP protested in exasperation as he looked up to the sky, seeking God's redemption.

"You're single, aren't you?" Juaning snapped.

"Yes, but . . ."

"So, what's wrong with being a virgin? Being a virgin makes it dignified. Open the door," she commanded as she stood beside the car's front passenger door.

JP opened the car door as Juaning turned to Lulu and commercially said, "He's a gentleman, too."

JP closed the car door for Juaning then said to Lulu, "My Aunt has this . . ."

"You explained it last night," Lulu butted.

"She's a character. But her manner of communication is, at times . . ."

Juaning rolled down the car window and irritatingly asked, "Are we going?"

"We are," JP answered and hastily opened the rear door for Lulu.

The Thrift Shop

"Where to ladies?" JP asked as he started the car's engine.

"Northridge Mall," answered Juaning.

"I do my shopping at thrift shops," Lulu said.

"Thrift shops?" Juaning questioned. She never heard of it.

JP explained, "That's where you get the most value for your money."

"You know where it's at, JP?" Juaning asked.

"There's a thrift shop at the corner of Roscoe and Winnetka Boulevard. The bank is along the way," JP replied.

They went to the bank then to the thrift store.

JP parked his car at the thrift shop's rear parking lot and entered the store through the back entrance. They passed through a narrow aisle flanked by display tables of used things. Lulu went straight to the women's dress racks further on as Juaning and JP scouted leisurely the place.

Juaning looked surprised to see a lot of used assorted things organized in category---used house furniture, old paintings, used household gadgets, used toys, used tools, and, most of all, used clothing hang on rows of racks. Juaning wondered aloud, "Where did all these used clothes and things come from?" she asked JP, looking around, wide-eyed.

"Donations," JP replied.

Juaning, being very superstitious, curiously asked, "From people still alive?"

"Mostly dead," JP made fun of his gullible aunt. He seriously added, "We have to pass by the church before we bring the goods home. That breaks the path from the spirit world to your house."

Juaning heard JP, but her eyes caught a familiar blouse, among others on the rack fronting her. She took it out of the rack and examined it thoroughly, then saw the tagged price. "$2.25 for this?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "I paid over twenty dollars for exactly the same thing." Her eyes widened on seeing rows of fully stocked racks. Immersed in a woman's world, she systematically went over each item on the rack fronting her.

"I hope we won't wait for you," JP said to his Aunt, who in a snap was in a shopping frenzy.

"You won't. I'll be ready when she is," Juaning replied, not missing a second to what she was doing.

Juaning was in a world only women understand, and JP found himself alone.

For the first few minutes, JP watched Lulu from a distance, wishing he was by her side. He watched her go over dresses on the rack and measure it on her body. There was something extraordinary about her. She seemed to have the knack in bringing out the good in people. Juaning was wary of strangers and very meticulous when it came to choosing friends. _To win her over overnight is a miracle,_ JP thought. He was charmed.

Half an hour later, JP, holding on to some items, got startled when someone touches both ends of his shoulders from behind.

"Don't move," Lulu said.

JP complied but looked over his shoulder as Lulu measure a sweater followed by a colored shirt on his back.

"It fits and looks perfect on you. I'll give it to you once it's washed and ironed, my token of appreciation," Lulu said, smiling.

Touched by her gesture, JP said, "It's not necessary, but thank you."

"You have done a lot for me. This is my way of thanking you in return. I'm ready if you are," holding on to a plastic bag full of clothing she paid for.

"I am," JP replied with a few house items and office accessories on his arms and hands. "I'm not sure if Aunt Juaning is," he said, looking toward Juaning's direction deep in the store.

"I don't mind waiting. I'll stay near the cashier's counter."

JP approached Juaning. "Lulu is done."

"Give me a few seconds."

Ten minutes later, Juaning came with a cart full of assorted items and methodically placed a glass flower vase, a brass deco-art bookstand, a garden trowel, and several skirts and blouses, to mention some, at the cashier's counter. When the salesclerk rang it up, it came to $22.75.

"$22.75! This is heaven! Just imagine all the gifts I gave that I could have saved on. Look at this $0.25 glass centerpiece," Juaning said, holding it up proudly. "After cleaning, no one will suspect it's used. And look at this. It's . . ." she stopped then turned to Lulu and in a confidential manner advised, "Lulu, we should come here often but don't tell people about this place, the fewer who knows, the better for us."

Lulu looked puzzled, ' _Not tell people of this bargain store?'_ she questioned herself, not knowing the logic to it.

From the thrift store, the trio had lunch. Again, JP watched them talk in the dialect, Tagalog. He did not mind. It gave him an excuse to watch Lulu across the table---watch her interact with Juaning, watch her smile, laugh, and even how she held her fork and ate. After a few minutes, the women giggled together and looked at him. Then, to his dismay, their conversation reverted to English and had to partake.

When the bill came, the three fought over it. They were no match against Juaning---she took her plate and threatened to drop it on the floor if the waitress got someone else's money!

As they waited for the change, JP addressed Juaning, "I'll help Lulu find a used car. Care to come?"

"She definitely needs one if she wishes to live in LA," Juaning commented. "You two can do that after we pass by the church. We need to have our goods exorcized," she seriously added.

Lulu was puzzled again to what Juaning meant and looked at JP.

"She's superstitious. Don't mind her," JP said to Lulu.

Juaning glared at JP and smirked, "You won't say that once a ghost visits you."

At the church, Lulu went straight to the altar's kneeling rail and prayed. JP was with Juaning by the Holy Water Dispenser. Uncomfortably, he looked around, holding up each bag waist-high as Juaning dabbed Holy Water to every item within the bag and mumbled some religious phrase---he failed to convince her that he merely joked about the spirits following the goods.

"JP, you will be twenty-nine," Juaning said as they waited for Lulu. "You should start thinking of settling down. It's no fun playing with your growing children when you're arthritic and senile. What do you think of her?"

"I think she's wonderful. Maybe a bit frugal," JP commented.

"Prudent is the word," she stressed.

The Car

A middle-aged Mexican woman walked alongside JP and Lulu to a parked car with a 'FOR SALE' sign taped on the inside of its windshield. The old two-door sedan looked as though it had been there for ages. A thin layer of street dust shaded its pearl-blue color. Its looks, however, did not thwart Lulu. It seemed it was the kind of car she was looking for.

The Mexican woman, wiping the windshield with her bare hand, said, "I keep car oiled. Engine good, little scratches, vintage car, only 485,000 miles. Body good too, no accident." She then opened the driver's door; took out the 'FOR SALE' sign on top of the dashboard; then gave Lulu the car key.

Lulu got in the car and turned the ignition. It started on the first try, to JP's surprise, though it belched smoke and spattered until the engine warmed. She drove it on the long driveway behind the apartment complex, and purposely had the car lurch forward and stopped several times. She then drove the length of the driveway. On reaching the far end, the car went in reverse at an uncomfortable speed that got JP and the Mexican woman to step aside as it skidded to a stop near them. Lulu left the car engine running as she exited the car then lifted the hood. She listened intensely to the engine's sound as she repeatedly pulled the throttle cable. Then took the dipstick and checked the oil's viscosity with her fingers. ' _The woman did change the fluids_ ,' she thought. "The shock absorbers are still good," Lulu commented to the Mexican woman.

"Replaced last year," the woman replied.

JP saw no beauty in the car. It was dirty and the seats soiled as though children had used it as a playhouse. Its tires were unevenly worn. He thought it was a road hazard. However, the stereo system sounded good, more so, the heart-pounding bass. He advised privately, "Lulu, you're better off buying a more expensive one. In the end, it will be cheaper and less inconvenient. I will cosign."

"I agree. You shouldn't do it if you know nothing about engines," then negotiated for the price with the Mexican woman.

The amount agreed on was worth the car, JP thought, a hundred dollars. He shook his head as the deal got consummated but later beamed---he had an excuse to drive her to and from work whenever it conked out on her.

JP and Lulu drove separate ways. JP had car tools at his condominium and went home to get them while Lulu drove to a car-parts store. They were to meet at Juaning's house an hour later.

A Consummate Mechanic

It was a pleasant day to work outside. The sun was behind the clouds. The leaves of the oak tree rustled lightly from the breezed. JP parked his car at the rear driveway; Juaning was seated at the swing under the oak tree stitching the clothes she bought from the thrift shop yesterday; Lulu was under the jacked-up car parked beneath the shade of the same oak tree. A heap of car parts: spark plugs, belts, distributors, alternator carbon brush, hub bearings, brake pads, rotor, and a car repair manual were on the ground. More things were inside the car still in its plastic wrapper when he peered.

JP saw Lulu, in dark shorts, underneath the car from head to waist. He looked at her legs. They were perfectly shaped, somewhat pale as though hardly exposed to the sun. "I'll do that for you," he offered as he placed his toolbox, alligator jack, and car-stands on the ground. He was wearing shorts with large pockets on its sides. His dark-blue T-shirt was a shade lighter than the color of his navy-blue shorts that had a matching quilted belt. He wore a checkered dark-blue canvas sneaker. His hair was perfectly parted. Overall, with his T-shirt tucked in his shorts, he looked like a male model.

"I'm glad you're here," Lulu said as she squirmed out from under the car. Her ponytail tied like a ball; her face and hair had under-the-car dirt; her right cheek, an oil smudge; her arms and shirt had flakes of car rust. She took attention to JP's attire and said, "You're not dressed for the job ahead."

"I brought work clothes."

"Come closer," she said as she got the wire cutter from the toolbox and cut the price tag from his shirt. "Nordstrom," she read what was on the tag. "You look great in the outfit."

"What do you want me do?" he asked, eager to help and escape the attire subject too.

"Raise the entire car and remove all four wheels. We will replace the brake pads, repack the hub bearings, and replace all the worn-out belts. Have you done this before?" she asked, dusting off as much of the dirt on her.

"No, the most I did was add water and oil," JP said, somewhat embarrassed.

She looked at JP's tools. Most were in its plastic wrapper. "I see . . . Do not worry. I will walk you through. It is really simple."

Lulu took the repair manual and leafed through its pages. She did it in a way that JP thought she was skimming. However, Lulu read all the pages she leafed through!

JP, dressed up in his work clothes, worked on his assignment. He called Lulu, now and then, for help though the manual was with him. He glanced at her every so often and awed at what she did by herself. An expert as she dismantled, cleaned the many small parts within a carburetor, then reassembled them. She worked on the alternator, repaired the starter, and other things he did not know what or where it came from. Later, she instructed him to pump the brake pedal as she bled the brake system. Finally, she had him start the car. It spattered at first then changed to a purring sound as she adjusted the air and gas mixture.

All the work on the car engine and electricals took less than three hours.

JP suggested, "Go in and clean up while I vacuum the car."

"OK. Back in fifteen minutes," Lulu replied.

"Want me to put the seat covers?"

"If you don't mind."

"Consider that done."

"Done?" Juaning, overhearing, questioned in a surprised tone as she walked toward the car.

"Yes," Lulu delightedly answered as she walked pass Juaning. "JP was a great help," she commented as she walked to the house.

Juaning looked at the car, displeased---being so dirty. "I thought it would take weeks," she said to JP.

"One thing sure, she knows what she's doing."

"Where did she learn all that . . . being a woman?"

"She said you got to learn a lot of basic repairs if you live on a remote farm. I don't call what she did near basic at all."

"JP, you are going twenty-nine and . . ."

"I know," he interrupted. "Time to get married. You said that before."

"I think I will like her but don't fall in love yet. I'll tell you when. I want to make certain she's the right girl for you, understand?"

JP grinned as he looked at her. He knew he must take the essence and not the words used to understand her. "I have to clean up. Which room should I use?"

"The guest room," she replied.

With JP giving directions, Lulu drove the car to a tire shop where all four tires were replaced, and the wheels balanced and aligned. She then had the car washed, waxed, and polished. When it was done, Lulu sat on the driver's seat, and that was when the excitement began.

"Put on your seat belt," she advised JP as she strapped herself to her seat and started the car. She revs the engine a few times as she waited for JP to buckle up.

The car sped off in a drag race fashion and left rubber marks on the cemented pavement and rubber smoke behind. JP pulled his seatbelt tighter as she drove professionally through the main street, weaving through the traffic over the speed limit. She made a sharp right turn to a quiet neighborhood and left skid marks on the road, coupled with the sounds of screeching tires. Everything passed by so fast when suddenly, the car came to a screeching halt at the front of Juaning's house. JP was pushed hard forward and was glad the seatbelt held him back.

"We're here," Lulu said, extremely delighted on how the car handled during the test drive.

JP, who stepped on an imaginary brake the whole time she drove, said, "Boy, am I glad it was a short drive home!" he said in relief.

Lulu realized what had happened and said, "I'm so sorry, JP. I did not mean to scare you, but I never knew the fun of driving on real streets being used to dirt roads," she reasoned. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did not want to distract your attention. That surely was a ride. You should be careful. You could have gotten a ticket or, worse, ran over someone."

Lulu realized her mistakes. "You are right. How thoughtless of me. That will not happen again," she said with resolute in her voice. "How do you like the car?" she asked in a pleasant voice.

"Cleaned, waxed and polished, with seat covers, and after the road test, and for a hundred dollars, I think you got a great deal."

"I'll work on the valves and rocker arms next time. They need slight tweaking."

JP had dinner with them and stayed until 8:30 p.m. He left stunned by the extraordinary woman.

*********

The following day, Sunday, JP was on his way to pick something up from his Aunt's house--- that was his excuse. Never was he so conscious of the way he dressed or how his hair was combed. He had never experienced this before---anxious yet scared. Not so much of Lulu but of the side remarks his aunt might make. He was prepared! He had scripted answers should Juaning comment on his attire, hair, and other things on him.

JP found Aunt Juaning and Lulu seated at the kitchen table as he entered the house through the back porch without knocking.

"I told you he'd be here," remarked Juaning as JP walked to Juaning. "How come you're late?"

JP had no ready answer and was dumbstruck.

Lulu sensed JP was in an awkward spot and butted, "I'll get another plate," as she prepared to stand.

"Stay where you are," Juaning commanded. "He came here for you. He doesn't come here to visit me." She stood to attend to JP's lunch.

JP was not prepared for that either. "Auntie, that's not true. I was here . . ."

"Almost four months ago."

"But I spoke to you over the phone and explained."

"Since then, he never called. Work, work, work much like his . . ." she paused in mid-sentence as though she could go no further or could not utter the word.

JP and Lulu noticed Juaning's hesitation.

"Like a mule," Juaning continued. "Work is the only thing he has in mind," she protested. " **You must never forget your personal obligations. Regardless of how busy you are, you must squeeze time for it.** "

JP went to his Aunt and kissed her on her cheek. "I'm sorry Auntie. I will try to be here on weekends."

"You should have someone to remind you. Lulu will. Saturday, or Sunday, lunch or dinner?" Juaning asked forcefully for a firm commitment.

"I will call before. Most likely, dinner and a Sunday."

"But you'll be coming here for Lulu and not me," Juaning quipped as she brought over JP's plate and winked at Lulu.

Lulu beamed questioningly at Juaning, too naive to understand what the wink meant.

"I give up," JP said in sheer anguish. "Since I'm here, where do you want to go?" he asked, addressing the question more to Lulu.

"Where did you plan on taking us?" Juaning immediately answered.

"Universal Studios?" he answered, looking at Lulu.

"How thoughtful of you JP, but really you . . ."

"None of that," retorted Juaning. "I haven't been there for a long time. In fact, the last time I was there was with JP when he was just a kid."

The trio had a wonderful day at the amusement park, especially, Juaning who chaperoned the two.

FIGHT OVER LUNCH

It was Monday, the first workday for Lulu. JP was in his car at the company's parking lot earlier than usual. He usually went to work donned in comfortable things---T-shirts, drub denim, and sneakers as if it was his uniform. If his shirt and pants matched, it was an accident. Not this time. He wore a pressed checkered blue shirt nicely tacked in his navy-blue pants and shined black leather shoes. His hair was a bit shiny but well-groomed.

JP's heart throbbed on seeing Lulu's car turn toward the company's communal parking lot. He twisted the rear-view mirror and checked his hair and practiced his smile again. He left his car when Lulu's car neared and signaled her to park at the adjacent parking space.

"Good morning, Lulu," JP greeted as Lulu left her car. The crest on both ends of his lips was deep and welcoming. His best version of his smile was on his face.

"Good morning, JP," Lulu greeted back, smiling. She watched JP hurriedly get the office stuff he bought from the thrift shop from his car's trunk. As she waited, an old compact car parked adjacent to JP's car at the other side of Lulu's.

"Buenas dias, muchachas," JP greeted cheerfully as the driver and her passengers came out of an old model sedan parked next to his car.

"Buenas dias, Big Daddy," Sylvia Garcia, the Assembly Supervisor, greeted back as she stepped out of her car. She was a Mexican, born and raised in Los Angeles all her life. Her three car-pool passengers, all women, greeted the same way as they alighted the car with their lunch box in hand. They ganged up on JP. They were so focused on his attire to notice Lulu standing across JP's car.

"Boy, Big Daddy is really dressed up. Going to a funeral?" Sylvia asked, taking the time to check him out. "Raise your pants leg, Big Daddy," she requested.

"Why?" JP questioned.

"Just raise it," Sylvia insisted.

JP looked at Lulu across the car's top with a half-hearted smile and thought it better to play along. He lifted the left leg of his pants. "What's so special?"

"Even his socks match," Marijack, the company's receptionist, declared in a surprised tone.

Sylvs, an electronics assembler, walked around JP. "You think it's him? This guy is too neat and polish."

"His nails are cut and clean," Alice, an assembly worker, commented.

"Stop clowning," JP said as he walked toward Lulu standing by her car. "I'd like you to meet Lulu. She's . . ."

"It's Big Daddy's girlfriend," cried Alice excitedly.

"She's not my girlfriend . . . I mean she's a girl... friend . . . I mean, she's . . ."

"Give him time, girls," Sylvia commanded. She had a wonderful way of controlling the people in her electronic assembly area, more so, her passengers - all were her subordinates and related to her in some way. She was among the first employees the company hired and later became the lead person to a group of twenty-two circuit board assemblers, of which over half were women of Mexican descent.

"Thanks, Sylvia," JP said. He turned to Lulu. "I hate to do this, but I have to introduce these . . . women," stressing 'women' as he glanced at them. "Sylvia, meet Luningning Spence, Lulu, for short. She's replacing Beth."

"I'm glad," Sylvia said, showing relief as she really did not like Beth. "Kidding aside, I'm Sylvia Garcia, and these are your co-employees: mother and daughter Alice and Marijack Pamintuan, and another Sylvia, Sylvia Lorenzana. Call her Sylvs, so we won't get us mixed up."

As Sylvia introduced Lulu to the rest, JP realized his plan of giving Lulu a personal tour of the company was but a dream. With the women around, he resigned himself. "Bring Lulu in and introduce her to the rest," he said to Sylvia then turned to Lulu, "Lulu, don't believe what they say about me."

"I'll try," Lulu quipped as JP walked ahead of them.

"He's a nice guy, our boss," Sylvia started the conversation with Lulu as they walked towards a one-story brick building with a front glass door sandwiched between two wide-dark-stained glass windows.

"I did notice that," Lulu replied.

Sylvs joined, "We are a little family in this company."

Alice added, "We joke a lot, so don't be sensitive, or you won't last long."

"I won't. Working with wonderful friendly people, like yourselves, was always my dream. I'm certain I'll enjoy working here," Lulu said as she smiled and looked at each of them.

There was something in how Lulu said and looked at them that Sylvia's group noticed---a unique charm. They responded positively and assured her the company was a fun place to work.

The group brought Lulu to the company's break room. It had four vending machines, two microwave ovens on one side of the room. Four long rectangular tables occupied most of the floor space. Everyone stuck their lunch boxes on the break room shelves. Lulu pulled out a chocolate tin box from her canvas bag and was about to put it on the shelf.

Sylvia noticed Lulu's lunch box. "We better put your name on it before someone would think it's for everyone," she said, and pulled out her marking pen; took the tin box from Lulu and wrote Lulu's name on the top of the tin box. Sylvia placed it on the shelf and led Lulu to sit at the table to where the others were seated. Sylvia started, "We don't have to walk around to introduce you to the rest. Most will pass here. Known JP long?"

"We met by accident last Friday evening."

"He helped you," Alice joined.

"How did you guess?" Lulu looked at Alice, somewhat surprised.

"He's that type of a guy. I know of no one in production he had not helped, one way or another. He'd go out of his way if he knew you need something. A nice guy."

"I noticed that," Lulu replied.

Marijack, inquisitive by nature, asked, "How did the two of you meet if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all. My wallet got snatched and . . ." Lulu told her story between interruptions as Alice introduced her to employees who came in the room at random.

At exactly 8 a.m., JP walked in the breakroom. "Can I have her now?" JP said, smiling at Sylvia's group at the table. "Giving her a company tour."

"You finish your story later," Sylvia said to Lulu as the group prepared to stand.

JP heard Sylvia. "What story?" he curiously asked her.

"How she met a pervert, last Friday," Sylvia answered, then said to Lulu, "Remember, lunch with me."

"Oh, no. Lulu is having lunch with me," JP asserted, then found himself in a spot. He turned to Lulu. "It's a practice to treat a new employee to lunch on their first day," he hurriedly explained then gave Sylvia a look.

Sylvia was not intimidated. "I don't recall having a free lunch on my first day." She looked at Lulu and asked, "You single?"

"I am," Lulu answered.

"That answers everything. I was married with two kids when he hired me," Sylvia replied and saw JP blushed. "Okay. We'll have lunch another time. Talk to you later, Lulu," then winked at JP and left.

Lulu said to JP, "You don't have to treat me to lunch. I brought my lunch and would love to share it with you."

JP ignored Lulu's offer. "There's this little Chinese restaurant a few blocks from here. The food is great and not flashy."

Lulu smiled. She nodded then they walked towards the production area.

The company was small enough that almost everyone knew each other. JP introduced Lulu to the employees along the way as he explained what they did. When they got to the R&D cage, he showed Gilda, the robot, with the whole left arm and shoulder missing and explained what had happened.

Lulu scrutinized Gilda with great interest. She scrutinized how it was built, the logic to the linkages and joints. JP noticed Lulu was so focused that he gave her time to do what she was doing - looking at the robot almost at every angle, much like an engineer would. He saw Sonny at the far end working on the disassembled arm on top of a sturdy worktable. "Sonny," JP called out.

Sonny looked over his shoulder as JP said, "Come and meet Lulu."

Sonny approached them. He saw Lulu looking over the mechanics of the robot and, in his normal jolly way, said, "A ya yay, que bonita," (Wow. What a pretty woman.).

Lulu heard Sonny and stopped what she was doing. She replied, "Muchas gracias, Senior" (Thank you so much, Sir.) Lulu answered in perfectly accented Spanish with a smile.

"Habla usted Español?" In a surprised tone, Sonny asked if she could speak Spanish.

"Si Senior." 'Yes, sir,' she replied.

"Mi llamo, Sonny Dominguez . . ." he introduced himself then conversed with Lulu in Spanish.

JP was again amazed as he stood and listened to the two speak in Spanish. Soon, Sonny led Lulu to his machine shop to where the robot's shoulder and arm laid. Lulu looked back at JP, not knowing if she should follow.

"Don't worry, it's part of your orientation," JP said and tailed the two.

The disassembled shoulder, arm, and hand were on top of the machine shop's worktable where, Sony started talking to Lulu in Spanish. JP did not understand what the two were talking about but guessed Sonny was explaining how the mechanical arm worked. Then he saw Lulu point something within the mechanism. Soon, Sonny took a long screwdriver and traced things, then handed the screwdriver to Lulu. Lulu pointed things within the mechanical arm's casing with the screwdriver, as she explained. The two were so engrossed in their dialogue that JP just stood, watched, and listened to the two talked in a serious, professional manner without understanding a word. A few minutes later, Sonny looked at JP and said, "You hire Miss Lulu for me?"

"She's replacing Beth," JP replied.

"Caramba! She good," Sonny said in his broken English. "Leave here, ten minutes. She show something very, very, very interesting."

"Okay. When you're done, bring her to Greg's office."

Sonny eyed JP seriously from head to feet, then said, "Gracias, Gringo. You good. Not worth killing."

* * *

JP saw Greg open his office door and called out, "Greg."

Greg stood by the open doorway. He was good looking, tall, and always well-suited. --- a bachelor at a stage where the word 'marriage' brought shivers. A few times, Greg got JP to come with him to his parties and realized JP was out of place in his fast-paced world. A wholesome family gathering was for JP. That was where JP was most comfortable and fun to have around. Greg once said to JP, 'It's a pity, I don't have a sister to pair you with.'

In contrast, Greg always sported a business suit at work that looked perfect on him. Unlike JP, he was meticulous with his office's appearance. How Greg maintained a neat and orderly office was something JP always wondered.

Greg held the door open as he eyed his partner somewhat amused. "You going to a party?"

The question surprised JP then remembered his unusual attire. "No."

"I bet there's something special. People like you normally dress up for weddings or funerals," Greg quipped as they walked in his office.

"Nothing special and definitely not a funeral. I got a replacement for Beth," JP said as they sat. "She speaks German, and God knows how many others. Simple and old fashioned. Not your type."

"You mean, your type," Greg replied with a grin. "I bet I'll be meeting Mary Poppins."

"She's really an extraordinary person. Not for you...a nice girl," JP hinted though unaware as Greg had ways with women.

"The word 'nice' is definitely not for me. I'm inclined to gorgeous. If you need any help, you know where to find me, Partner."

"I may take you up on that," JP reacted.

"Going to business, I want you to look at something." Greg took a manila envelope from his briefcase. "All our problems will be solved if we get this," Greg said as he handed the envelope to JP.

JP pulled out the documents within the envelope. It was an invitation to bid for a military contract and read its requirements. "The specifications are similar to Horsch but more stringent," he commented.

"Full automation is the name of the game, a thinking robot. We can use Gilda. Hit two birds with one stone except this one is perched higher."

"Gilda can do everything but speed. The only way we can go for the speed is for you to simplify the mechanical design. If you come up with it, I can create the program. The ball is on your lap. Otherwise, we can kiss this project goodbye."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that. The military must lower its expectations. Else, no one in the industry will take the challenge. Let us concentrate on what we can do. You said mechanical simplification of ten percent wouldn't mean much, programming wise?"

"Too small a leap. At least twenty-five. Remember, the program is dependent on the number of independent mechanical links. Simplifying the mechanism . . ." JP continued their discussion.

Twenty minutes later, Sonny, with Gilda's arm and shoulder assembly, and a rolled blueprint, barged into the office. So excited, he forgot to knock. "Greg, check this out," he said as he walked hurriedly to the engineering table on one corner of Greg's office, forgetting Lulu was with him.

Lulu, not knowing what to do, just stood at the doorway.

Without seeing Lulu by the doorway, Greg said to JP, "We'll brainstorm on the project later," then headed for the engineering table where Sonny was.

JP went and ushered Lulu in and got her to sit on a sofa within Greg's room. Since Greg was busy with Sonny, he briefed Lulu on her job.

Sonny said, in his broken English, to Greg as soon as Greg was near, "Me think we got something." The robotic arm was on the table alongside a rolled-out blueprint. He explained a new design concept to Greg.

Greg leaned on the table and intensely listened as Sonny explained what was uncovered.

JP glanced at Greg and Sonny across the room and noticed Sonny was extremely excited as Sonny's pointing finger raced all over the blueprint explaining something to Greg. JP said to Lulu, "You cease to amaze me. It's obvious you explained something that got Sonny so charged up."

"I just gave him an idea. I don't understand why he got so electrified." In Lulu's eagerness to help, she told Sonny how to simplify the mechanism. She realized what was simple to her was not for humans. Now she was stuck and waited for an opportunity to get out of it.

"You look concerned. Relax," JP said as he noticed her discomfort looking at the other two across the room.

"I'm worried Mr. Camber might find me unqualified," Lulu reasoned, fretful of the attention she might get from what she suggested to Sonny. She made a mistake and resolved never to give suggestions without giving it a second thought.

"Don't be and call him Greg. Only the formalities are missing. As far as the job is concerned, you will be responsible for . . ."

Give a Raise

Minutes later, Greg went over to JP and Lulu.

JP introduced Lulu.

Greg said to Lulu, "Sonny tells me you can't read blueprints."

"Know nothing about it," Lulu replied as Greg walked her over to the engineering drawing table where the disabled arm and spread blueprint laid.

When they got to the table, Greg said to Lulu, "It's really very simple." He got a pencil and started to point on the blueprint spread out on top of the table. He explained, "This is the shoulder, elbow, and wrist, and these are their linkages. These are the gears, and here, the pulleys. You showed Sonny an innovative approach to a mechanical link design. Sonny must have missed how you linked the shoulder straight down to the tip of the fingers to perform a synchronized motion. Can you show it to me?" Greg said as he gave her a pencil.

Lulu, with the pencil, nervously traced things on the mechanical arm, then on the blueprint. 'I must get myself out of this spot,' she thought as she explained.

Sonny followed her explanation to Greg closely. It made sense when she pointed it on Gilda's arm at the shop but got lost when she traced it on the blueprint to Greg.

Greg studied Lulu's idea very carefully then concluded, "It won't work. The links will get in each other's way right there," pointing it on the blueprint.

Lulu was relieved.

Sonny looked at the mangled arm then the blueprint. "Wrong," Sonny butted. "That not how 'Wonder Woman' explain me. She misread print. Look, this here, this take out and replace with synchronous gear, and . . ." he stopped and took the arm and started recalling how she pointed it out at the shop. "Yes, 'Wonder Woman' make mistake here," pointing it out at the blueprint. "Forget one vital link." With a pencil, Sonny drew the missing link on the blueprint and marked off others then said to Greg, "Now, what you think?"

Greg studied it again and intensely. A couple of minutes later, he said, "JP, give 'Wonder Woman' a raise. We will revolutionize the industry. Did you hire her for me?"

"No, for me," Sonny asserted.

"I found her. She's mine," JP responded possessively, then felt odd---he was fighting for Lulu and their privacy since she came to work!

Lulu acted innocently, "I don't understand what the excitement is all about."

Greg explained, "Engineers have been pouring over a simplified robotic shoulder, arm, hand, and fingertips configuration for years. It is a puzzle, like a Rubik's cube. Everyone was trying to find the right combination to a complex sequence of motions, and you simplified it to Sonny through synchronous links."

"How does it affect my program?" JP asked.

Greg gave it a thought, "If it works, and I think it will, you may have 30% fewer motors, roughly 60% fewer drive shafts and pulleys, all replaced by synchronous gears."

"You're kidding!" JP was amazed.

"There is a good reason to celebrate. The company is treating everyone to lunch," Greg said happily.

Sonny quipped, "Does 'everyone' include me?"

"Most especially you," Greg assured Sonny.

"Good," Sonny snapped. "I give my lunch box to Sylvia and let her choke on my wife's cooking,"

"I give up," JP said. "Lulu, you will be our guest."
ON TO GILDA

Greg, JP, and Sonny were terribly busy in the months that followed. JP, who had never brought a lunch box to work, brought his daily. But having lunch with Lulu, even with minimal privacy, was impossible. People at work milled around her that he ended eating with others in the lunchroom that became a routine. The rest of the time, he worked alone through the night on Gilda's computer program.

Lulu adapted exceptionally well to her new environment. At work, she was an epitome of an excellent worker. Greg and JP, who thought they overworked Beth, who constantly and openly bickered about it. Yet, Lulu handled all of Beth's work and did it better in less time. She automated most of the paperwork using basic office computer programs and redid Beth's office filing systems much to Greg and JP's liking. Though JP and Greg knew Lulu was doing much more work than Beth, they noticed Lulu was not overworked at all! She had time for herself and did other things. She just knew what to do and did it efficiently!

One day, Greg said to JP, "Do something Partner before someone beats you to Lulu."

"That's why I'm doing as much as I can to get Gilda out of the way. You think Lulu is the type of girl for me?"

"You two were made for each other."

"She's not your type, right?" JP said uncomfortably.

Greg looked at JP and grinned. "JP, you're my best friend," he said, assuring. "If ever I did anything, it will be to help you. So, don't worry. I'm on your side. I think everyone in the company is."

"Glad you said that. Can't do anything about it now with . . ."

"I understand. Just do what you have been doing."

"Which is?"

"Bring your lunch box," he joked then grinned.

The Company Problem

A month later.

"Be with you in a second," JP said when Greg entered his office. JP was keying program instructions on the computer.

"Take your time," Greg replied as he lifted a stack of computer printouts from the only chair he could use. He placed the printouts on the floor and sat on the chair.

"What's up?" JP said as he turned his swivel chair to face Greg.

"Where are we on New Gilda's program?"

"Haven't touched it."

"That's where our future lies."

"I know, but Horsch project is up next week, and you incorporated new designs to old Gilda that require additional programs."

"Didn't know it would take that long."

"Greg, Gilda can drop anything anywhere along the act. Got any idea of how many places can go wrong? Got to plug all. Besides, I made annotations to the program such that I can modify it for use to the new Gilda program."

"My fault. We focus on New Gilda."

"Drop Horsch's project?"

"I see your point. No," Greg said and thought about it for a moment. "Let me make a call," he finally said and left JP's office hurriedly. When he came back a few minutes later, he announced, "Good news. We're hitting two birds with one stone," then went back to his seat.

"How did you do it?" JP curiously asked.

"Told Horsch, we came up with a better design that would make the old one obsolete."

"Identical specs?"

"Identical."

"Wouldn't the Government have exclusive rights to our work if we get the project?"

"On the day they put a cent on it, they will. Else, it is an open market. Winning the bid per se is not what we are after. It is the prestige of being the leader in the robotics industry. That's the ticket to our success."

"Sonny told me we have to farm out most of the mechanical fabrication."

"That's the reason I came to see you. We can't make Gilda's mechanism in-house. Most of Gilda's linkages are geared ball joints, not hinges. We need special machines, special alloys, custom-built multiple electronic sensors to get it done. We need money plowed in the company."

"How much are we looking at?"

"Half-a-million, minimum. The market is wide open to simplified automation. Billions are at stake."

"I'm willing to gamble."

"It's no gamble. It's ours with what we got, thanks to Lulu. I still wonder how she came up with the idea."

"A lucky guess?" JP commented.

"Guessing the outcome of a tossed coin once is luck; twice in a row is incredibly lucky; six consecutive times is something else. Anyway, back to what I came here. We need money to get New Gilda done. We've maxed out our bank limit, so we have two options: put up the money, or I hate to say it, get investors in."

"I somehow expected this to happen, so I had all my property assessed. I can come up with four-hundred-thousand, mortgaging everything."

"Scraping the barrel, I can handle a hundred grand. You will be the majority holder of the company."

"I see it as half."

"Check your math."

"Greg, I owe you a lot. You got me in the business knowing little of it. We had a great time when times were good. 'Sink or swim together' was our motto, or have you forgotten."

"And if we fail?"

"Then both of us will be penniless. You'd do the same thing if it turned the other way around."

"How would you know?"

"Remember the day you proposed to share our success with our employees through bonuses? The thing that stuck in my head was what you said on my suggestion--to save for a rainy day. You said, 'And miss out on the opportunity to make our employees happy, no way. If a problem does come around, that will be another problem.' I never forgot you said that."

"No regrets on not saving then?"

"Half of that decision was mine. I'd do it again," JP answered.

"Knowing where we stand and how much we got, let us plan our future."

"I'll leave everything to you. This is a family corporation, and you're the brother I never had."

"You think I deserve that?" Greg asked as he looked at JP.

"You do. So, let's hug on it, Brother." JP stood, walked around his desk, and hugged Greg as he patted his back.

Greg hesitated then patted back. "You're a good guy, JP. Wish the world had more of you," he said as they parted.

"Well, there are two of us now."

"Trust everything to me?"

"No other way."

"The economy is still bad. We got to operate lean 'til we get New Gilda going then our financial woes will be over."

"Got you, Brother."

The Sale of Cleopatra's Coin

Late Saturday afternoon, six months later, JP was working on Gilda's program at home. Taking a breather, he walked to get his mailbox at the main entrance of the condominium. He sorted out the junk mails and ended with an envelope from a reputable auction house and opened it. His eyes widened and missed a breath on seeing a check for $416,554.42 in Lulu's name. It was the proceeds to the sale of the coin. In his excitement, he forgot his work, drove to Juaning's house, but found no one home. On a hunch, he proceeded to the church and got there just in time to see Lulu and Juaning leave the church's main entry after the late Saturday afternoon mass.

JP walked briskly to meet them. "Da-da-da," in a musical tone, he heralded. He handed the check to Lulu and kissed Juaning on her cheek.

Lulu gave the check a quick look but was not surprised at the amount. "This came at the right time. How did you make the arrangements?" she eagerly asked JP.

"An old family friend did," JP answered then said to Juaning, "Remember our neighbor, Ted Greer?"

"Oh yes," and looking at Lulu added, "A friendly old man who started JP on his coin collection at an early age. He must be well over eighty by now. Why?"

"He sold Lulu's old coin for over $400,000!"

"Lulu got four-hundred-thousand! Oh, I'm so happy for you, Lulu," Juaning said, thrilled, jumping, and clapping her hands with joy. Then, she realized something. Her facial expression suddenly changed from excitement to alarm and said, "Now, she will get herself her own house. I wish you'd stay with me," she pleaded, almost crying. "Stay with me, Lulu rent-free... even food. I'll even pay you. Just stay with me."

JP noticed Juaning's mood, tone of voice, and how she spoke had changed drastically. She sounded serious and desperate. It dawned on him how alone and lonely she was before Lulu came, how he neglected her. More so, when he recalled what Lulu said, ' **It's the little good thing you do that makes the difference.** '

"I love staying with you," Lulu said to Juaning. "You're my Mom. The thought of leaving you is out of the question. I hope you don't mind my calling you, Mom. I really love to be your daughter."

"Oh, really, Lulu . . . really?" Juaning's eyes sparkled with joy. She turned to JP excitedly, "I have a daughter at last," she cheered then turned to Lulu and said, "You won't leave me then . . . really?"

Lulu embraced her fondly with one arm. "I have other plans for the money." She turned her head and saw Father Renato Ocampo, a Filipino priest, walking away. "Father," she called out.

Fr. Ocampo turned and walked toward them but stopped when a parishioner approached him. With his hand, he gestured, he would be with her.

Lulu turned to JP and said, "As we agreed on, you'll get 10% plus eight thousand and the compounded interest on it . . ."

"I'll be happy if you just gave me back my eight-grand," JP interrupted.

"What are you two talking about?" Juaning curiously asked.

Lulu replied, "JP invested eight-grand on the coin. I'll give you, Mom, $30,000 and Mr. Greer 10% commission."

"And JP's share?" Juaning asked.

"$47,244.11."

"You computed all that in your head?" Juaning said with a surprise,

Lulu evaded the question and was glad Fr. Ocampo approached them and said, "Good afternoon, Father."

"Good afternoon," Fr. Ocampo greeted back. "How's everyone?" Lulu and Juaning were his regular daily parishioners.

After the short pleasantries, Lulu shifted the subject. "Father, since I heard of your charitable project for the underprivileged, I always dreamed of giving something. I have a check which I will endorse to your project after deducting my Mom's share . . ."

"I did not know Juaning is your mother?" Fr. Ocampo said unexpectedly.

Juaning proudly answered, "She's my daughter."

"I'm sorry for the interruption," Fr. Ocampo apologized to Lulu. "Please continue."

Lulu smiled then, rounding the numbers, continued, "As I said, your charity gets after deducting $30,000 for my Mom; 10% on seller's commission, JP's 10% profit share plus interest on his investment, and the balance of $38,000 for me," then handed the check over to Fr. Ocampo.

Fr. Ocampo took the check and stared at it. He was lost. Large sums were given out and was unsure what his charity would get after. "Of this, the charity gets?"

"$300,000," Lulu replied happily.

"This is a miracle," Father Ocampo exclaimed. "You just don't know how I prayed for this. The money will go a long way. I see no problem in transferring the amounts." Wide-eyed, he looked at the check again.

"Oh, Father," Juaning said, "my nephew, JP, wishes to donate his share." She turned to JP and said, "How generous of you, JP," giving JP a sarcastic smile not seen by the rest.

Extremely ecstatic, Fr. Ocampo immediately turned to JP, "Thank you for your generosity, my son. And how much would that be?"

"Over $40,000. My daughter has the exact figure," Juaning answered, beaming with pride.

"Oh, thank you so very much, my son," Fr. Ocampo said, and got JP's hand and shook it.

Shocked and speechless, JP managed to smile as Fr. Ocampo shook his hand that JP felt merely dangled from the end of his arm.

Happily, Lulu said, "How generous of you, JP. Your reward will surely come from heaven," and left with Father Ocampo.

When Lulu and Fr. Ocampo were out of hearing distance, Juaning teased mimicking Lulu's voice and over-exaggerated her motions, "Yes, JP, your reward will surely come from heaven," and kissed him on the cheek.

"A Judas' kiss," said JP. "Why did you give my money? $8,000 of that came from my pocket!"

"I remember you saying you'll be happy if you got back your $8,000. I will give you $8,000 from my check. That should make you happy."

"How can you?" JP protested. "I will tell Father you are donating your share too."

Juaning held JP's arm firmly, said, "Don't you dare, don't you dare. You stay with me," poised to restrain any movement.

"Why did you give my share?"

Like a little girl teasing, Juaning improvised a song, "A miser, a penny saver, a Scrooge,' and the other nasty words you described that sweet girl. Good for you! You deserve it."

"I remember using only one word---frugal," JP defended.

"That means the same thing," she snapped. Suddenly, she had a worried look. "You think she really meant that I was going to be her Mom? Really, JP? To be her Mom and live with me?" and anxiously waited for JP's answer.

"I'm certain she does."

"Don't waste time, JP. Marry her before she enters a convent and become a nun."

"Don't worry. I'm waiting for the right time."

"You told me that a long time ago. How is Lulu at work?"

"I have never met anyone establish rapport with so many in such a short time. Everyone thinks she's an angel. Greg, who considers most women as walking bimbos, thinks highly of her. Coming from Greg, that's a great compliment."

"JP," Juaning said in a serious tone and deliberate voice, "Marry her before she becomes a saint."
FARMING OUT PROGRAMMING

Months have passed. Lulu, with Sylvia's group, were having lunch at the company's lunchroom. During their casual conversation, Alice asked a question most employees were hesitant to ask, "More layoffs coming, Lulu?"

"Not that I know. I am praying we will rehire those we laid-off soon," Lulu answered.

"That's unlikely," Sylvia said.

Marijack interjected, "JP slept in his office again last night."

"How would you know?" Sylvs asked.

"The janitor told me. That's the seventh time since the company laid-off people a month ago."

"Poor JP," Alice said, "he's taking it hard. Sonny said he's doing the work of two programmers and doubts meeting Gilda's deadline."

"He is working too hard," Lulu said worriedly.

Marijack noticed Lulu's concern asked, "You like JP, don't you, Lulu?"

Getting hold of herself, Lulu said, apprehensively, "I am worried he might get sick."

"That was not the answer to my question but partly answers it. You like JP, don't you, Lulu?" Marijack repeated.

Lulu hesitated.

Sylvia intervened, "Do you love JP, Lulu? . . . Don't be shy. You are a part of our family."

"How can you tell if like is love?" with innocence, Lulu asked.

"Are there no boys where you came from?" Marijack candidly asked and added, "That's a surprise. They say Alaskan men are now marrying female polar bears for lack of women."

Everyone laughed except Lulu. She apparently did not get the humor as she watched others laugh, visibly puzzled.

Sylvia addressed her girls said, "Stop clowning. We are talking serious matters here. Well, Lulu . . . are there men out there where you came from?"

There was a moment of silence as they waited for Lulu's reply with anticipation.

Lulu answered, "Guess I wasn't paying attention. We were isolated where we lived. But it wouldn't matter if the other person doesn't like you."

"Use the word love," Sylvs butted.

Marijack commented, "You are so naïve on the matter as if you came from another planet . . . like an Alien."

Lulu reacted with surprise, "An Alien? A Martian?"

"Can't you see the signs?" Marijack asked.

"Signs? . . . Aren't they supposed to give flowers?" naïve, Lulu replied.

"She's a Martian," Sylvia concluded frustratingly. "You've seen too many old, really old movies. Forget the flowers. The bottom line is, he loves you. Give the man a break. He's been working his ass off since they got a new mechanical design for Gilda, and he's not doing it for himself, he is doing it for all of us. It's the wrong time for him to think of love. He's got big, serious problems everywhere: the layoffs, the programs, the company."

"Sacrificing himself for us," Lulu added sadly, and this time took her handkerchief and wiped her moist eyes.

"Don't cry, Lulu. No man is worth crying over," Sylvs said but got stern looks from the rest.

"JP is an exception," Alice immediately defended, "He is worth every tear."

Sylvia, like the rest, noticed how innocent Lulu was. She went around the table and sat on the chair beside Lulu and got her too look at her, "Don't you worry our little-big girl," she said in a motherly fashion, "Everything will work out fine. We have a plan."

"Plan? What plan?" Lulu asked as she composed herself.

"We don't know yet, but we'll think of something. You stay cool, and everything will work out."

From where she sat, Marijack had a clear view of the hallway. She said, "He's coming."

Sylvia immediately reacted and said aloud, "Plan A, boys, and girls. He is coming."

Except for Lulu, who was stumped, everyone in the breakroom grabbed their unfinished food and stuff and left the room in a rush. They understood what Sylvia meant.

JP sidestepped at the doorway as the women hurriedly left the room, smiling girlishly at him as they passed. The two men in the room gave him a thumb's up as they left. Sylvia, the last, winked. Puzzled, JP asked Lulu as he entered the room, "Why the rush?"

Lulu replied with a question, "Plan A?"

"Plan A?" he echoed.

"That's what Sylvia said, and they rushed out."

"Oh, yes. Plan A," JP replied, hiding his laughter through a grin.

"Where's your lunch box?"

"Forgot. Sonny is buying a sandwich for me."

"You can have my extra chicken sandwich."

"A tempting offer I can't refuse."

As Lulu took the sandwich out of her lunch box, she asked, "How's the programming going?"

"Smoothly," he answered as he got the sandwich from Lulu's hand.

Lulu looked at him. His eyes had dark shades around. "Are you being honest?"

"A slight problem."

"Are you being honest?" she repeated.

"Can't you get by with a white lie?"

"Still, it's lying."

"A little lie paved with good intentions."

Lulu noted what he said. "I'll accept that. So?"

"Confidentially?"

"Won't breathe a word."

"Talked with Greg this morning. We agreed to lay off another four in anticipation of hiring one programmer to help me out. Three from Sylvia and one from Sonny."

"That's the third time in three months."

"Unavoidable if the company is to survive. We need a programmer badly."

"Is there a way I can help?"

"Wish you could. We're talking big-time programming. Programmers experienced in robotic programs are hard to find and expensive."

"I thought it was a simple modification on Gilda's program?"

"I realized I'm forcing a square peg into a round hole."

"Why?"

"Gilda has a new mechanism . . ." JP continued to explain.

Though Lulu looked attentive, she was not paying attention. She was searching for a believable plan to solve JP's problem without implicating herself.

Meanwhile, at the parking lot, Sonny drove in and left his car, holding JP's lunch in a paper bag. Surprised to see the women having lunch at the parking lot, he inquired, "What's up, Muchachas?"

"Plan A. They're at the lunchroom, so don't disturb," Alice replied.

"Caramba! Now I have to call my lawyer."

"Lawyer?" Marijack was puzzled.

Sonny answered, "Stop him from giving the divorce papers to my wife," and went in, leaving Marijack and the rest laughing.

Sonny went in the breakroom, placed the lunch bag on the table in front of JP, turned, and stayed long enough to hear JP say, "Thanks, Sonny."

Dumbfounded by Sonny's act, Lulu commented, "People are acting weird lately."

JP merely grinned. "As I was saying, if there are two links, that would mean four possible combinations to consider. The new Gilda has six links from shoulder to the tip of its finger. That's six to the sixth power. A possible combination of . . ."

"46,656," Lulu snapped instinctively.

"Solve that in your head?"

"Saw the number in a puzzle by coincidence."

JP eyed her suspiciously, but he had bigger problems in mind and continued, "Well, it's a long and tedious job sorting out the best combinations, too long for one man."

"I think I know of a man who may be able to help. He used to work for a Japanese robotic firm in Japan as a programmer."

"That's the kind of man I need. How can I reach him?"

"It's not that easy. The man has isolated himself from the world."

"How can I contact him then?"

"Through me."

JP looked at her cynically.

Lulu reacted, "Four years ago, the programmer suffered a nervous breakdown for the second time. A breakdown caused by pressure to meet a deadline. He said the Japanese are rather unforgiving if you missed your target."

"I can understand his situation. It's not uncommon for people working in this field to border sane and insanity in a brief period working under time pressure. Having Japanese bosses simply magnifies that ten-folds."

"Glad you understand," Lulu said with relief. "After the breakdown, he became recluse and bought himself a lodge two-miles from where my parents and I live in Alaska. In remote areas, you can say we are neighbors. As far as I know, we are his only friends there. Somewhere along the way, he made it clear to us his situation and wants minimal human contact from the world outside. To give you an idea of how good he is, his kitchen is automated. A long table with multiple mechanical arms does his cooking, making coffee to washing dishes."

"So, that's how you came up with Gilda's mechanical design."

"You can say that."

"You think he'll be interested?"

"I'll call him."

"Let me talk to him."

"JP, please understand . . . I would be breaking a sacred trust if I did. And that, I would never do. But this much I will do for you, I will offer him your deal, and your only contact with him is through me. To safeguard his identity, I would go out of my way to use a payphone. Nothing personal."

"Okay. Nothing personal. Got it."

"Do you have the requirements for him to consider?"

"All I need is a willing programmer. I have everything as Greg, and I anticipated hiring a programmer who can help me. But it's not easy, there are very few of them around, and, most likely, has a job. I really need an extra hand."

She noticed how JP reacted and said, "That desperate?"

"Greg and I are doing everything to save the company," JP said bluntly.

"I hope you don't mind me intruding, but you're working too hard. You must think of your health, lest you end up like my anonymous friend."

"I've been thinking about that, a breakdown. But I strongly feel I am at the major crossroad in my life . . ." he paused. "A lot depends on this project. Many people's welfare is anchored on it . . . yours and mine too. This project will make or break me, Lulu," he confessed. "I feel it's my last chance to making it . . . got to give it my best . . . give that extra push squeezed in the next four months. Just four months and it will be over. Make or break. Obviously, I can't make it without help. I desperately need another programmer for three . . . four months tops."

"I understand, but you got to have a breather somewhere lest you suffocate. Juaning has been concerned about you lately . . . coming over for dinner won't hurt."

"That extra push is pinning me to my computer chair. Can you explain it to her?"

"I'll give it my best, but you know her."

"Just give it your best." Then prodding himself, he said, "It's not only Auntie Juaning I was thinking of visiting, but also you."

"The sign," the words just came out of Lulu's mouth as she smiled to herself.

"Sign? What sign?"

The question made Lulu realize what she said and answered, "I was thinking of something else," A quick thinker, continued, "Signing in for night school. I'm alone most of the time with Juaning working most of the evenings."

"That's not a bad idea. Education is always good. On what?"

"Computer programming."

"You won't have a problem there. You are a brilliant woman, Lulu. Your bright, smart, and pleasantly naïve in some things."

"I've heard that 'naïve' word said to me many times, but I'm learning. Lunchtime is over. Can I have the programming requirements in downloadable form to email to my anonymous friend?"

"It's in my office. It may take two hours for him to assess the requirements. If you must, wait for his reply."

"Ok."

1:15 P.M.

Lulu left work and drove directly to Glendale County Library.

Glendale Library was a newly built building hardly a year old and modern in design. No curves, all bold straight horizontal and vertical lines that accented its tinted-glass walls artistically. Well-placed elm trees on manicured lawn; shrubs, here and there; the greenery all around the building made the library look warm and inviting.

Inside the library, Lulu stood before four long and tall bookshelves filled with books on computer programming. At first, she took a book from the shelf on basic programming and leafed through its pages from where she stood. A few minutes later, she got a dozen in Advanced Computer Programming; carried them over to an empty table; turn on the desk lamp; and started to study.

The Sleeper

The Northridge Mall's fourth level parking lot was nearly vacant, being a weekday and two-thirty in the afternoon. Greg was dressed as a rapper---a baseball cap over his head; large gold-rimmed dark glass covered his eyes; wore a loose black denim jacket with its collar raised; dark leather hand gloves and baggy pants. He parked his car alongside a Mercedes Benz with stained windows. The Benz's engine was running, and no other vehicle was parked nearby. Greg got out of his car; briskly scanned the vicinity then entered the passenger side of the Benz.

Horsch, an oversized six-foot-tall man, was in an unbuttoned business suit. His fat belly bulged and stretched his long white sleeve shirt with its buttons close to popping. He was in a bad mood. He said forcefully, "This better be good!" as he looked at Greg through his gold-rimmed dark glasses.

"Got to help out," Greg said. "I need a large order for printers."

"This project should be self-financed, and you're supposed to see to it that it does."

"Can't do much with the economy where it's at. Without printer orders, eight years for nothing. That's the reason for this meeting."

"You have to find another solution."

In frustration, Greg replied, "Then you might as well drop everything and bring me back to Russia."

"That's not a wise choice," Horsch stared and coldly said. "We got a lot invested on you and a death sentence awaits you over there . . . if you forgot," he reminded.

Greg, with a group, was caught and convicted for smuggling some hundred-fifty kilos of cocaine and was an accessory to the death of a drug agent in Moscow. The conviction carried a death sentence. In hindsight, he believed he was framed. He had the profile they needed to act as a sleeper. Reminded repeatedly for failure's penalty repulsed him. Inside, he felt like beating Horsch. He disliked him from the start but knew he had him by the neck. "That's not what I meant. Camfer has a month to make good a loan, or the bank will close us. You have to help get this project back on its feet."

"Does JP know the company's financial woes?"

"He knows we have a problem, not how deep."

Horsch rhythmically tapped the bottom of the steering wheel with his fingers. It was an inch away from his fat belly. After a short paused, he asked, "Any break?"

"Not since JP agreed on doing business with Rosenthal Industry, no," Greg said as he reported the letter incident and calls from George Rosenthal's Executive Secretary, he uncovered from Beth on the day she resigned. As a sleeper, he was to provide information only and not ask questions. All he knew was to befriend JP and wondered why.

Horsch always pressured Greg to befriend and have a good relationship with JP. Greg was commended for getting JP as his business partner soon after Greg and JP graduated from graduate school. It was only the letter incident that gave him a hint to what his mission was. He gambled, "I need information aside from knowing JP is George Rosenthal's son, the sole heir to Rosenthal Global Industries." Greg was guessing, but he had to play the game.

Horsch looked at Greg, "How would you know?" He was laconic.

"You wouldn't have gotten me if I wasn't smart."

Horsch coldly looked at Greg. He sized things up, then said, "Your source?"

"Indirectly, the calls from Rosenthal's executive secretary." He knew his calculated guess was right. ' _Horsch may be holding his neck, but he has him by the balls this time around_ ,' Greg thought.

Horsch tapped the steering wheel with his fingers again a bit faster this time.

Greg took advantage of the situation, "I need JP's history to be effective."

There was a moment of silence then Horsch finally said, "Mother, a Filipina who once worked as a surgical nurse at New Jersey. She committed suicide when JP was seven years old. Legally there is no document to prove George Rosenthal was married to JP's mother or JP being his son. Years earlier, we searched for ways to get spies within the US defense industry. George Rosenthal was a fast-rising figure in the US armament program, and his companies were good targets to infiltrate. Since Rosenthal is a diehard American and despises Soviet ideology, we looked for kinks on his armor, something we can use on him. Following his personal money trail, we found a substantial sum went to support a Remedios Fernandez, JP's mother. Two months in surveillance, we uncovered a former co-employee at the hospital, a clerk at the birth registry section, was blackmailing the mother. As after JP was born, the mother, seeking anonymity to protect herself and her son from public eyes, paid the hospital clerk to thrash the original birth certificate George Rosenthal signed and replace it with a new certificate to read: father as 'unknown.' She used her family name, Fernandez, as JP's surname. The clerk knew who Rosenthal was through press releases, held on to the original birth certificate and threatened to expose, through media, who JP's real father was. He was terminated."

"Rosenthal, had him killed?"

"That would have been ideal. Rosenthal knows nothing of the blackmail."

"JP's mother, then?"

"By me. The clerk was jeopardizing my plans."

"And the birth certificate?"

"I have it."

There was a pause, then Greg said, "Can we use the certificate to get a hold on Rosenthal?"

"Blackmail Rosenthal?"

"Yes."

"Our profilers are certain Rosenthal will openly declare JP as his legitimate son, a dead end."

"How about JP's aunt, Juanita Jones?"

"Except for being Remedios' younger sister, nothing on her. Katherine Davis, Rosenthal's executive secretary, knows. She was the bridge between JP's mother and Rosenthal, but that stopped when the mother died. Rosenthal is still trying to contact JP, right?"

"Right."

"That's our break. Something will ultimately happen. You stick with JP. He's our only link."

Greg saw his opportunity, "For the more reason you have to support this project. Rosenthal Global Industries has a Robotic Division with a temporary Division Head. Rosenthal does not leave a division headless unless . . ."

"Unless Rosenthal is using the division to lure JP in. JP hates his father, which is a given, and you exploit that."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"JP must open the subject and most likely won't. If I open it, even discreetly, that will break my cover."

"Never break your cover," Horsch said forcefully. "Let him open the subject. Just play the game and you'd end up becoming Rosenthal Global Industries' top executive. Stick to the plan."

"Okay."

"How many are we looking at . . . printers?"

Greg gave it a thought then said, "Two years' worth of printers . . . 150,000 units altogether plus an approved bank credit line of three million to solve all company debt problems and finance Gilda." The ordered printers and the credit line were way over what Camfer Incorporated needed. Greg was now bribing Horsch.

"Gilda...you mean the robot."

"Yeah."

"Where are we on it?"

"No change from the last report," Greg lied. Gilda's new mechanical design came two weeks after he reported. Greg did not know why he kept it a secret or where it would lead but knew he could use it in his favor in the future. "We are using scraps to run her and need something better to get a shot at the military robotic contract. I justified that project."

"I know," Horsch admitted. "I like the idea of letting the US government finance Russian projects in the robotic field. Anything else?"

"No."

"That's a lot of printers to justify."

"Kremlin can use more," Greg snapped, feeling he was now in control.

Horsch eyed Greg intensely. "Three million is too high. Lower it."

"Billions are at stake, and I want to focus on the mission, not solve financial problems. Like you, I want nothing to jeopardize the project. Nothing! That's the deal,"

Horsch started to tap the wheel again, much longer this time. He looked at Greg then said, "You will hear from me soon."

"I forgot to mention, have two million Euros in my Swiss account."

"Don't press your luck, Greg."

"I am. What do you plan on doing?

Horsch pulled a 9mm gun with a silencer from the left side of his seat and pointed it at Greg's face.

Greg was not intimidated. "You're being foolish."

Horsch stared at him for a moment. "Okay, wise guy. I'll work something out," as he holstered the gun.

"I expect to see two million in my Swiss account next week," Greg said, then opened the car door and left.

At the far end of the parking lot, an FBI agent activated his microphone. "Contact leaving the parking lot in Pearl-blue Toyota Camry wagon. Got no clear picture of his face," he reported.

Greg expertly drove and hurriedly left the car he stole two parking levels down; rush to the stairwell and raced two floors down as he threw his outer garments on the steps. He reentered the mall well-dressed in a business suit and unnoticed.

The Good News

The library wall clock read 4:30 p.m. Lulu's table had a large stack of programming books on it. The part-time library worker, who returned books to its shelf, worked hard that afternoon. However, she smiled at seeing a ten-dollar bill with a note of thanks at the bottom of a large pile of books.

From the library, Lulu went directly to JP's office. She knocked then went in.

Before Lulu could speak, JP said, "Make my day, Lulu. Tell me he'll take the offer," he implored.

Lulu did not answer but smiled.

"Is that a 'Yes'?" he looked at her eagerly.

Lulu beamed and nodded.

"Yes!" JP stressed loudly, raising both hands in the air as though he won the State Lottery. "Got something to make you happy in return, hire everyone back. We will be hiring more once Greg, and I estimate how many."

With hands on her cheeks, Lulu exclaimed, "Really?!" Tears came out of her eyes.

JP handed a tissue box and asked her to sit. He pulled his swivel chair and sat across. "You alright, Lulu?"

"It's tears of joy," she explained. She gained her composure as she dubbed her eyes with a tissue and said, "What happened?"

"Greg got a big order. We can set aside all our financial problems and focus on Gilda. How much is your anonymous friend asking?"

"Nothing," she reacted.

"Nothing?" JP responded unbelievingly.

A mistake, Lulu thought, then thinking fast, said, "Nothing for now. I told him of the company's financial problems. He said payment deferred until the company is financially able."

JP can't believe what he heard, "Is that for real? A stranger doing this for a company he does not even know?"

"Not for the company but everything my father, mother, and I did for him. He said the offer came at the right time as he was running out of things to keep him busy. He likes your programming approach and thinks you're brilliant. He is willing to collaborate if you will accept these working arrangements," she said as she handed him a paper.

JP went over the proposal and, reading halfway, commented, "He dictated this to you?"

"Yes."

"He knows what needs doing, an expert," he added as he continued to read.

Lulu watched JP read and was apprehensive if her alibi being unbelievable.

"How much is he asking?" JP said as he left the paper under a paperweight on his desk and looked at Lulu.

"He said premium, and he said you know what that means. He will just have to trust you to keep your side of the bargain. Can I vouch for you, JP?"

"You can bet your life. I will make it worthwhile: first option to buy company stocks if we go public, and assured employment here if ever he needs a job. We surely need a person of his caliber. He has to reveal his identity . . . how will he get paid?"

"He said to give it to a charity of my choice."

"A very generous man. Okay. You can tell him the work arrangement is acceptable and thank him for the payment manner. I find no problem working on a trust basis. Tell him, I understand his situation, and I want to be his friend."

Relieved, Lulu replied, "I will."

Uneasy and having a difficult time expressing himself, JP said, "His helping me will not change how busy I will be. It merely lightens the load. Much as I would like to visit you . . . and Auntie Juaning, I . . ."

"You need not explain. I understand and pray Juaning will as well." Shifting the subject, she said, "Northridge Technical Institute is accepting enrollment for short-term nighttime courses on programming. Any suggestions?"

"Pascal and Cobol."

THE HURT

Everything went smoothly in the months that followed. The company had rehired the laid-off workers and added more; restructured the bank loans; farmed out for fabrication Gilda's intricate metal components; and Sonny got his dream machines, the latest milling, and lathe machines. JP was just as busy but went home to sleep. He never suspected Lulu was working on Gilda's computer program in a rented apartment when she should have been attending night school.

Greg realized he had gotten too cocky with Horsch. Horsch was no fool and gave him what was needed to finance the Gilda project; slashed the printer orders enough to keep the company afloat; and transferred only half-a-million Euros to Greg's Swiss account.

Over three months have passed. It was a Sunday.

JP never kept his promise to visit Auntie Juaning on weekends. He was so focused on his computer programming to stop, more so, on weekend's when he was at his best---at home and uninterrupted. He once set the alarm clock to eleven a.m. on a Sunday with a plan to have lunch with Auntie Juaning and Lulu. It rang. He shut it off and continued working, relying on Lulu to explain to Juaning. It was different now. Lulu's 'Anonymous Friend' had completed his part of the program. The company donated $150,000 to Fr. Ocampo's charity program. JP never suspected that Lulu was the 'Anonymous Friend.' Together with the 'Anonymous Friend,' they had gone through the hardest part of the computer program. JP was now merely putting the finishing touches. Since it was 11:45 a.m., he rushed to his car and drove, knowing he would catch Lulu and Juaning having lunch.

It was five minutes past noon. JP intended to surprise Juaning and Lulu. He parked his car at the far end of Juaning's driveway and sneaked stealthily to the back door and peered through the window. As he predicted, the two were seated at the kitchen table, having lunch. He entered the room, and cheerfully greeted. "Hi, everyone.".

"What a surprise," Lulu reacted with delight and stood to prepare another plate.

JP headed for Juaning and kissed her on the cheek while Juaning was seated.

Juaning did not react and unceremoniously wiped her cheek where JP kissed. "Sit down, JP," Juaning said coldly. "It's time we talk."

Lulu noticed Juaning's demeanor change. They were having a lively conversation until JP came. She hurriedly placed the hot soup on JP's plate and said, "I forgot something upstairs. Be back in a second."

"No," Juaning said sternly as the matriarch of the house. "You are part of this family. Sit down and you too, JP," she commanded.

Lulu, uncomfortably, went back to her chair.

JP obediently sat. Never had he seen his Aunt so mad.

"You promised Sunday, lunch, or dinner. Just an hour, once a week, and you never kept it," Juaning said as calmly as she could.

"I was so busy with . . ."

"Forget your explanation. Lulu did that for you as best as she could," Juaning interrupted in subdued anger. There was a short pause. " **You cannot explain away neglect or take others for granted.** I know you love me, JP," she said, softening her tone. "I know you do not mean to hurt. That, I know. But you are. **You must understand neglect tears peoples' heart and taking that for granted starves it to death. It is a slow torture until one cannot stand it anymore."**

JP saw tears flowing from Juaning's eyes. He had never seen her cry before, even at his mother's deathbed and funeral, and she was terribly close to her. He watched Juaning stand, walk to the kitchen sink, take a paper towel, and wipe her eyes and cheeks. He went to her side and, with one hand over her shoulder, said, "I am so sorry to have hurt you. There is something in me that drives me to work. I become so involved in those moments that the world around me seem not to exist. I love you, Auntie. I promise this time, I . . ."

"Make no promise," Juaning interrupted calmly and soft enough for only JP to hear, "Just come." After a brief reflection, she said, "Now I understand how both your parents felt. Part of your mother is in me while part of your father is in you. **Start caring for people, JP. Put them above anything else in this world**." She held JP's hand on her shoulder then patted it. "I'm fine now. Let's have lunch before it gets cold."

The two went back to the table and joined Lulu.

Juaning, in a controlled normal voice, asked, "You finished the program you're working on?"

"I'm putting the finishing touches, nothing complicated. I'd have everything wrapped up easy in three days. Eight days ahead of the deadline," JP answered as he sat and continued, "Why don't we all go see a movie after lunch, on me?" JP suggested. "You like that, Auntie?" he asked.

"I'll just sleep. You and Lulu can go. Notice anything different?" Juaning anxiously asked, going over her hurt.

Seated, JP looked around and focused on the room's renovation. "I did notice the change when I came in." With awe, he looked around to the newly remodeled room and added, "Just amazing! Completely different!"

"A lot of things are different in this house . . . including myself," Juaning cheerfully said. "When was the last time you were here?"

JP started to think and was not sure. "I bet Lulu knows," he said, looking at her.

"Three months, two weeks, five days, and almost eleven hours," Lulu snapped.

After lunch, Juaning and Lulu toured JP to their newly remodeled house.

JP was astounded to just how completely different Juaning's house was transformed! Its simplicity made it elegant. New furniture, well-placed potted plants, framed paintings on newly painted walls made the room lively and spacious. As they went from room to room, it reminded him of the pictures he had seen in Architectural Digest. "You must have spent a fortune on your interior decorator, new decors, painters, and carpenters."

"We did it, Lulu, and I," Juaning proudly said with a glimmer in her eyes. "Lulu did all the designing. Most of the furnishing came from thrift shops and yard sales. We did the refurbishing. But don't tell anyone where we got the things."

"You like it, JP?" Lulu humbly asked.

"I'm simply amazed. The rooms are all so different. It's simply great! Do you think you could do my townhouse?"

"Not unless you pay for our services," Juaning interjected.

JP asked candidly, "And, how much would that be?"

"$8,000, plus your labor."

"That's how much you owe me."

"Consider that the advance."

Lulu looked at Juaning intimidatingly.

"Okay, you don't have to pay. But, Lulu, that's not the way to conduct business."

Lulu smiled. "When can we work on your unit?" she asked JP.

"Looking forward to it right after the project is done. I like it to look like this, simple and spacious," he said, looking around again. "You really did all of these?" he asked, astonished.

"We did it," Juaning said and showed her blistered hands.

Lulu showed JP her calloused hands, as well.

"Aren't you ladies concerned about your hands being calloused?" JP asked both.

Lulu questioned, "Being tough and blistered? Should I worry about it?"

"You shouldn't," Juaning butted then turned to JP. "Lulu has a higher standard than just being vain. If a man does not see that, the man is a fool."

"Are you a fool, JP?" Lulu asked nicely.

"Not anymore."

Juaning said in admonition, "I hope you learned a lesson. Don't mess around with my Lulu. She knows more than you think. Now, I want you to see the greenhouse."

There were good reasons for Juaning to be proud and show-off her greenhouse. It was a paradise of flowering orchids. Healthy plants with big vibrantly colored flowers and healthy dark green leaves all around. "Aren't the plants and flowers beautiful?" Juaning asked JP beaming with pride.

"It sure is. What used to be here were sick and dying plants and now . . . Lulu again?" JP commented.

Juaning answered happily, "Yes, with homemade fertilizers and insecticides."

They walked him around the greenhouse, and later Juaning said, "You two can go and have fun. See a movie. I'll stay here and tend to my beautiful plants."

"Like to see a movie, Lulu?" JP invited.

"I'd like that very much."

The Truth

Juaning waved goodbye at the two as JP's car drove off from the backyard driveway. She then sat on the swing under the oak tree and recalled the incident with JP. JP, on many occasions, did not see nor call her for months, and they lived but a few miles from each other. Three times in the past, he forgot her birthday and came around days later, sincerely remorseful and overcompensated her with gifts. She was certain JP love her as his aunt. 'How could someone manage to really love another and not show it?' She asked herself the question and was baffled. The question was not new to her. She asked the same question many times and long ago of another man, JP's father, the industrial tycoon, George Rosenthal. She remembered her sister sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring; rushed for the mailbox when the mailman delivered mails; stayed at the patio late in the evening waiting for her husband. Those were the only memories she remembered every time she thought of her---memories of her waiting until she killed herself. She knew the reason why they kept their marriage a secret. It was her sister's wish. Despite the strict secrecy she imposed, JP's mother fantasized of a normal family life to the point that she became sick. She lived a life as though tomorrow would be different. She waited and waited for a dream to come true. But it never did until it became unbearable.

Juaning hated George Rosenthal for the torment he gave her sister even though she knew he never neglected her completely. He gave her everything except his presence---a large house with a lavish garden, servants, a chauffeur, and all the money she needed. Once, Juaning spoke to him over the phone and hinted that her sister liked chocolate bars. Sure enough, cartons of expensive chocolate bars from around the world came regularly, but George never brought them himself. Now she saw it in her nephew, JP. Juaning knew how JP was once he got started on something---completely emerged in another world. Remembered when she got JP his first computer and the months that followed. Saw him sit all day and almost all the nights with his fingers pounding the computer's keyboard ceaselessly weeks on end. Forgetting to eat, to bathe, to shave, and even the time and the day. She realized JP was no different from his father, nor her different from her sister. Yet she knew JP loved her. Is it possible JP's father loved my sister too? She wondered.

From nowhere, she recalled a conversation with Lulu during one of their early morning walks---on the right thing to do when someone does something terrible to another. She clearly remembered Lulu's words . . . 'Regardless of how despicable what others do to you, it is the good things you do to them that matters.' With that thought, Juaning was determined to talk to JP about his father the next time they meet---about the things JP should know, the truth.

More to Gain and Nothing to Lose

JP brought Lulu to the mall's theaters and asked her to pick a movie. She chose a spy thriller based on a true story of a family caught in an espionage web during the Second World War that ended tragically. After the movie and while leaving the theater, JP said, "I noticed you closed your eyes to some scenes and wept too."

"I can't get myself to watch violence, deceit. Indifference to other people's lives are things humans do that I can't seem to fathom. To think that the story was based on a real-life drama perplexes me even more," Lulu said, distraught.

From Lulu's voice, JP could tell how the movie deeply affected her. Yet, the movie's story was not even a close representation of the harsher realities going on around the world. She viewed world tragedies at a distinct perspective, an outsider---an Alien observing humans. 'How strange,' he thought, but agreed with her---the world was going mad. "What kind of movies would you prefer?" JP curiously asked.

"Family movies; stories of people helping each other; movies with an emphasis on good moral character and values."

"You will hardly see those movies. No market."

"You mean people are no longer interested?"

"That may be the reason. You should have picked," he paused, then walked backward to view the theater's billboard. "I can see you had no choice," he said, as the other movies were about sex, violence, crime, and drugs.

"Are you in a hurry?" she asked.

"No."

"Can we sit somewhere where we can watch people? I've done it many times before."

"I know a good spot for that."

"Take my hand, JP, and lead."

JP noticed the sweet innocent smile as she extended her hand. Unfamiliar with holding a woman's hand, he held lightly at first as his heart throbbed then firmer after a dozen steps. He felt **the comfort of what clasped hands bring to two people---the assurance it conveys of being there for the other, the oneness it expresses to each other, the love.** They walked together leisurely with no words exchanged, happy at just the thought of being together. Lulu swung JP's left arm slightly, timing it to their steps. She was intrigued as she observed strangers walked by, and JP intrigued by her.

JP knew the perfect spot to watch people---it was at the heart of the mall. They were lucky---a couple vacated a bench facing the main walkway.

They sat.

"I like watching people," Lulu started, "Wonder who they are, how they live their life, their relationships with one another. Have you done that before?"

"No," JP replied.

"See the couple with the man wearing a blue shirt?" she asked as she looked toward the couple's direction. "They may be in their late twenty's or early thirty's."

"Yeah."

"Tell me something about them."

JP gave serious thoughts to what he saw then said. "Married. Maybe, teenage children wandering somewhere. They are just walking," he answered passingly and uncaring.

" **Together, yet alone,** " Lulu said sadly. " **They've settled down, so to speak. What a pity to waste time to express their affection for one another. There are so many interesting things to do to make life together wonderful. Yet, they allow those precious moments go by.** **Constant assurance of love for the other is something one must never overlook. People seem not to understand or forget its value or its importance. Fallen out of love, they say, but did they really try to keep their bond strong by constantly reassuring love for each other?** I **wonder."**

JP was taken by what Lulu said. A simple truth he had never considered. He focused on the couple's faces as they passed. He saw expressionless faces devoid of life. Couples just walking, hoping time would pass, or maybe be somewhere or with someone else.

Lulu hurriedly said, "See the well-dressed woman leaving the jewelry store holding a kid and another fronting us with two kids looking at the displayed moving toys." She was looking in their directions.

JP saw the two women and focused first on the well-dressed woman leaving the jewelry store. She held a little boy by the wrist wearing a small boy's suit wearing a polished black shoes. Being pulled, the boy walked sideways behind the woman. His eyes awed at the same displayed toys the two other kids were looking at---a propeller plane on a string tied to the ceiling whirling around in the air; a moving train on rails complete with miniature people, stations, mountains, tunnels, and bridges; a walking robot and a few more. The well-dressed woman had gold and precious stones that glittered from her ears, neck, scarf, wrists, belt buckle, and finger. Her colorful silk dress flattered as she walked; her poise, elegant and dignified. Altogether, it projected an aura of a rich person with influence and power. JP noticed her give some distance between her and the worn-out dressed women with two kids---the taller of the two, a girl, who wore an oversized adult man's jacket. The bejeweled woman seemed displeased by their presence. She looked nonchalantly at them while her kid walked sideways; still looking at the displayed toys noticeably being dragged. "She's well-to-do considering her dress and jewelry. Very conscious of how she presents herself in public and surely not paying any attention to the kid . . . most likely her son."

JP focused on the other woman with kids, and continued, "As for the woman with a little boy and a girl. Her children know their mother could not afford the toys. They're just looking. It's a close-knit family from their interactions. The kids contented at just dreaming, and the mother wishing to buy the toys for them. They are having fun despite it. I wish I could just go there and give her the money."

"You feel it too?" she asked and with a sigh, "Well, that's life on this planet."

"You see things as though you are a visitor from another world . . . a being from another planet."

"An Alien?" Lulu exclaimed with surprise.

"Yes."

Lulu considered her answer. "I guess I see things much like an outsider, an Alien from another world. It provides me a better perspective. From where I stand, I somehow feel people on this planet prefer to ignore things that should concern them. Scared of reality lest they get involved."

"Care to expound?" JP was being candid but serious and eager to see her view.

"The well-dressed woman with the kid dressed not just to please herself but to impress others of her stature. The things she wore: her clothing and the jewelry, elevated her from others of lesser means. She noticed the poor woman with two kids and simply disregarded what she saw or considered them unpleasant, not part of her world. She came out of the expensive jewelry store and surmised the value of her jewelry could easily provide years of basic comfort to the poor woman's family. 'It's not her business,' so they say. **But it is her business as she is part of her world, everyone's world.** **Sometimes the truth is hard and scary to face but must be or suffer its consequence."**

Strangely, her statement made JP reflect on something related. There were things he knew he should think of and avoided the things that made him recall. Was it because he was scared or...?

"Notice how many couples are holding hands?" Lulu asked.

The question distracted JP's thoughts. "I don't recall seeing couples holding hands," he answered.

"This is a perfect time," she hurriedly said. "Notice the couples walking this way?"

"Two, no, three."

"Observe all of them as they walk past us, then close your eyes."

JP complied. He took all efforts to observe their facial expressions, their gait, and disposition then closed his eyes. "What now?"

Lulu waited for a moment then said, "With your eyes closed, imagine the once you saw holding hands."

JP closed his eyes and visualized what he had seen. He pictured in his mind the two couples holding hands and the third having their arms around each other. "Big difference," he concluded as he opened his eyes.

" **If only the world paid more value in loving one another and express it as often as they should, then this world will be very different."**

JP looked around and twice closed his eyes. He saw them in his mind's eye---one couple holding each other's hands leisurely and others holding each other's waist as they walked. "It really makes a big difference," he concluded then came up with an idea, "I will walk with the crowd and you tell me who you see. Okay?"

"Walk all the way to the end then come back. Take your time and do it the way you normally do," she instructed.

"I will."

JP stood and walked away. Seconds later, he looked back and saw Lulu take something from her pocket and fold it as she walked the opposite direction but thought nothing of it. As he walked and, in hindsight, thought his suggestion to observe him was a bad idea but now stuck with it. He walked normal, thinking it be best she saw him for who he is. When he got back, a couple had occupied their bench.

"JP," Lulu called out from a short distance, behind.

JP turned and walked toward her. "Where did you come from?"

"I was walking and watching you from the floor above."

"You're a sneaky creature. Well, what did you see?" JP asked candidly but apprehensive.

She purposely evaded the question. "I'll treat you to ice cream," and took JP's hand and led him to a nearby ice cream parlor.

They ordered then took a small table with a view of the mall's walkway.

Lulu started the conversation, "This is another good spot to watch people."

JP, eager to know Lulu's observation of him, asked. "And your observation, Miss Freud?"

Lulu looked at him and said, "JP . . . I saw a man just walking."

"That's who I am, I guess. Nothing much to talk about."

"I saw a man going through the motions of life, not knowing how to live it. You are not who you are, JP. At least, from what I saw. But I know you are a caring man --- a wonderful person to be with. Something must be holding you back. Is there?"

JP did not understand at first but as he considered, it made sense. He realized he was just **going through the motion of being alive and not living**. Yet, people around him tried to take him out of the prison cell he made for himself. His Aunt tried, Greg tried, the people at work, and even Lulu. He seemed to find himself in a shell, not trying an effort to break out. He once wondered why he was unlike most people who could walk away from a computer. Was it his way to escape reality, the world?

Lulu asked again, with concern in her voice, "Is there something holding you back, JP?"

With a look of unease, he asked, "Did Auntie Juaning talk to you about me?"

The question surprised Lulu. "No. Should she?" she was baffled.

"If you should know, it might as well come from me," he said as though compelled to reveal a secret. "I told you that my parents are dead. My mother is . . . I hope my father is too."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since I was seven when my mother passed away."

"Is Rosenthal, your father?"

"How did you know?"

"Not until now. I found it odd for you not to accept or return Rosenthal's calls through his secretary. He is reaching out, JP."

"I wish he'd leave me alone. Why did he not call himself?"

Lulu thought briefly then said, "For most likely the same reason you could not return his calls."

"You do not know the story. If . . ."

"I need not know," she interrupted. With both hands, held his hand across the table. "All I need to know is someone is desperately reaching out."

"I don't want to talk to him," JP said, controlling his emotion.

"But he wants to talk to you."

"I shouldn't have opened the subject."

"Face your problem, JP. Face it before it destroys you and affects the lives of the people who care for you. You will lose nothing if you do. Listen to him, think it over, and then decide. You have everything to gain and only your senseless pride and, worse still, yourself to lose. I think it's time for us to go home. Can we?"

JP, with so much in his mind, nodded.

As they walked out of the mall, the Mexican woman with her two children approached them. "Happy see you," the woman said in a heavy Mexican accent. "Mi son, no see dinero---no money on floor. Money--- not ours. Me know you say--- money not yours."

With a wide smile, Lulu pointed up with her pointing finger and said, "Cielo . . . heaven."

"Ah, si heaven," as the Mexican woman pointed up, too. "Si, heaven. Muchas gracias ( _many thanks_ )."

Lulu kissed the little girl wearing a new jacket, and the boy held a box with a car printed on its side. They parted ways beading each other, 'Via con Dios (Go with God).'

"What was that all about?" JP asked as the family walked back to the mall.

"When you walked to the far end of the mall, I saw the woman unknowingly drop something. It turned out to be folded money and gave it to her."

"And she said it wasn't hers?"

"Yes," Lulu replied. "I told her it wasn't mine and left her at that."

"But the boy told the truth. There was no money on the floor," JP said in an interrogating manner.

Lulu looked at him for a second then pointed upward as she beamed girlishly.

"Ah, yes. It fell from Heaven," he said, grinning.

The small incident completely erased the gloom that hovered between the two when they left the ice cream parlor.

The drive from the mall to Juaning's house was not far. JP parked the car at the front of Juaning's house and walked Lulu to the front door.

Lulu said, "I had a wonderful time."

"In spite of how it ended at the parlor?"

"In spite of it. I hope you had a wonderful time yourself."

"I really did and learned a lot of things. I hope you are not disappointed."

"Disappointed? Not at all. I just thought you'd be better off if you were alone."

"You are right. I have a lot of thinking to do. About myself, what Auntie Juaning said . . . and what you said."

"I'm glad."

Sounding concerned, he said, "I hope you will not breathe a word as to who my father is."

"You need not ask but, since you did, you have my word, not a word from my mouth. Goodnight, JP, and thank you for a very wonderful day. Po-ogi si bobi."

"Po-ogi si bobi? I heard you say that before. Arabic?"

"No. It's an archaic language. Its meaning depends on the circumstance when said. For now, it means, 'God loves you.'"

"Oh, Po-ogi si bobi Lulu."

With no malice, she kissed him on the cheek, then went in the house.
SLEEPER IN THE MIDST

"Can I have the Sunday newspaper, please?" JP said to Marijack, who was sorting the weekend mails behind the reception desk.

"Sonny can't make it to work today," she said as she got the newspaper from the pile of mails and held on to the newspaper. "Remember, Sonny's only child?"

"Little Rosita. Adorable kid."

"She's gravely ill. They brought her to the hospital last Saturday. The doctors said it is a rare intestinal virus with no known cure. She may not see the week's end," she sadly said.

"Where did she get it?" he asked as he looked at Marijack, disturbed.

"Most likely from a rural town in Jamaica where she vacationed with her Mom."

"I remember Sonny mentioned his wife with daughter having a vacation but that's nearly a month ago!"

"The doctor said the virus has a long incubation period. Is Lulu a pharmacist or something?" she inquisitively asked.

"Not that I know. What made you asked?"

"When Mom told her of Rosita's illness, she went with us to visit her. Anyway, she spent more time with Rosita's pathologist; had me drive her to herbal stores and a pharmacy; she brewed a tonic at home and got Little Rosita to drink it when we went back to the hospital. I pray it works."

"I hope it does." JP wanted to pursue the subject, but something was bothering him. "Can I have the newspaper?" his hand extended.

Marijack, still behind the reception counter, held on to the newspaper over her chest and said, "She's one in a zillion. Make a good wife. An Angel, isn't she?"

"She sure is. Can I now have the newspaper?" JP said, smiling, his hand still extended.

Marijack still held on to the newspaper on her chest, and said, "The man who gets her will be incredibly lucky. What do you think?"

"I somehow guessed where this conversation would lead."

"You know what Sonny would probably advise you?"

"What would Sonny advise me?" JP asked, entertained, and grinning.

"Rape her, the first chance you get."

JP laughed. "Knowing Sonny, he probably would. Can I now have the newspaper?"

Marijack handed the newspaper but did not let go. "I always dreamed of being a flower girl."

JP smiled and finally got the newspaper. He took a few steps toward his office and stopped. He usually read the front-page headlines first but, this time, he leafed directly to the International Section on something he saw on TV news that aired Germany's Interpol raiding AFC International, a company in West Berlin. The Russians were using the firm as a front to conduct industrial espionage all over the world. What aroused JP's curiosity was one of the men herded and identified, as the spy ring's leader, was someone he knew, Samuel Lutz. He and Greg had a business meeting with Samuel Lutz over lunch in the early months of the company. If he remembered right, they shipped printers to the firm around that time. Holding on to the newspaper, he went to Lulu's office.

Lulu's office, like Greg's, was extremely organized. Everything was where it should be. After the pleasantries, JP said, "I pray your brew for Rosita works."

"It will," Lulu, seated behind her desk, confidently replied. "I won't be surprised where you got your information . . . no secrets from Marijack."

JP smiled. He noticed how confident Lulu was on the tonic doing its job. Somehow, he felt relieved. "You cease to amaze me. Where did you learn how to make the concoction?"

Rosita's ailment was entering the last stage when the virus would migrate to her liver. At that point, Rosita's life would be sealed. Lulu knew she had to act fast and took a risk with a hope she could fend off inquiries that might reveal her extraordinary abilities. "Firsthand experience," she answered casually.

"As a pathologist, a pharmacist, or both?"

"Being inquisitive by nature," she reasoned. A reason she thought of before she decided to risk treating Rosita. "Rosita is lucky I witnessed Ata natives living deep in the Philippines jungle make it out of a tree root and leaves to remedy stomach problems. At that time, I was so curious as to how it worked, as it did wonders on my upset stomach, that I researched it. That's how."

"You seem so sure it will work. Strangely, I believe you."

She did convey it with confidence. She knew what ailed Rosita---she read the pathological and biochemistry reports to include magnified pictures of the isolated virus. With the information, she activated a minute computer embedded in her left hand's palm. Squeezing it would gain access to Duria's Bank of Knowledge. "I strongly believe in the power of positive thinking," she answered. "I have to be positive in everything I do. How else can you do it?"

"Guess you're right. It will work, it will work," JP repeated with enthusiasm.

"That's it. Deep inside and between us, I pray it will work as it did wonders for the natives who used it." Shifting the subject said, "What brings you to my office this early in the morning?"

"Need you to find something in the computer."

Lulu turned her swivel chair and faced the computer by the side of her desk. "What do you want?" she asked with her hand on the keyboard; her posture ready to punch keys.

JP laid and flipped the newspaper pages on Lulu's desk until he got to the international section. As he did, Lulu caught a partial glimpse of the headline on the Science and Technology section a page before and became apprehensive but carried on.

"Can you open the client list file? The name is Samuel Lutz. L-u-t-z," JP spelled it out.

Lulu navigated through layers of computer screens, keyed in the name, and pressed 'Enter.' "None listed," she sounded out, perplexed.

"Try the company name AFC International, Inc."

Lulu keyed the company name, then said, "That's strange."

"Why?"

"I could swear it was there before and so with the name Samuel Lutz. Let me check something." She keyed in more keys and saw more screens. She viewed the computer entry log and said, "Someone updated the file early this morning. 4:34 a.m., to be exact. This 'someone' knew what he was doing. He even changed the backups but forgot the log file."

JP thought, _'Lulu was not the type who forgets things, and only Lulu, Greg and I know how to access and manipulate computer backups and log files.'_ He went to the filing cabinet behind Lulu's desk and began to search the old shipping invoices leaving the newspaper on top of Lulu's desk.

Lulu turned the newspaper a page back; read the headline printed on the Science and Technology section, then softly gasped, "Oh, no!" Her hands covered her mouth as she hurriedly left the room.

JP heard a muffled sound and caught a glimpse of Lulu leave the room. He saw her flip a page and went over to Lulu's desk out of curiosity to see what she read. The headline on the Science and Technology section read: 'Congress Cuts Funding to NARLAB's Superconducting Super Magnetic Collider Project.' He scanned other article headings on the page and found nothing to upset anyone. He went back to the filing cabinet and meticulously went through archived shipping receipts. He found no file on AFC during the early month of the company's operation to his surprise but noticed a small remnant of a torn-out page where it should have been. _'Does Greg know George Rosenthal is my father?'_ The question crossed his mind. He returned the file and said to himself, _'If Greg is using me, I will use him. With business being where it's at, it is not the time to confront. Besides, Greg could not get anything from me. There are no ties between my father and me.'_ He decided not to pursue the issue and just pretend 'business as usual.'

Have to Act

Lulu was sobbing inside the Lady's room. The Superconducting-Super-Magnetic Collider Project was the last hope of her parents and the thousands stranded in space. She had managed to forget her plan to save them and force herself to abide by her parents' wishes. However, she realized it now meant sure death for her parents and those in space if the completion was indefinitely delayed. She could no longer pretend. She had to try.

Lulu read from the newspaper that the reason they cut the project's funding was for no apparent and immediate economic value. With eleven billion dollars earmarked for the project and the public's perception of it being built to satisfy the curiosity of a few in the scientific community plus the poor state of the economy, the pressure to save money was there. She also read from the same article that a Nuclear Scientific Symposium will be held at the Los Angeles Convention Center on Friday of that week. NARLAB Director, Charles Cutler, the Nuclear Science Adviser to the U.S. President, was a guest speaker in that event. She decided to implement the plan she conceived while she was at the pyramid ship.

Lulu planned was to leak the technology to produce a liquid hybrid of a hydrogen atom---a safe and clean means of generating power. Ten pounds of it would fly a 747 Boeing aircraft fifteen times around the world and would cost twenty times less to produce a barrel of aviation fuel---the raw material to produce hybrid hydrogen was water! However, it needed a catalyst to bind hydrogen atoms together. For that, they needed the super-collider. The same machine, when modified, would produce the pyramid ship's fuel! Handing the technology to produce hybrid hydrogen would easily justify funding the super-collider project. But it was a double-bladed sword---hybrid hydrogen could be used to make a compact atomic bomb with no radioactive consequence! A pound of it would wipe out New York City and its suburbs from the map.

The prospect of hybrid hydrogen used for war was strong. The cold war between USSR and USA had reached a point that a thermonuclear war was a possibility. Though the leaders of both countries knew that whosoever made the first nuclear strike would win the war but they also knew that there would be no real winner in the end. The aftermath, global radioactive fallout and greenhouse effect, deterred war and maintained the fragile peace between Superpowers. If it were not for the 'Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD)' scenario, Third World War might have started long ago. However, a clean bomb may trigger it. A massive preempted strike would assure a winner, and that was what Amo Obib feared. He did not want to gamble lest the Hiroshima and Nagasaki incidents repeated itself.

Lulu thought of the consequences: _'Who am I to predict war? It can go the other way, spawn peace,'_ she argued to herself. She was resolved and said to herself, ' _Forgive me, Papa. I must try. Dear God, please help me.'_

That evening, Lulu came home with an assortment of computer hardware and assembled a computer in her room. Juaning, who helped bring the lighter stuff, was delighted to see it work. Lulu gave Juaning a brief demonstration and explained the importance of being computer literate.

"Those things are beyond me," Juaning confessed, not understanding what Lulu explained, nor did she care. "I'll leave you with it. It's time for my bed."

"Goodnight, Mom," she said and gave her a goodnight kiss on her cheek.

Soon after Juaning left, Lulu took the pyramid crystal from her suitcase and set it by the PC's keyboard side. "Goopersh," she said.

The crystal slightly glowed, "Awaiting command," responded Goopersh.

"Scan my PC for hardware upgrades and update its operating system to allow you to export my files to my PC."

Lulu's PC glowed, and its hard drive light flickered.

A few seconds later, Goopersh said, "Your PC's operating system is configured. Parts and schematic diagrams for PC upgrade were downloaded."

"Goopersh, how much power do you have left?"

"12.2 years in hibernation state; eighteen minutes if the ship is fully operated."

"Download my file this time tomorrow. Goodnight, Goopersh."

The Russian Alpha Project

Dr. Andros Petrosky, head of the Communication Research, and his assistant Peter Nasburg were working on a low priority but top-secret Alpha Wave Project. The project was to research on wireless communication outside of radio wave for military purposes. Short of funding, the laboratory resembled a second-hand electronic shop with electronic equipment that were mostly outdated and some out of order. Most of their electronic spare parts on the shelf came from cannibalized electronic equipment.

Two months earlier, as Dr. Petrosky and Peter tested their Alpha Wave Receiver, they stumbled on a weak alpha wave signal that emanated from outer space. They focused on amplifying the signal, and two weeks ago, it came out clear and distinct. It repeated, at five-second intervals, a short message, 'Po-ogi si bobi.' After a week of scanning different frequencies, they discovered another signal that came from a different direction. What puzzled and intrigued them was both signals transmitted the same message, 'Po-ogi si bobi.' Since both signals were received at one spot, their laboratory, they needed to bring their alpha wave receiver to a distant location to triangulate the signal's precise location. For that, they needed a plane.

Dr. Petrosky knew to requisition a plane through normal channels was out of the question. The processing time would take weeks and most likely be denied. He decided to circumvent the system and called by phone General Igor Kievsky, a high-ranking KGB officer-in-charge of all military research programs. He knew the general was ambitious and had both the political and military influence to help him.

Over the telephone, Dr. Petrosky briefed General Kievsky on the Alpha Wave's breakthrough without mentioning the intercepted signals. The general, realizing its military potentials, was excited. A wireless communication system exclusively theirs; impervious to radio jamming; atmospheric interference; and it eliminated the use of decoders in high-level communication in pre-and-wartime events. That was something the military establishments wanted. Briefed, the general approved Dr. Petrosky's request for a plane but asked out of curiosity, "Why will you need a plane?"

"In the course of our research, we intercepted communication signals. I think it's a . . ."

"Damn . . ." the general burst. "The Americans are ahead again."

"That is what we aim to find out," Dr. Petrosky wisely replied. He knew he said nothing to involve the Americans. He played along knowing he had a better chance to get what he wanted if the Americans were involved in the equation.

Giving it a thought, the general continued, "Nevertheless, it will not matter. If Americans have it and not know we do, we can eavesdrop on them. As for the plane, I'll get someone to call you. Just tell them what you need and how soon. Keep this a secret and communicate only with me."

"Only to you," Dr. Petrosky acknowledged and hung up the telephone.

An hour later, Peter barged in Dr. Petrosky's office, extremely excited. "Come, I want you to listen to a taped conversation. I got the recorder to record midway."

"Over the alpha wave?" Dr. Petrosky exclaimed with disbelief as he followed Peter back to the lab in haste.

"Yes. We are not alone in this technology and, likely, behind," Peter said as they hurriedly walked.

When they got to the laboratory, Peter got the tape recorder to play: _'. . . downloaded. . . Goopersh, how much power do you have left? . . . 12.2 years in hibernation state; eighteen minutes if the ship is fully operated . . . Download my file this time tomorrow. Goodnight, Goopersh.'_

Both understood English, more so, Dr. Petrosky, who asked, "What was said before that?"

"She, from the sound of the voice, said something about downloading a file on her PC."

"What kind?"

"The word sounded like 'magic diagram.'"

"Schematic diagram?"

"That sounds like it. The transmission is not military. The 'goodnight' was a giveaway. From the sound of its metallic voice, it would seem Goopersh is a thinking computer," Peter concluded.

"I agree. That technology is way out of our time. Only Aliens can have this kind of technology!" Dr. Petrosky deduced, "I think we have a woman talking to Goopersh, a thinking computer, in an Alien ship, and have but 12.2 years if they hibernated and eighteen minutes if the ship is operated. The Aliens are running out of fuel and time!" he concluded.

"And the woman is trying to help," Peter added.

"Where did this signal come from?"

Peter copied the signal coordinates displayed on the computer screen then placed a dot of the coordinates on a large world map framed on the wall. With a marking pen and a long metal ruler, he drew a line connecting Moscow to the dot then extended it to the map's edge. The line crossed Russia, Asia, the Pacific Ocean, and the States of California, USA. Looking closely at where the line crossed California, Peter said, "My best guess is Los Angeles, California."

"What time was the transmission?" Dr. Petrosky asked.

"I ran to you soon after the signal was terminated."

Dr. Petrosky looked at his wristwatch. "Transmission will be around 11:43 a.m. tomorrow. That will give us time to triangulate the signal's location. Let's hope the woman transmits. Otherwise, we won't get a fix on her location."

"Should we call General Kievsky?"

"I'll do that after we get the signal location. Meanwhile, hook up a recorder to run continuously. We will . . ."

A secretary called out from the doorway, "Sorry to interrupt. Dr. Petrosky, you have an urgent call from Air Force Commander Lieyech on line 3."

"Thank you," he said and picked up the phone.
TUESDAY

Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Langley, Virginia

Director Douglas Green, head of the Industrial Espionage Section of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), walked faster than usual for his office. Five feet four inches tall, he may not look the part but was well respected in the bureau - cool and decisive. Before he reached his office, FBI Special Agent Mark Triska approached him. "I was instructed to see you, Sir," Mark said as he adjusted to Green's gait. He used to work directly under Director Green until he applied and got hired as Special Agent for the FBI. The required international travels, often lasting for months, created a conflict with his family life and prompted him to change his job.

"Right. Follow me," Green laconically said without losing his stride. "How is work with the federal bureau?"

"No different, except it's domestic."

"I understand. International assignments may look appealing but not to a family man."

A stock of folders was on one side of Director Green's over-sized desk in his office. He flipped through folders then handed Dr. Tom Stubbs' dossier to Mark. "This is a CIA-FBI joint venture. I got your boss's OK to help me as I am shorthanded on this top-secret mission, and your familiarity with CIA operation comes in handy.

"The Soviets are low on funds to finance their research and development programs. They rely on spies to get the technology through industrial espionage. We intend to put an end to that and publicly shame the Soviet Republic. I am assigning you to Dr. Stubbs with FBI Agent Edward Lindley as your counterpart stationed at Los Angeles. We have enough evidence to put Stubbs in prison, but we want to get his contacts. Dr. Stubbs is part of the NARLAB core group, a nuclear research facility. He has access to all classified information on all nuclear research programs. NARLAB Internal Security had suspected him for some time, and we are working with them. We allowed him to make copies of less sensitive confidential files in a flash drive. He will be bringing the flash drive to the Nuclear Physics Convention held in Los Angeles tomorrow. I'm counting on you to keep an eye on Stubbs and make certain you bring back the flash drive after you arrest him."

"When do we close in?"

"Friday at 11 p.m., Los Angeles time. Got me?"

"Yes, sir. This coming Friday, exactly 11 p.m., Los Angeles time," Mark repeated.

"Don't break your cover until that time as fourteen other teams in the country plus seven from Interpol in Europe and two in Asia are involved. This will be the biggest espionage round-up in history. One clean sweep should send a clear message to the Soviets. Unfortunately, something went amiss, and we must do the round-up a month ahead of schedule. That's the reason I borrowed you. I'm shorthanded."

"You're referring to the Berlin bust."

"Right . . . Damn!" Director Green said in frustration. "Seven years of work may be in jeopardy because of one minor incident. I need you to . . ."

Los Angeles, California, 9:40 p.m.

Lulu modified three computer motherboards wired in tandem. She turned her computer on and waited for Goopersh's transmission an hour ahead of schedule.

At the expected time, the pyramid crystal glowed, and the computer's hard drive indicator light flickered rapidly. A minute later, the light blue glow disappeared, and the transmission ended.

On her computer monitor, she reviewed the design she made to upgrade NARLAB's Superconducting Super-Magnetic Collider's capacity. She printed the manual from her printer and downloaded the schematic diagrams on a flash drive to have the blueprints printed at a print shop the following day.

Over the Pacific Ocean

At the same time Goopersh was downloading data to Lulu's computer, 216 miles northeast of Japan, and over international waters, a lone Soviet military cargo plane was in the air. In the plane with Dr. Petrosky and Peter were two computer language experts and a team of commandos who brought with them parachute bags and rubber dinghies.

As expected, the transmission came at 11:42 a.m. Moscow time. The computer programmers intently studied the first 15 seconds of transmission---a continuous combination of squeak and shrill sounds. The lead programmer said, "Not binary but definitely programmed and very sophisticated."

"Can you interpret it?" Dr. Petrosky asked.

"Not much to go on . . . no."

Peter, on a computer terminal, called Dr. Petrosky's attention, "I have the Goopersh's location coordinates," he said.

"That will be all," Dr. Petrosky said to the computer programmers then addressed Peter, "Get the satellite to focus on Goopersh's location first."

"Our global satellite is focusing on the coordinates now."

Intently, the two watched the monitor as the satellite zoomed its camera to a large area that showed nothing but the ocean.

"Must be submerged. A submarine?" Dr. Petrosky commented.

Peter stayed silent as he got the satellite to go on full magnification. "The resolution won't be good, but we'd know if there is anything on the surface of the ocean." Seeing something on the screen said, "It's a small island among many! It's two to three times the size of a football field."

"Can we peer through?"

"We don't have the capability."

"Tell the pilot to head for the island."

"I already did."

"Good."

The plane headed north-east for Goopersh's location. Since Lulu merely received the transmission, they could not triangulate her location, but they were certain it came from the Los Angeles metropolitan area. The second signal triangulated came from Cairo, Egypt, at the center of Khufu's pyramid at Giza Plateau, and the third, in outer space within the Milky Way Galaxy.

As the cargo plane neared Goopersh's location at the Bering Strait, US military jet interceptors were in the vicinity and within US territorial airspace. Since the cargo plane was well within International Waters, the pilot paid no attention to the US jet fighters as the pilot flew his cargo plane in international airspace and parallel to the US border.

Near the triangulated signal were several small basalt islands jutted the ocean floor. Peter isolated the basalt island from the many in the area. To his dismay, Goopersh's location was clearly a mile within US Territory! With the US planes in seeing distance, they could not drop the commando unit without arousing suspicion. The plane continued to fly north parallel to the US border for twenty minutes, then veered left and headed for Moscow. The US jet fighters continued their regular air patrol soon after.

After Dr. Petrosky reported to General Kievsky, the general ordered an Alpha Wave receiver be installed in Siberia and manned twenty-four hours. It was vitally important they get a fix on the woman, or anyone, transmitting on alpha wave.
WEDNESDAY

Lulu came in early for work and was surprised to see Sonny leaning on his old Dodge Colt sedan at the parking lot. It was unlike Sonny to come to work that early in the morning, 7 a.m. He usually came at the last minute, if not late, at eight. Sonny approached Lulu as she left her car. They greeted each other and spoke in Spanish.

Sonny said, "I had no chance to thank you. There were many visitors in Rosita's room."

"But you did. So, don't worry." Nevertheless, Lulu sensed that was not the reason why Sonny waited for her. She recalled soon after Rosita drank her potion, her severe stomach cramps dissipated. She fell asleep in minutes, something Rosita never had since her ailment struck two days earlier. What Lulu concocted was a combination of analgesic for the pain, a sleeping ingredient, and a chemical extracted from a tree root that was lethal to the intestinal virus but not to its host. That specific chemical was something the medical field had yet to discover for this rare viral infection. Thus, the doctors rendered Rosita's ailment as incurable.

What made Lulu apprehensive was, much later, after Rosita slept, Sonny's elderly aunt came to seek Lulu's help for problems in swallowing. The aunt believed it was a spell cast on her. Lulu politely told her she could not do anything to help. There and then, realized she had placed herself in a predicament she did not foresee. She later learned that Sonny and his wife came from a rural area in Jamaica where faith healing, voodoo rituals, and witchcraft were prevalent. Sonny fervently believed Rosita's ailment was a spell cast on him and his family, Rosita, the first to suffer. Behind her apprehension, Lulu asked Sonny, "How is she?"

"The Pathologist said Rosita is clear of the virus. And the doctors said it is a miracle that she is alive. You broke the spell on Rosita. I fear someone cast the same spell on my wife and me . . . Please help."

"Sonny, please believe me, I know nothing about breaking spells. I'd do it if I could." Looking at Sonny's reaction, she realized Sonny did not grasp what she said. She realized no explanation could change Sonny's belief. He understood these things by how he grew up to understand them in rural Jamaica. In exasperation, she said, "Remember your promise?"

"I remember. Not tell anyone you heal, Rosita."

"Then, I'd like you to stick to that promise. Sonny, again, I am not a faith healer, though I did pray hard by Rosita's side. But that was a prayer to God to help her. You see, Sonny, if word spreads that I can heal people or cast out spells, I will never have a normal life. People, strangers, will knock at my door seeking help. The sad part is, I cannot help them. I am no faith healer but someone who witnessed natives from the Philippines heal children with stomach problems like Rosita's. Do you want to spoil my life, Sonny?"

"Oh, no. I never do that."

"Then, please stick to your promise. However, do believe that it was a miracle. It was an answer to our prayers. Surely, God was there to save her. Do you understand, Sonny?

"I understand."

"When will the hospital release her?"

"This afternoon. Leave now to get her. I'll be back this afternoon."

They parted with Lulu praying Sonny would stick to his promise.
THURSDAY

The day finally came to test Gilda with its new mechanism and program. Production temporarily stopped as employees gather around the test caged area. Greg, JP, Sonny, and Lulu were inside the R&D cage, anxious and excited for Gilda's trials based on military specifications. Except for Gilda's head, it was different from the old Gilda---no hinges but ball joints; no exposed pulleys and linkages but hidden gears within joints; no tractor wheels but legs! Everything went flawlessly. The simplified mechanism and new computer program did the specified tasks seamlessly thirty-one times faster than the Old Gilda could have done.

"Caramba! We did it!" shouted Sonny as the rest of the company employees clapped and cheered loudly outside the caged area.

Holding a stopwatch, Greg said to JP, "It's 8% short of the military speed requirement," and added, "The ball is in your hands, JP."

"Ball?" JP reacted, surprisingly.

"It's the program that's holding down the speed."

"Not the program, it's the computer chip's speed."

"Can we buy a faster chip?"

"We have the fastest in the market."

Sonny said to Lulu, "You give idea again."

Lulu merely grinned at Sonny.

Greg asked JP, "Can you tweak the program to get more juice out of it?"

"I doubt it. It's optimized."

Greg took a deep breath. "Seven days to go," he said. "Let's cross our fingers no other company comes close to our speed." Turning to Lulu, "You want something from Berlin?"

JP interrupted in surprise, "I didn't know you were going to Berlin."

"I didn't until an hour ago. Another possible big client, Partner," replied Greg then turned to Lulu, waiting for her reply.

Lulu answered with a smile, "Stories of you having a wonderful time."

Greg beamed at her then addressed JP, "Can we talk before I leave?"

"Sure," JP replied, and they left.

Greg, seated behind his desk, said to JP, seated across, "Don't forget to see our patent lawyer before the weekends. You need to do a sales presentation tomorrow at 9 a.m. . . ." Greg continued, then ended it with, "Got everything, Partner?" He was unusually serious in his manner.

"I think so. You sound as though you're not coming back, leaving me with all the information."

"Just in case I get held up in Berlin. Hey, Buddy, don't worry. I think you . . . we have a good chance of getting the military contract. Focus on it."

JP noticed Greg was somewhat edgy. He asked, "Is everything fine?"

"Everything's fine. It's my flight schedule. Got to leave before the plane leaves me," he said, then stood.

JP stood and met Greg halfway. He related Greg's behavior to the FBI and CIA's round-up of spies in the country. "Wish you a safe trip and all the luck, Brother." Somehow feeling it would be the last time he would see Greg,

From the way JP phrased his goodbye, Greg looked at JP thinking that JP may have information that he was a spy and leaving the country in a rush. He said, "Wishing you all the luck too, Pal." then they hugged harder than usual as they patted each other's back. Greg got his two small bags on the floor and left.

At 3 p.m., Lulu went to see JP and said, "Can I leave early and not come in tomorrow?"

"Sure. Anything I can help you with?"

"No. Need to do some errands this afternoon and meeting a very old friend on vacation downtown."

"I'm heading downtown tomorrow for a 9 a.m. meeting."

"Can I hitch a ride?" she asked.

"Pick you at eight?"

"I'll be waiting."

Lulu left work and headed for a graphic print shop then spent the rest of the day reviewing the printed schematic diagrams, blueprints, and manual.
JP AND HIS FATHER

At eight in the morning the following day, JP, in a business suit, drove to pick up Lulu. She was punctual, as always. She had a package wedged in her right arm, and a shoulder bag dangled from her left shoulder. He swooned at the sight of her walking fast to get her shoulder-length hair to swing side-to-side slightly. Her sweet smiling face seemed to glow under the early morning sun. He could only wish to freeze the moment or slow down time as he watched her come closer in her two-piece, dark-blue suit. _'What a sight to behold to greet the day,'_ JP thought. "You need not run," he told her as she entered the car.

"Was I running?" she asked, looking at him with her beautiful blue eyes as she sat as she slip the safety belt.

"You weren't walking for sure. Seems you are in a hurry . . . .and thinking of it, you always seem in a hurry."

"I am? I honestly never noticed that. Guess, I just hate to waste moments to idle time. So many things to see; so many, many things to do; so many things to thank God for."

"Amen to that," JP replied, feeling it as she did. "But could you imagine if everyone were like you, everyone would be in a rush all the time."

Lulu heartily laughed. "Wouldn't that be a sight!"

Their conversation was light, pleasant, and full of funny interjections. They enjoyed the drive, their being together. As they got closer to where JP would drop her off, he said, "Do you know the last time we were this alone was when we went to see a movie months ago."

"I know," she said in a sigh. "I wish we had more time together. I am really so happy."

JP wanted to pursue the subject, but they were at the hotel's unloading area. "We'll have more of this day soon after I set Gilda aside."

"Looking forward to it, JP," she said, beaming shyly. "See you tomorrow."

JP drove to the client's office located within the Rosenthal building. It was but a few blocks away.

\---------

"The units will be delivered as scheduled," were JP's parting words to their new client. JP closed a deal for 250 units of their latest high-speed printer. _'Not bad for a beginner,'_ he thought.

JP left the elevator at the ground level and saw the lobby that led to the Rosenthal Global Industries corporate offices. It occupied the last eight levels of the tallest downtown buildings. _'I'm here. I might as well see him and get it over with,'_ he uncomfortably said to himself. He walked over to the Rosenthal Global Industries reception booth, manned by three uniformed security men. They were busy assisting visitors, and the one fronting him was on the phone.

As JP waited, he took time to appreciate the huge mural that occupied the entire west wall. The Rosenthal Global Industries' name and logo impressively protruded from a black granite wall and shined in gold. The mural depicted warplanes, tanks, missiles, communication satellites, space rockets, research laboratories, and other industry symbols the Rosenthal Global Industries were engaged in. Rosenthal's companies were so diversified it operated on all major countries in the world. On the left side of the mural were the company names of its subsidiaries---big and popular corporate names by themselves. Embedded on another wall was a large clock with gold hands and Roman numeral numbers. Underneath, in bold letters, was the golden inscription: 'TIME IS GOLD.'

Most thought George Rosenthal tightly controlled all the companies. ' _It must be an exaggeration_ ,' JP thought. There were too many companies for one man to oversee. But to the Rosenthal Global Industries' top executives, it was a daily reality. Nevertheless, JP thought his father's achievements were impressive.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" the security man asked as he hung up the phone.

"I'd like to see George Rosenthal?" JP replied.

"Have an appointment?"

"No."

The man took the desk phone and said as he dialed, "Your name and purpose, please."

"John Paul Fernandez . . . personal."

"Hi, Liz, Marvin, at the security desk. There is a John Paul Fernandez here who wishes to see Mr. Rosenthal . . . John Paul Fernandez . . . Yes." The man held the phone and waited. "John Paul Fernandez," the man said again over the phone. "Yes, he is here at the lobby." The man noticed JP being uneasy. He covered the telephone's mouthpiece, "Mr. Rosenthal has an army of secretaries," he explained.

"Forget it. I will make an appointment next time."

With his free hand, the man gestured JP to hold and said over the phone, "Yes, Ma'am," then hung up. "Miss Katherine Davis, George Rosenthal's Personal Secretary, is coming down. You must be a big man for her to do that and without an appointment," he commented as he handed a pen and turned the logbook for JP to fill.

JP filled the visitor's logbook, but when he got to the 'reason' column, he hesitated. He returned the pen to the man and said, "I'll just come back some other time."

"Sir," the man said, "You might get me in trouble."

"Why?" JP asked curiously.

"Miss Davis said she's coming down. Hate to disappoint her. It won't take long, Sir, please," the man somehow pleaded.

JP wished he had not come. He was not even sure if he wanted to see his father, but he did not want to see Miss Davis.

The man handed over a visitor's badge. "What should I write for 'reason' sir?" he asked, ready to complete the logbook entry.

"Business," JP briskly replied as he took and clipped the visitor's badge on his suite's pocket. He went over to the nearby lobby sofa, sat, and waited.

JP recalled the first and last time he saw Miss Davis. It was almost twenty years ago. He was nine years old, two years after his mother's death. She came to the house with documents and JP let her in. Before she could talk, Juaning entered the living room, and things turned nasty. He remembered Juaning grabbing the papers from Miss Davis' hand and tore them to pieces as she called Miss Davis offensive names. All that time, Miss Davis sobbed as Juaning hounded her out the door, to the sidewalk, and to a waiting limousine.

JP had not recalled the incident until now and remembered what Auntie Juaning said when Miss Davis left: _'That's the bitch your father slept with that got your mother to kill herself.'_

"JP," Miss Davis said cordially with her right hand extended.

JP was startled. He stood and shook Miss Davis' hand instinctively. She was well-dressed in a woman's business suit and carried herself well. For a woman in her early fifties, she was good looking on both face and body.

"How are you, John Paul?" she asked congenially, with a warm smile.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Miss Davis felt the coldness in JP's voice. She became formal, "Your father will be so glad to see you. Please follow me."

JP stayed quiet as he followed her to a special elevator.

"Had you told us beforehand that you were coming, we would have prepared for it," Miss Davis said, hoping a typical conversation would ensue.

JP wanted to respond but could not. He just walked alongside her toward a special elevator. Out of nowhere or was it because of Miss Davis' voice, JP recalled talking to her over the phone before his mother's death but not after. She would normally speak to him first and remembered a pleasant conversation before she transferred the call to his father. JP thought it odd to remember it now and so clearly.

They entered a special elevator, and Miss Davis pressed the floor button.

JP noticed there were only eight buttons to press---the top eight floors of the building. Being the tallest building in the State of California, he was impressed.

JP stayed silent. So, did Miss Davis.

As the elevator neared the top floors, Miss Davis said, "Do you mind pressing the stop button?" She sounded different.

JP pushed the stop button, and the elevator gently stopped. He saw Miss Davis fumbling for something in her suit's pocket. "Are you alright?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, "I am terribly sorry. Do you have a handkerchief I can borrow?" she asked politely.

JP hastily got his handkerchief and handed it to her.

"JP," Miss Davis said as she dubbed her eyes carefully with the handkerchief, "I don't know if you still remember the incident the first and last time you saw me."

"I do," he replied in a normal voice.

"Please believe me, --- none of what your Aunt said was true. I don't know where your Aunt got the idea. There was never a relationship between your father and me. That is the truth."

JP did not react.

"I will be frank knowing what you heard and what your Aunt may have said of me. I loved your father even before your mother's death. I would have done anything for him . . . even be his mistress. Being his personal secretary, I often went with him on business trips and stayed in the same hotel. On some occasions, we had breakfast, lunch, and even dinner. Yet, in all those times, he was a gentleman . . . like a father. Our relationship always stayed on a cordial and professional basis, even to this day.

"People around him think he's cold and ruthless. I cannot blame them. Your father is an extreme example of a workaholic---all business. But once you get to know him, as I have, he is a gentle and caring man.

"I am the only person outside your family who knows that Mr. Rosenthal is your father. On the few occasions that we talked about your mother; he spoke highly of her. So proud of the sacrifices she went through for him. After her death, I never heard him utter your mother's name again. He changed. Outside of business, he became isolated. Alone, yet always surrounded by people." She paused as she dubbed the tears from her eyes with the handkerchief again then continued, "You will find this strange, but your father remained devoted to your mother even to this day. But you must understand him to understand what I have just said.

"Your father, JP, is a very lonely man. He needs you badly," she paused and took a deep breath, "For what's it worth, he loves you. You can push the start button." She returned JP's handkerchief and straightened herself.

JP pressed the elevator's button.

JP did not know what to say or think. Many questions were going through his mind. If he took the sketchy picture Juaning painted of Miss Davis, Miss Davis just told a big lie and was good at it, too.

At the topmost floor, Miss Davis led JP to George Rosenthal's office. "Mr. Rosenthal will be with you shortly. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable," she was cordially professional. She walked away and closed the door behind her.

Behind Miss Davis's cool pretense, JP could tell she was hurting inside.

JP found himself alone seated on a leathered sofa in a living room setting within Rosenthal's spacious office. He somehow found it hard to believe that a mere office could be so opulent. In addition to the large and impressive executive marble desk, the room had a modern living room set within, impressive paintings on the walls, a bar, a large rectangular conference table on one side, widescreen TV sets strategically located. A huge tinted glass wall on one side had a panoramic view of west Los Angeles downtown buildings, and the Pacific Ocean twelve miles away.

Rosenthal believed an executive's office must project an aura of power to the one seated behind the desk. As such, he had a scaled-down replica of the mural at the lobby that stood twelve feet high directly behind his desk. Fronting the mural was Rosenthal's oversized Italian granite desk with the same kind of color as the mural behind. His leathered chair was heavily padded. The mural, the granite desk, leathered chair, and spaciousness of the room altogether created a distinctive impression of the awesome power to the man seated on the chair---a throne to impress high-profile guests.

Before JP could make himself comfortable, he felt the urge to use the toilet. This usually happens when he gets tense, and he was very tense. He remembered seeing the men's restroom in the hallway outside. He decided to use it. On his way through the reception room and seeing the secretary looking at him said as he passed, "I'll just use the restroom."

"There's one in . . ." the secretary stopped as JP walked past her and out of the room.

Before JP entered the Men's Room, he got a glimpse of the secretary's head peering out of the office door.

JP was in the toilet cubicle when the toilet main door swung open and sounds of footsteps reverberated within. "You're lucky the Old Man has mellowed. He would have beaten the shit out of you," the first man said.

"Hey, look, I know nothing about chemicals and fertilizers. Rosenthal knows that. I don't know why he is heading in that direction. My expertise lies in military hardware," the person responded.

"Stop whining. You're being paid big bucks for doing what you're doing," another said.

The first man said, "Two years in a row, the competition beat us when we could have beaten them hands down."

"I don't think the Old Man's heart is where it used to be. If you noticed, we are heading for non-defense related business and losing money," the second man commented.

"If I were you, I'd start reading on homes and gardens instead of warplanes and missiles," the third man advised.

"I hope he assigns me to work on the Robotics Division. At least that is technical. It has no division head . . .. better than gardens," the second man complained.

"In all my years with the company, I have never witnessed his meetings interrupted. The Old Man doesn't go for that. Noticed he turned pale when Katie spoke to him," the first man commented.

"I did. I wonder what Katie said," the second replied.

"Stop wondering," the third man interjected. "We got ourselves a temporary reprieve. I'd advise we start reorganizing our reports now that we know where the Old Man is heading."

"You are right. But before that, let's have an early lunch while we can still eat," the second man said as they left the room together.

JP heard everything. He headed back to Rosenthal's office, where a receptionist led him back to Rosenthal's office.

Rosenthal was in his office, standing close to the door to welcome JP. As soon as the receptionist brought JP in, Rosenthal pleasantly said, "John Paul, welcome. I'm so glad to see you." His arms were wide open. Since JP extended his hand, they shook hands. "How are you?" he asked, his tone of voice changed but still cordial and acted a bit formal this time.

"I'm fine, thank you," JP politely replied. He knew his father was physically a big man, but he was bigger than he thought and an epitome of a successful entrepreneur in the manner he dressed, talked, and walked.

Rosenthal led JP to his desk, somewhat unsure of what to do. He decided the sofa was better and led JP to the living room set within the room. There was a pause after they sat. In that moment, Rosenthal glanced at JP. He saw JP still and not looking at him. Rosenthal took a breath of sigh then started, "It is hard to act casual when there are things bothering you. I will be straight-forward, John Paul. I offer no explanations or excuses. I have none to give. I will tell you my life, where I came from, my relationship with your mother, knowing well it will not erase my guilt. My only hope is your contempt would lessen if you knew what had happened and maybe, why. What do you know about me?" he asked squarely.

"Nothing. Nothing outside of abandoning the family and causing my mother to kill herself," JP was blunt, cold. He wanted to leave, but he remembered Lulu's advice. "I do not think you can make me understand," he added, emotionless.

"I will try and appreciate your giving me the opportunity," Rosenthal replied then stayed silent for a moment. He continued with a sad tone in his voice, "I never knew who my parents were and lived from one foster home to another with foster parents who did not care that as a young boy, I wondered what Christmas was all about or what love was . . . Strangely, I feel no different now.

"It hurts to remember how I grew up as a kid, especially at my last foster home. Of the abuses, I went through; of having to learn to take beatings by clenching my teeth until the gums bled, for if I made a sound, it made things worst. I still have the scars. One day, my foster father came home drunk and, as usual, beat me for no apparent reason. I waited for him to sleep then clobbered him with a baseball bat until I thought he was dead. That ended up in my spending my teenage life in a correctional institution for minors, as I was barely fifteen of age. Life there was not pleasant either, but I had food, a bed, and a blanket. At that time, those were the only thing that mattered.

"Being among the youngest in the compound, I had to fight to earn respect and be left alone. Months later, I realized prison was no place for me. I made a resolution to make something out of my life---be somebody. I spent my remaining time educating myself on anything I thought worth learning and became a bookworm on technology, business, and management.

"I left the correctional institution when I turned nineteen with an overwhelming thirst to succeed. Everything went well for three years. I worked as an assembler, then as production supervisor and, finally, a sales manager. One day I saw a man smack a boy hard behind the head. Something in me snapped. I beat the man almost to death and took his wallet with intentions of giving the money to the boy. I got caught-red-handed by a cop. I ended up in prison for assault and robbery.

"After serving three years, on good behavior, I left prison with only $1,280 in my pocket. Not much for a man with big dreams. I held menial jobs while looking for work on something I knew I was good at, production, marketing, and sales. Work is hard to get if you are a convicted felon. I worked two jobs until I got sick. It was at that time that I got to know your mother," he paused then continued, "Your mother . . ." he stopped. He moved both of his hands closer that all his fingertips touched. He stared at his hands as he reflected.

JP glanced at his father. He sensed he was looking back to a painful past and struggling to find words to express what he buried deep in his mind.

"Your mother," Rosenthal repeated, "was a sweet and caring woman. All I have, started from her." He said it slowly with reverence then stayed silent again. "We got to know each other because of our job. I was a part-time dishwasher and janitor for a hospital in New Jersey, where she worked as a surgical nurse. On a few occasions, we chatted during our breaks. It was always a pleasant chat, and we laugh most often.

"One very cold evening, past two in the morning, we left the hospital at the same time, by coincidence. Not knowing where to go, as I had no place to stay, I walked your mother home. It was a good four long blocks from the hospital, and the subway a block farther, where I intended to spend the evening. When we got near her apartment, I started to shiver. I remembered her taking her small coat and wrapping me with it. Soon, she shivered herself. The next thing I remembered; I was in her apartment. She nursed me for a day.

"When I got well, knowing I did not have a place to stay, she offered to share her apartment until I got something going. It later ended with my sharing the rent, utilities, and food bills.

"We hardly saw each other with the odd working hours we had. On the occasions that we did, we were happy just being together.

"After, maybe, six months, we decided to go on a day vacation and escape everything. We headed for the beach. There I told her of my dream of going into business in a market that had good potential, supporting Uncle Sam in its war programs.

"Your mother entrusted me with her savings. Money saved to buy a house with a garden. She loaned it to me with no conditions, so I could make my dream a reality." He paused, and, in a hollow voice, repeated, "My dreams."

"I moved to Chicago, where the opportunities were. She remained in New Jersey, working alone to support my business ventures and me. She scrounged and even got a bank loan so I could wear presentable business suits and go to flashy restaurants to do business.

"For nearly two years she sacrificed for me, until I finally got myself a good deal and, from there, the business grew. I got her to move to a bigger apartment then bought her a modest house with a yard for her dream garden.

"In those two years, I did not see her though I communicated on all special occasions by phone or by postcards. It was a year after and a Christmas day when I visited her. I had never seen her so happy . . . I can still picture her in my mind as though it was only yesterday. That one-day visit ended with my staying with her for a whole week. It was a wonderful week, and I was so glad to see her happy. I opened the subject of getting married and bringing her to Chicago. She accepted the marriage proposal but argued against her moving to Chicago, at least not while the business was growing, she reasoned. But she may have dreaded the social necessities of mixing in my social circle. Conscious of her accent when engaged in a conversation which to me was better than most; of being plain-looking when I saw her as pretty; and small when she stood beside me; and of being in my way. All she wanted was to be a housewife; prepare my food; iron my clothes; look after the children; and take care of me when I am sick.

"We got married on the same day I left for Chicago.

"Work had piled during my week of absence. When I left, I promised her that I'd come back and make it up to her when things settled down. However, I procrastinated. There was so much to do. I was so engrossed in building an empire, and business opportunities and deals came one after another that after a while, I had forgotten my promise until your Auntie Juaning called and told me she was at the hospital to give birth. I did not even know she was pregnant. I was with her when you were born but had to leave shortly after. I regret to say that that was the last time I saw your Mom.

"In spite of my absence, I made sure she had everything she needed. As business grew and larger contracts came in, I bought her a large house in New Jersey. I gave her a personal bank account and paid for a governess, your Auntie Juaning, to be with her and you. I thought those were enough and left it at that."

JP gave his father the benefit of the doubt and listened to his side of the story even though the last part, the house, the bank accounts, and the governess, were all big lies. The only truth to what he said was his mother started him in his business. However, Rosenthal's last words, 'left it at that,' got him furious. Unable to control himself, he shouted before Rosenthal could utter another word. "Left it at that?! Left it at that?!" JP shouted the words in anger. "As a little boy, I wondered why an extra plate was always on the dinner table. I wondered why Auntie Juaning would announce dinner an hour ahead. Do you know why?" JP bellowed.

Rosenthal did not answer and continued to stare blankly at his clasped hands. He stayed still. Beads of sweat begun to appear on his face and neck though the room was comfortably cool.

In heightened rage, JP body shook, his fist clenched tightly. Uncontrollably, he burst in shear contempt, "My mother waited for you . . . you heartless bastard," he loudly shouted. "Auntie Juaning announced dinner an hour ahead so when it came time to eat my Mom could say, _'We waited for an hour. He is busy and tied up with his business again. He will be here tomorrow.'_ Every day we did that and heard the same thing." JP said angrily. After a brief pause, in a controlled and subdued voice, "And what about me? What can you say to that?"

Rosenthal knew he had neglected JP and had nothing to say to comfort him. He never had a father and did not know how to be one. He tried to remain in touch by phone after JP's mother's death, but Juaning said JP would not talk and even go on tantrums when his name was mentioned. He believed Juaning and left it to her to rear JP. However, Juaning's excuse was not the reason he stopped calling --- it was fear. Afraid of being reminded; of remembering Remedios---her sufferings, her loneliness. He was at the thick of building his dreamed business empire that he buried his remorse by working harder and forget everything else. He leaned and placed his hand on JP's knees.

With thoughts that lingered on his father's lies, JP violently brushed off Rosenthal's hand. Providing for his mother; of his buying her the houses; the governess. Juaning told him his mother was a wealthy woman before they met and started him on his business. She had no reason to lie, but he had, and so did Miss Davis. Then he recollected the day his mother laid at her deathbed. JP sadly said, in a muffled voice, "You did not even come to see her at the hospital as the doctors tried to save her life. She called you many times. Your name was the last word she spoke," JP paused. In a somber voice, "You did not even come for her burial. Try to explain that as well," he said without looking at his father.

Melancholically, Rosenthal said, "I tried to be there. I was in Europe when I received the cablegram of her being in a hospital. When the plane landed in New York, I learned she had already died. I just sat at the airport. I was fully responsible for her death. In my guilt, I could not face her even in death. Instead of going, I went back to Europe."

Rosenthal looked at JP---JP's head was angled down; his upper body leaned forward with elbows on his thighs; hands clasped together. Rosenthal searched for words---anything to make it easier for JP to understand and accept him. The best he thought would happen was to have a civil and cold relationship. That was all he hoped and would have been contented. However, even that was no longer achievable as he saw JP motionless in his seat, JP's face cold and expressionless.

Rosenthal never accepted defeat but accepted this important one. He stood and slowly walked toward his desk, stopping midway. He stayed silent as the rage and mixed emotions of guilt within began to brew as he stood. He had succeeded in setting aside his conscience as he focused all his attention and energies on building an industrial empire. He had managed to incase his remorse, sorrow, and guilt in a box, locked and hidden deep in his mind. Now, he must recall memories of her; of her suffering and loneliness; of his neglect. He had succeeded for so long to hold onto the fragile box of his guilty conscience. He did not open the box, it simply erupted and made him shout, "You heartless fool!" and began throwing things on his desk but made sure JP would not get hurt. He went around half of the room, destroying everything within reach as he repeatedly shouted in anger to himself, "You heartless fool!"

The sounds of crushing objects in Rosenthal's room got a secretary to peer cautiously through the door.

On seeing the secretary, Rosenthal shouted, "Get out!"

The secretary quickly glanced toward JP seated at the other side of the room, then immediately closed the door.

Rosenthal went to his marble desk. Heavy as it was, he managed to turn it over with a loud grunt. He moved back, ran, and hurled himself against the window. The window did not give way, and he bounced back and landed hard on the floor.

JP ran to his father's side on the floor. His face was turning blue and fighting the pain in his chest, his hands clutched over it. Rosenthal showed signs of having a heart attack. JP immediately loosened Rosenthal's tie and unbuttoned his shirt's collar. As he did, he saw his father in agony yet held up his shaking hand and gently stroked his cheek; forced a smile amidst his sweating face and pain, then passed out.

JP ran out of the room and saw Miss Davis with the secretary and a security man nearby. "Get a doctor! He is having a heart attack," he said in urgent. On seeing Miss Davis grabbed the phone, he rushed back to his father's side and applied CPR.

No sooner, Miss Davis rushed in; knelt on the floor, and held Rosenthal's left hand. As she wept, she murmured, "Please, God, don't let him die. Please, God, don't let him die."

Minutes later, the paramedics came and took over. Miss Davis stayed by Rosenthal's side, holding on to his hand as the paramedics wheeled Rosenthal to the elevator. As she glanced back, she saw JP standing outside when the elevator's door closed.

The Confession

JP drove directly to Juaning's house and got there a little past noon. He did not know how to take it. Where is the truth? His father seemed to be telling the truth, but it did not make sense to what he knew. It had to be a lie. He was confused. He hated him, and yet, now, he loves him too.

Juaning opened the front door. She saw JP pale and brought him to the living room.

"My father is in the hospital," JP blankly said as he sat on the sofa.

"Is it serious?" Juaning worriedly asked as she sat beside and angled herself to face JP.

"He was unconscious when the paramedics took him."

"Why are here? You should be by his side."

JP was surprised. She hated him as much as he did, if not more. He expected her to say something nasty like 'good for him' or worse. He replied on Juaning's reaction, "I don't know what to believe, what to do, what to think. I'm confused."

Juaning held JP's right hand. "JP look at me," she said seriously.

JP angled himself and saw her in tears.

"I have a confession to make," she said and took time to wipe her tears. "Last Sunday, when I was mad at you, I realized something I did not understand before. Something important. JP, in fairness to your father, after your mother's death, he tried and wanted to be a father to you. But I did not allow that to happen. I wanted him to suffer as your mother did. I told him lies on how you felt and poisoned your mind about your father. The only truth I told you was he hardly visited your mother. The rest lies, fabrications of a foolish and selfish woman." She paused as she recollected her guilt, "After your mother's death, you yearned for your father and eager to speak to him over the phone as you did several times before when your mother was alive. When your father called after her death, I told him you would not talk to him. I said the same thing every time he called."

"Why didn't he come to see me?" JP asked, eager for an answer.

"He did a couple of weeks after your mother's death, but I prepared you for it. You were so young and gullible. I told you how bad he was; how he caused your mother's death; and, how to behave if he came to see you; even the words to say. On the day that he did, you scorned him, locked yourself in the room, and went on a tantrum. The carload of toys he brought, I left on the street for anyone to pick. Since then, he would call and ask how you were and if you needed anything. But I knew what to say. Months later, he stopped calling. After that, I burned all the letter addressed to you that came from him, and marked other letters with 'Return to Sender,'"

"And about my mother being wealthy?"

"Your mother, JP, was not wealthy as I told you. She was a working surgical nurse. Your father gave her everything she had, the house, the tours, your schooling, the money, everything."

"Miss Davis being my father's mistress?"

"I was merely guessing and knew later it was not true."

"But why did you hold on to the truth all this time?" he asked in frustration.

"I hated your father. If only he visited or called more often, your mother would be alive today. I wanted him to pay for her sufferings, for her death. But there was another reason . . . I always wanted to have a child, and you treated me as though you were my own." She paused, then said, "I feared that if I did, I would lose you. I am deeply sorry, JP, for that is the truth. I wish to ask for his forgiveness and yours too. Can we go to the hospital?"

"We should," JP hurriedly replied.

"Give me a minute to prepare. Meanwhile, leave Lulu a note. Tell her . . . tell her a cousin had invited us to stay with them for the evening."

Juaning was in her white private nurse's uniform and held on to an overnight bag.

JP got her bag. "Plan on staying over?" he asked.

"He'll be in the hospital for at least two days judging from what you said. I have to stay and care for him until he gets well, for all this is my fault."
THE RECONCILIATION

The Intensive Care Unit waiting room was comfortably cool. Small groups stayed close together seated on plastic chairs, speaking softly, some sniffing, some whimpering, some just sat. Miss Davis was alone with vacant seats beside her. A tissue box was on her lap. Her hair was slightly disheveled; her makeup smeared around her eyes; her eyes reddened by tears. She was too inside her own mind to notice JP and Juaning enter the room. Nor was she distracted when Juaning sat by her side.

"How is he?" Juaning said in a soft tone of concern.

Miss Davis, taken aback by her presence, collected herself. "He is in guarded condition," she replied politely.

Juaning held back from crying and took the time to speak. "I pray to God; He will make him well. Please, God," and tears rolled on her cheeks.

Miss Davis handed Juaning a tissue.

"Miss Davis," Juaning said, taking the tissue and wiped her eyes and cheeks, "I will take this time to apologize and ask forgiveness. Since we last saw each other, I have never been at peace with myself. I told JP the whole truth."

Miss Davis looked at her and then JP, who smiled to acknowledge. She said to Juaning in a soft voice, "It was so long ago that I have already forgotten. Please call me, Katie."

"Oh, thank you, Katie," Juaning replied. "I pray he will pull through. He has so much to live for," and they all stayed silent.

Half an hour later, a doctor came and stood in front of Miss Davis, who was seated. "Excuse me. Are you related to Mr. Rosenthal?" he asked, referring the question to Katie.

Katie stood but did not answer. Instead, she looked at JP.

"I am his son," JP said as he stood. "How is he?" he asked.

"He had a mild stroke but is not responding well to medication. I do not say this to offend anyone but I have seen this happen a couple of times. Is there someone that means a lot to him?" the doctor asked in a serious tone and with a sense of urgency.

"What do you mean?" JP asked.

"I will be direct as we may not have time. I do not think Mr. Rosenthal is fighting to live. I believe he is fighting extremely hard to die," the doctor bluntly said as he looked at everyone.

Juaning and Katie looked at JP.

"Can I see him?" JP replied.

"Follow me," the doctor said and led JP to the Intensive Care room. "He is slightly sedated, but he should hear you. Say something to lift his spirits."

The lights were subdued in the ICU room. An oxygen tube was in Rosenthal's nose, and a spiral cord connected to the heart monitor went underneath his thick hospital blanket. The right side of his forehead and cheek were slightly swollen. His eyes closed and still.

JP rushed to his father's side; held his left hand with both hands and said, "Dad . . . Dad."

Rosenthal's eyelids slowly opened halfway. On seeing JP, he managed a slight smile and weakly gripped JP's hand on his, then closed his eyes, and his hold loosened.

JP was apprehensive. He looked at the doctor who was looking at the heartbeat monitor overhead. JP gently rubbed the back of his father's hand as he kept on repeating, "I love you, Dad."

The doctor, seeing what JP did, instructed, "That's good. Keep rubbing. Keep assuring."

"Dad, everything will be fine. I love you, Dad," JP repeated, then gripped in fear as Rosenthal did not respond. He seemed to be in a coma, much like his mother before she died.

The doctor watched the heartbeat monitor. JP watched the doctor and now and then looked at the monitor. Time seemed to linger, the seconds like minutes as he anxiously waited for the doctor to say something . . . anything as he kept on rubbing his father's hand and saying, "I love you, Dad."

Finally, the doctor turned and whispered to JP, "He is asleep. All he needed was you." He tapped JP's shoulder and left the room.
THE FBI INCIDENT

On that same day, after JP dropped Lulu downtown, Lulu walked to the Los Angeles Convention Center a few blocks away. She held on to a package addressed to Director Charles Cutler, thinking it would be a simple thing to personally handover the package and briefly talk to the Director. The perception vanished when she got near the convention hall's main entrance. Unruly war, ecological, and nuclear test protesters picketed the main entrance calling attention to their causes. It was a fractious crowd that chanted loudly, and waved placards held by overzealous individuals. Some looked and acted crazy. The police officers had their hands full controlling the crowd from breaking through the cordoned area.

Lulu managed to find her way into the Convention Hall through a side entrance and up the balcony. At the far end, a small group of protesters disrupted the session. They shouted slogans and obscenities at the speaker, Charles Cutler, NARLAB director. He was the first speaker to address the scientific-minded audience. Soon the security men were all around them. After a brief scuffle, the protesters were hauled out.

Director Charles Cutler spoke on the delay to the completion of the Super Conducting Super Collider Project and the new NARLAB agenda. Before the end of his presentation, Lulu hurriedly left the balcony to catch the director backstage but found the hallway cordoned. She went to the NARLAB booth at the lobby and a woman, sympathetic to her plight, told her the director had already left but stayed in a hotel near the airport. She advised her to go to the international airport and from there, take the hotel's shuttle bus as the best way to escape the heavy security and crowd of protesters at the hotel.

Lulu took the woman's advice---took a bus to the airport and from there rode the hotel's shuttle bus for the hotel.

The Hotel Incident

It was 11:05 a.m. The hotel's airport shuttle bus Lulu rode drove slowly through a crowd of unruly, placard-bearing protesters that blocked the hotel's main gate. Protected by crowd-control policemen, the shuttle bus traversed from the street to the hotel's compound. It stopped at the hotel's main entrance.

Security was tight. Lulu noticed the security men asked for plane ticket stub to include a search to gain hotel entry. She stayed amid the group she rode with. Tense, she walked past a security man the moment he was not looking and headed straight for the hotel's front desk. She placed the package on the counter the moment she got there. Her heart throbbed when the receptionist's face turned pale, moved back, and left the counter in a rush. Soon plain-clothed FBI agents surrounded her. Two held her arms securely from both sides. "We're Federal Agents," Agent Edward Lindley said, flashing his badge discreetly. "Please leave your package on the counter and come with us."

Lulu acted calmly and complied. She was glad they simulated this kind of scenario at the ship. "Did I do anything wrong?" she asked with composure as she walked wedged between a suited woman and Agent Lindley holding both her arms.

"It will be explained to you at the manager's office," FBI Agent Lindley answered.

She glanced back and saw a bomb squad at the counter. One held a sniffing dog. _'Act calm,'_ she kept telling herself.

Inside the manager's office, FBI Agent Lindley introduced himself and asked, "Do you have any identification with you?"

"Yes, it's in my bag. Am I being arrested?" she casually asked.

"No, but we would like permission to search both your package and your bag."

"You have my permission," Lulu replied and handed over her shoulder bag to the woman agent beside her.

The woman meticulously searched the bag's content then handed Lulu's Driver's License to Agent Lindley.

Agent Lindley looked at the driver license's photo then stared at her face. "Luningning Spence?" he asked.

"That is my name."

"Is this your current address?"

"Yes."

"Is there someone there to confirm your identity?"

"Yes, Juanita Jones. She is my landlady."

"I'm glad you're cooperating. Can we have your home and work phone numbers?"

The woman agent wrote the telephone numbers Lulu gave then left them.

Agent Lindley explained, "Three hours ago, we received an anonymous call saying someone with a bomb in a package will come by. That may be a crank-call, but we cannot lower our guard since you took precautions to evade the security at the front. It made you look very suspicious. May I know why?" he politely asked.

"I want to personally hand over the documents in the package to Director Charles Cutler. When I noticed, entry was allowed only to plane ticket holders, which I don't have, I purposely eluded the security men. I'm sorry and regret I did that."

A man came in the manager's office and handed over an unwrapped package to Agent Lindley and said, "It's clean."

"Can I see what is inside the package?" Agent Lindley asked Lulu nicely.

"Please do."

Agent Lindley went through the package's content: a manual and folded blueprints. He browsed through the pages of the manual. It was obviously of scientific nature with mathematical equations on several pages. "You're in the science field?" he inquired.

"I'm a theoretical physicist student. I have a theory that I hope the director would review and give an opinion."

The woman agent came back and returned Lulu's bag, and said to Agent Lindley, "She checks out."

"Can I go now before I miss the director?" Lulu said.

The woman agent replied, "I'm afraid you've missed him. He left the hotel a few minutes ago."

"Is there anyone here I can hand over my package for the director?"

"Anyone with a badge with NARLAB written on it comes from National Atomic Research Laboratory. I hope that will help," the woman agent answered.

Agent Lindley said, "I'd like to apologize for the inconvenience."

"No harm done. Can I leave now?" she said, coughing coarsely after.

"You may," he said, giving her back the manual and blueprints. "I purposely took the wrapper off lest someone grabs you again. Take something for your cough," he advised.

Lulu smiled; took the manual; wedged the blueprints in the middle of the manual; and left the wrapper behind.

"Thank you," Lulu replied.

Dr. Samuel Stubbs

A lot of people were milling at the hotel's lobby. Lulu crisscrossed the floor, searching for the NARLAB badge on any of them. Finding none, she headed for the coffee shop. It was full. She did not see Dr. Samuel Stubbs's badge as she walked past him from behind but saw it on her way back. She stood by a vacant seat at his coffee table. "Excuse me. Can I take this seat?" she asked politely.

"Be my guest. I'm about to leave," Dr. Stubbs replied.

"Please, I want to ask a favor," Lulu said as she placed the manual on the table and sat. "Do you know Director Cutler?"

"We are colleagues," he answered in a dignified manner.

"Can you do me a favor and give him this research material?"

"Is he expecting this?" Dr. Stubbs asked coughing right after and motioned to get a cough candy from his coat pocket. His cough was infectious that Lulu cough herself. "Care for one?" he offered, extending his hand with the cough candy to Lulu.

Accepting the candy and said, "Thank you," then held on to it. "My throat is just as itchy. It must be the weather,"

Dr. Stubbs unwrapped his candy and placed it in his mouth. Lulu placed the given candy in her suit's pocket.

Lulu said, "To answer your question, no. He does not know me. It's important he gets my research material." Ever trusting and very naive, added, "There's a letter wedged right after the front cover. It will explain everything."

"Why not mail it?"

"It is very important that he gets it, and very soon."

"Okay. I must leave. You said the letter would explain everything. Yes?" as Dr. Stubbs prepared to leave.

"Yes," Lulu answered.

"Okay. I am Samuel Stubbs, and you are?" he asked as he took the manual with the blueprint wedged between its pages.

"Rebecca Smith. Thank you for being so accommodating," Lulu said, and they left the coffee shop in separate ways.

An FBI agent, watching at a distance, took photos of Lulu and Stubbs inside the coffee shop. On seeing them stand, he immediately activated a radio in his coat. "Craig, a Caucasian woman, black hair, blue eyes, in a white blouse, navy blue skirt, and black shoulder bag is heading for the lobby. Follow her."

"Copy," Craig, stationed at the side entrance, acknowledged then hastily walked to the lobby. He saw Lulu and tailed her.

Lulu took a shuttle for the airport and, from there, took a bus home.

* * *

Dr. Samuel Stubbs was in a half-filled hotel elevator on his way to his room on the eleventh floor. Out of curiosity, he took his glasses and slipped out the letter from an unsealed envelope addressed to Director Cutler. It read:

Dear Director Cutler,

Enclosed are the formulas and process to produce liquid-hybrid hydrogen as an alternative fuel source. I know you are aware of its benefits to humankind–-a cheap, clean, and unlimited source of energy to power any engine. I give the technology through you for the people of the world.

_The technology I give will justify the cost to continue building the Super Conducting Super Collider_.

For reasons, I will keep my identity a secret and will call under the name Rebecca Smith two days from now. That will give you ample time to validate the equation's accuracy.

Until then.

Sincerely yours,

Rebecca

Dr. Stubbs read the introduction of a half-inch thick document clipped together by a metal fastener. After reading the introduction, he hastily scanned and snipped information within its pages with great interest. He gave a quick look at the supporting mathematical equations and was astounded. Deeply engrossed, he missed his floor twice and got out of the elevator on its way up again and hastily went to his room.

He placed the documents on the room's table and cleared it of other things. He grabbed a chair, sat, and leafed through the document's pages with great interest. He paused, every now and then, and studied the supporting mathematical equations. He even did a few separate calculations with a pocket-sized scientific calculator he got from his attaché. Half-an-hour later, his pager beeped. He took the pager from his breast pocket and noted the telephone number displayed. He pondered for a few a moment. There was no reason to deal with the Russians and put himself in danger with what he had. He smashed the pager, and with Lulu's torn letter flushed them in the toilet. He made certain nothing was left, so he flushed the toilet again. He went back to the table and, with a pen, started to validate the equations by solving them himself.

At exactly 11 p.m., responding to a knock, Dr. Stubbs stood and opened the door. FBI Agent Mark Triska and other federal agents barged in. Agent Triska introduced himself, then read Dr. Stubbs' rights while another agent cuffed him. He was led away as other agents searched the room.

* * *

It was past midnight when Director Green came in the room next to the interrogation booth within the Los Angeles FBI Building. He was tired and had hardly slept for the last three days. He briefly watched Dr. Stubbs being interrogated by Agent Mark Triska through the one-way mirror.

Informed of Director Green's presence, Mark emerged out of the interrogation room and reported to Director Green. He said, "Stubbs won't talk."

"Got anything on the woman?" Green asked.

"He said she was a prostitute making a proposition."

"And the manual?"

"He says it's his, but he's lying. He couldn't tell what was written on the later pages."

"What's on the manual?"

"He would not elaborate further than it's his personal work and very confidential."

"Get the photos of the woman circulated."

"We know who she is and is now under surveillance."

"Good. I'm bringing Dr. Stubbs to Washington tomorrow and get NARLAB Director Cutler to look at the documents. Follow through with your leads," Director Green instructed and left.
NEVER THOUGHT I COULD

Rosenthal woke around seven in the morning the following day. He saw JP slouched on his bed asleep, with JP's face facing him. JP's head and part of his upper body were on top of the bed and his left hand over Rosenthal's right arm. Rosenthal resisted moving lest he woke JP. He looked at his facial features. JP had his eyebrows, nose, but her mother's lips, he thought.

Rosenthal had no religion and did not recall ever praying but this time, he did, and fervently. He prayed for things to change for the better between JP and him and vowed to devote part of his time to serve God if God would grant him one wish---have JP forgive and treat him as a father.

"Are you all right, Sir?" JP said with concern soon after he woke.

"What happened?" Rosenthal asked.

"You had a stroke."

"Oh yes," he paused, then said, "I honestly don't know how to make it up to you, John Paul." He went straight to the point.

"There is nothing to make up for, Sir. Juaning confessed and explained everything," JP said as he smiled.

"Juaning did?" he was utterly surprised. He knew she scorned him.

"Yes."

"No questions then?" he asked, looking into JP's eyes.

"No questions," JP answered with a wide beam and tapped his father's arm.

"Can we leave the past where it belongs and look forward?"

"Yes. **It's the future that's important**."

Rosenthal was so pleased on hearing JP's words and remembered his vow and said to himself as though he was talking directly to God, _'I will honor my vow. I will devote time to serve You through Your children but pray You guide me as I am new at this,'_ then said, "John Paul, I want you to head my Robotics Division, and later, the business. I am too old for it."

"Sir, if . . ."

"I somehow recall your calling me 'Dad' and saying you love me. Was I dreaming?"

JP grinned, "Not a dream. Said it many times last night and meant every word," he assured and continued. "Dad, if it's all right with you . . . I'd like to make something out of my business and prove something to myself before I consider your offer."

"I understand. How's your business?"

"We're floating, but there's this contract we're trying to get. If we get it, the company will have an excellent chance of making it. I think the opportunity is just around the corner and I'd like to know if I can make it without . . ."

"Your getting help from me," Rosenthal interjected. "I would not, even if I could. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"And the printer sales we got from your subsidiaries?" JP asked as it bothered him.

"I have no intention of robbing you of your glory or failure. Business is business. Moreover, you will learn more from failures than if you were to succeed easily. As for the printers, you never got any special privilege. However, I did discretely asked procurement to evaluate your products and to include your company in future biddings if, and only if," he stressed, "it passes company criteria. Buy-decisions are based on merits. I'd fire anyone who violates it. You won that sale fairly. I have the product evaluation reports. You can see them if you wish." He paused, then asked, "May I know what this contract is?"

"It's a military contract for a high-speed mobile robot."

"Oh, yes. That is what my Robotic Division is working on. Got the speed?" Passing the speed test was crucial in winning the bid.

"92% of it," JP said somewhat uneasy.

"Knowing what my Robotic Division had accomplished, that is indeed very, very impressive. The military takes a long time to award contracts. How are you doing financially?" Rosenthal asked in a businesslike manner.

"Breakeven at best."

"That's not exactly bad considering where the economy is at. If a company offered you twenty million over your current assets plus 10% outright shares and hired you and your partner to manage operations, would you take it?" Rosenthal offered in a businesslike manner.

"I guess we would. That's very generous."

"Then, if you were someone else, I would have bought your company. In return, my company gets billions. That is how I got my company so big. I knew what the military needed and who had it. However, those who had it never realized what they had or didn't have the right connections. I took advantage of that.

"Once your claim is known, my competitors will come and try to buy you out or get you in with them. They will make an offer, much bigger than the deal I offered. Can you hold out for at least a year as it takes the military a long time to decide?"

"If the printer market doesn't pick up, I don't think we can," JP answered. "We're running out of capital and heavy in debt. We've channeled all our money to get the military contract."

"No money? You are worth over $600 million in stocks."

"That much?" JP said, in utter disbelief.

"I see you don't even know. All the time, I thought you did not want any part of the money out of spite. The stocks . . ."

Before Rosenthal could explain, a knock then the door opened. Juaning, in a white private nurse's uniform, entered the room with a basket of fruits and flowers. "You look better, George," Juaning said, smiling as she placed the fruit basket and flowers on a small table then went by the bedside opposite JP. "I did not sleep all night praying for you."

"You stayed all night?"

"Yes. JP, Katie, and me," Juaning answered.

Surprised, he asked, "Katherine Davis?"

"Yes, she went home to freshen up and will be back. Have you and JP talked?"

"Including business," he said as he beamed at JP.

"You two are the same," Juaning said. "You think of nothing but work." She turned to JP and instructed, "JP, you're hungry. Go have breakfast. That will give me time to talk to your father in private."

"Okay," JP said and left the room.

After JP left the room, Juaning said, "George, I have done you a great injustice. I . . ."

Rosenthal interrupted, "JP explained. It's in the past. Let's forget it."

"I have to speak it out, please," Juaning begged.

"Only if it will make you feel better."

"It will. I have to confess . . ." and at the end said, "Will you forgive me?"

"I am just as guilty as you. Let us start anew, okay?"

"Okay," Juaning smilingly replied.

Curiously, he asked, "Tell me, does JP have a girlfriend?" For the past two years, he yearned of having grandchildren and daydreamed playing with them lately.

"He never had, but I know he's madly in love with someone staying with me and working at his company. A very, very sweet and a wonderful woman. I know you will like her. Luningning Spence is her name, Lulu for short and . . ." Juaning gave Rosenthal a good idea who Lulu was.

"Does she know I am John Paul's father?" Rosenthal asked inquisitively. He was a suspicious person by nature. The industrial rat race he lives in showed, repeatedly, what people would do for money. More so if they knew JP was the sole heir to an eleven-trillion-dollar industrial empire. Moreover, if the Russians knew his relationship with JP, JP would be a good target to infiltrate Rosenthal's organization directly or indirectly. Lulu was too good to be true. She could easily be a Russian spy---a sleeper. He planned to have her investigated as a precaution.

"I'm certain she knows nothing," Juaning answered. JP did not tell her what he revealed to Lulu. "I have pills for you to take," as she held on to them with a glass of water.

"Don't like them," Rosenthal smirked together with a hand gesture.

"George, I told the Doctor I'm your certified nurse and assured him that you would take all your medications. Don't worry; you can afford me," she jokingly added as she smiled. She handed his pills and the water and made sure he swallowed them.

"You have not changed," Rosenthal said after swallowing the pills and handing back the glass.

"I have changed a lot and for the better. Thanks to Lulu."

"You think so highly of this woman."

"Seldom will you find a person so thoughtful, caring, and loving. I know you'll be so proud to have her as a daughter-in-law."

"But you said JP has no girlfriend."

"That will soon change. Lulu loves him. But I hate to say this George for JP is very much like you. Both of you know nothing when it comes to women."

Rosenthal looked at her and grinned. "Can I meet her?" he asked.

"The doctor will release you tomorrow afternoon. You go home, rest, then have dinner with us the following day, Monday. You think you can make it with all your engagements?"

"Business will have to wait this time. I will be there," he firmly said.

"Good. Dinner on Monday at seven," she said. On hearing knocks, she went to the door and opened it. Standing at the door was Katie with flowers and fruits in a basket as well. Juaning got what Katie brought and set them on the table as she said to George, "Katie left hardly an hour ago, rather fast. I think her loyalty and devotion deserves more than just a raise, George." She and Katie had a very long woman-to-woman talk last night.

Katie blushed and could tell Juaning was scheming. Foregoing Juaning's remark, she said, "How are you feeling, Sir?"

Juaning interrupted before Rosenthal could answer, "For all the years Katie had served you, George, I think she's entitled to call you by your first name."

"Come to think of it, I never heard you call me by my first name," Rosenthal responded.

Katie smiled. "Well, how are you, Sir?"

Juaning interrupted again, "It's George, in case you forgot," as she beamed at her.

Katie coyly looked at Juaning then Rosenthal, "Well, how are you . . . George?" Katie said, then blushed again.

"I never felt so good and so cared. Thank you for staying over last night."

"It's nothing. I hope you're not going to work on Monday."

"Why?"

"You may not have an office."

"How badly did I wreck it?"

"On a scale of ten, I'd say two."

"I did not know you had a sense of humor?" he commented with surprise.

Juaning quipped, "That just proves you weren't paying attention."

JP entered the room and joined the conversation. With Juaning's prodding, she got Katie to talk on Rosenthal's eccentricities. Rosenthal laughed and often ended, 'I did that?' He liked hearing what others thought and the names they called him but told Katie not to mention names, lest he fired them. At one point, Katie said, "I have never seen you laugh this way."

To which Rosenthal replied, "I never thought I could."

* * *

That evening, Lulu came in the house with a regular size empty suitcase she bought from the thrift shop earlier. The FBI incident bothered her. She knew she handled herself well while detained, but intuition told her to be wary. She could not afford further investigations. She must not jeopardize her plan---so many lives were at stake. Against her wishes, she decided to leave Los Angeles; find a new life elsewhere under another identity; then get in touch with Director Cutler.

On her way to her bedroom, she noticed the answering machine's light flickering across the room. She placed the empty suitcase on the floor, walked to the recording machine, and pressed its 'Play' button. _"Lulu, JP, and I are still with relatives. I will be home this evening. Don't wait for me. Oh, and don't leave food either. Bye,"_ Juaning said over the recorder.

After hearing the message, Lulu went upstairs with her suitcase and packed her things. She was dressed up, ready to go, and was writing a letter for Juaning and JP when she heard Juaning call out her name. She went down to meet her.

Juaning said happily, "Lulu, so many wonderful things have happened. I thank God for it. I hope you have no plans for Monday evening."

"Why?"

"You have to help me prepare dinner as I invited someone special to come over. Someone I want you to meet. It will really make me and JP happy to have you meet our guest."

"Is this the cousin?"

"You can say we are related. I am so sleepy. I hardly slept a wink last night with all the stories."

"Mom, can I speak to you?"

"Is it important?" Juaning asked, then yawned. "I am so tired and still have to wake early tomorrow as I'm on duty," then yawned longer this time.

Lulu noticed her puffy eye bags and haggard look, "It can wait," she said reluctantly.

"I have never been this sleepy. It must be my age," Juaning complained as she walked to her bedroom, dragging her shoulder bag and coat on the floor. "Don't forget, Monday. It's special."

Lulu went back to her room and continued her letter then recalled how enthusiastic Juaning was about the guest for dinner on Monday and the help she needed. Giving it a thought, she decided to take a risk and disappear from Juaning and JP's life for good after Monday's dinner.
MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

It was late in the afternoon. Juaning, JP, and the doctor were in Rosenthal's room. Rosenthal was in his pressed white long-sleeved shirt and perfectly ironed crests navy-blue pants. The gold belt buckle and black moccasin shoes shined. His shirt was neatly tucked in his pants without signs of ruffles. He was 'top executive' looking even without his coat and tie. He was ready to leave the hospital.

The Doctor, in his white hospital gown, admonished Rosenthal, "Remember, no strenuous activities, and avoid excitements."

"None of that. I have so much to live for," Rosenthal replied, as he grinned at Juaning and JP.

"I can see," the Doctor remarked as he smiled at the two. "I recommend you slow down your pace and let the pills remind you to take it easy. **There is more to life than just work. There are so much to enjoy if you know where to look, and it's so easy to find, but you have to take the time to look**."

"I will. Thank you for everything," Rosenthal said, shaking the Doctor's hand.

At the hospital's main entrance, Rosenthal stood out of his wheelchair on his own, nicely waving off JP and Juaning's gesture to help. As they walked Rosenthal to his waiting limousine, Rosenthal said, "Juaning my offer stands. I want you to be my live-in nurse and Generaldoma of my home. You make sure I take the pills and stay healthy. You name your salary and benefits plus aides to assist you, and it's yours."

"The offer is tempting, but you know me, George. I am a nagger, a pest, and I'd boss you around in no time," she tactfully replied.

"That is the reason I offered you the job. It's time someone bosses me around, and you're built for it."

"Let me think about it over the weekend. Okay?"

"Remember, I never take 'No' for an answer."

Juaning smiled. "Don't forget dinner at seven tomorrow," she reminded as they stood near a waiting limousine.

"I won't miss that for anything in the world," he replied. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, at seven," JP repeated, "I hope you wouldn't work tomorrow."

"I won't work as hard, that I can promise." He got his chauffeur to get a cellular phone from the limousine then gave it to JP, "There are a lot of people who want to eavesdrop on my conversations. It's a regular cell phone until you dial my number. Well, goodbye," then entered his limo with the chauffeur closing the door behind him.

The Marriage Proposal

As JP was driving, Juaning seriously said, "JP, tonight is the time to propose to Lulu. Her invitation to a special dinner for us at the house this evening came at the right time. It will be the prelude to your proposal. Then I'll announce your marriage during Monday's dinner."

"Marriage?" JP exclaimed. "I'm not even sure she likes me."

"She loves you. I know. I am a woman."

JP grinned then said, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't say anything. Too many words will dampen the excitement. As you walk Lulu to a quiet and dimly lit area, stay quiet as though you are thinking deeply. Then slowly turn her to face you. Gently hold her arms with both hands. Look at her in the eyes with a half-smile. Blink your eyes twice. Slowly move forward and kiss her very gently on the lips, then slowly move back."

"Is that how Uncle Jones got you?"

"No. I got him drunk. He wasn't even sure he proposed. And if you're curious, he did not. However, that's outside of our topic. Just do what I said," she instructed.

"After the kiss, then what?" JP eagerly asked.

"From there, your heart will dictate what to do and say. Just relax."

"You sound so sure of this."

"She's in the bag. On Monday's dinner, we will introduce her to your Dad and surprise him of your coming marriage. I know he will be incredibly happy. An instant family! After that, we will plan for babies. At least six . . ." Juaning continued.

****

Lulu had set the formal dining table with a stemmed rose over JP and Juaning's plate. When they arrived, she ushered both to their seats and told them to stay seated as she would serve the food and do everything herself. Lulu had to insist on Juaning. They were her guests, she contended.

JP and Juaning noticed the beautifully decorated dishes Lulu brought to the dining table. The trimmings plus the aroma made it more appetizing. As they ate, the two could not help but comment on how delicious the dishes were, to Lulu's delight.

Juaning said after dessert, "Never have I been so elegantly pampered, everything perfect. Today is special. You two help me bring the plates and dishes to the kitchen, then I'll do the rest."

"I will help," Lulu offered as she and JP brought their plates to the kitchen sink.

"None of that. You have done enough for the day. JP," calling JP's attention. "You and Lulu walk outside for fresh air." She peered through the window over the wash counter and continued, "The weather is perfect: quarter-moon, clouds, and slightly cold and windy." She then moved behind Lulu and hand signaled JP to go into action.

JP got the cue. "You like that, Lulu?" JP said, a bit nervous.

"Let's help bring the food and dishes to the kitchen first," Lulu answered unsuspectingly to what the two had planned.

Juaning and JP were doubly fast to clear and clean the table and bring the leftovers to the refrigerator. It was infectious, --- Lulu rushed herself. When done, Juaning, in her usual commanding tone, "Now, you two, go." Then turned on the sink faucet. She turned off the backyard lights when Lulu and JP got to the back porch.

"The bulbs blew," JP commented nervously.

"They don't go altogether at the same time," Lulu innocently answered. As they walked towards the swing under the oak tree, she said, "You alright, JP?"

"I am. What made you ask?"

"You're unusually quiet."

JP was recalling the steps Juaning told him and mustering courage as well. He took Lulu's hand and swayed it lightly as they walked, then realized he had a problem. He could not turn her if she sat and decided to do it before. When they neared the swing, JP took a deep breath, stopped, and slowly turned Lulu toward him. He looked at her straight in the eyes. _She is beautiful_ , he thought, as he held her gently by the arms. He moved closer to her, but it was not the act Juaning scripted, his deep emotions carried him.

An innocent surprise was on Lulu's face as he got her closer. She did not know what to think of it. There was a glow of innocence on her face.

Their eyes met, and a sense of stillness engulfed them.

JP felt his heart pounding. Looking at her, he blinked his eyes twice then moved slowly forward for the kiss.

Lulu froze---confused to what was happening.

JP tilted his head slightly and bent down a little. He hesitated for a moment, then gently kissed her lips.

Lulu did not know what to do. She had no inkling their walk would come to this. But when she felt JP's tender kiss on her lips, her body eased, her eyes instinctively closed, and, without realizing, she tilted her head slightly.

JP moved back soon after the kiss. He looked at her. She was even beautiful with her eyes closed. He kissed her again, as gently as the first. His arms embraced her.

This time, Lulu gently embraced back and felt the tenderness of his kiss, his embrace, and the moment.

As they were in each other arms, JP said, "I learned to love you on the very day we met. I love you, Lulu, more than words can say."

On realizing what it led to, "Oh, JP, why do you have to tell me this now," she said with her head resting on his shoulder; her arms around him; tears swelled from her eyes. "I wish this had not happened."

JP moved back. He saw Lulu in tears. He made her sit on the swing and sat alongside angling himself to see her face. "I love you, Lulu. If you have a problem, let it be our problem, and let us solve it together. I will not leave you, regardless. Tell me."

"I wish I could, but I can't," she said as she sobbed.

"I love you, Lulu."

"Say no more," controlling herself, said, "I wish I could tell you. I wish I could explain. JP, I have to leave."

"Leave?" he said in shock. "But why? Was it because I proposed?"

"I made the decision before that. It breaks my heart, but I have to."

"Have to? I do not understand."

"Even if I explained, you would not understand and, most likely, not believe."

"Try me first."

Lulu thought for a moment then said, "I just have to leave, JP. That is all I can say."

"Is there . . . is there someone else?" JP asked and braced for the answer.

Lulu considered her answer and thought of her parents. "Yes."

JP's world crashed. He wanted to pursue, to insist, to reason with her, but instead said, "If it does not work out, will you promise to call me? I can wait."

"Oh, JP," Lulu cried. She took his hand and placed it on her cheek, "Do not waste your life on a beautiful passing moment. Think of me as a wonderful dream, as I will of you. A dream I will always cherish and remember. But, like all dreams, it has an end. There are other women who can offer as much love as I, if not more. Do not let that opportunity pass waiting for someone you will never see again."

"When do you plan to leave?" JP sadly asked.

"After dinner tomorrow. You have been so good to me, JP, and it hurts me to leave." She cried on his shoulder again.

"Just remember, if you ever need help, I will be there for you."

Lulu moved back and said, "I will give you something, but you must promise not to ask questions. I want you to claim it as yours."

"I don't understand . . ."

"Just promise me you will ask no questions."

Reluctantly JP said, "I promise."

"Swear on it. It's that important," she demanded.

"I swear."

"Come, I will show you a computer in my room. It will run much faster than Gilda's computer. It has a built-in operation manual . . ." she continued as they hurriedly walked to the house, up to her room.

Juaning saw the two go up the stairs and heard the door open and close. Having old traditional values, she went hurriedly up the stairs to get JP. ' _He should control himself. He should wait until after marriage_ ,' she thought. Halfway up the stairs, she stopped. _'Maybe I'm too old fashion,'_ she said to herself. _'The important thing is they will get married. People these days are taking the 'Fly Now and Pay Later Plan' to extremes. Where is this world heading to?'_ she protested inwardly. _'Knowing Lulu, she will not go for premarital sex. She will kick his groins for sure. But still, they must get married, as her privacy was exposed,'_ she concluded, and went to her room and before she slept, said, "At least six babies."

Lulu's computer awed JP. He was impressed with its capabilities, more so, its computing speed. It was, at least, fifty times faster than Gilda's computer. More questions sprung in his mind but he held back from asking as Lulu had reminded him a couple of times of his promise, on what he swore on. Soon the conversation became formal and very technical.

An hour and a half later, JP loaded Lulu's computer in his car with Lulu's help. Normally, he would be in a hurry to try it out and forget the world but neither the enthusiasm nor the impulse was there---replaced with thoughts of her leaving. He was about to say something, but Lulu must have read his mind and quickly placed a finger over his lips. He took it as a cue and said, "Goodnight."
A SPY

FBI Agents

Rosenthal went to work a bit later than usual and in good spirit. He spent his evening analyzing himself---his personality, his work habits, and, most especially, his conduct with his employees. Breaking habits is hard, but the hardship merely strengthened Rosenthal's resolve and appetite to win. In that area, he has yet to fail!

He walked through the office hallway, as always, with a security guard carrying his briefcase and walking a couple of steps behind. Normally, he would walk through the corridor as though everyone was invisible. Most employees preferred being invisible, for if Rosenthal called their attention, it meant having to work hard and under pressure. This time, he casually chatted with some employees, he greeted others by their name, to their surprise.

FBI Special Agent Mark Triska and another dark-suited agent, Paul Warren, were seated at Rosenthal's reception room. They stood when Rosenthal entered the room. They introduced themselves; then, Agent Triska mentioned the confidentiality of their visit.

Rosenthal led the agents to his office. Inside, he immediately noticed the room's new furnishings: the center table, the large painting on the wall, the lampshades, the large TV set, and several other things that were brand new. It made him grin. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Rosenthal said as they sat on the living room set within his office. ' _Another_ _cat and mouse game_ ,' he thought and surmised it had to do with industrial espionage that broke the headline news days ago. He was no stranger to it and knew he was on the list of FBI suspects.

Rosenthal Global Industries had a clandestine department devoted to gather and acquire information called 'Public Relations' that directly reported to Rosenthal only. It operated no different from CIA or FBI, and the chief officer and most of his staff came from their institutions. Rosenthal firmly believed in information power and had no scruples getting what he wanted, short of murder. It was part of the business game as far as he was concerned.

Special Agent Paul Warren started, "Are any of your companies researching on liquid hydrogen fuel?"

"What's so special about it?" Rosenthal asked in his burly tone of voice.

"It can be used as high explosive for warheads."

"That, I know," replied Rosenthal. "What's so special about it?" he asked again.

"Are any of your companies working on it?"

"I don't like interrogative questions unless forced to answer. Am I forced to answer?"

"No, Sir," Agent Warren replied.

"Then get to the point, Special Agent Warren. What exactly do you want?"

"We have gotten hold of highly classified documents on the production of liquid hydrogen and wondered if it came from one of your companies?"

"If it did, I would know. Bonding hydrogen atoms to become liquid is no small project. You think it came from us?" Rosenthal questioned again. He was cold, calculating, and extremely shrewd.

"That's what we aim to find. Are you saying none of your companies are working on it?" asking as though Agent Warren had privileged information.

"Absolutely certain," retorted Rosenthal. He knew the game. "What made you suspect it came from one of my research facilities or my being interested in acquiring it?"

Agent Triska, so far, merely observed how Rosenthal responded to Agent Warren's questions. He knew what Agent Warren was up to---isolate Rosenthal from the list of suspects who stood to profit from what Dr. Stubbs had.

"We're not," Agent Triska interjected, knowing Agent Warren was a seasoned agent but an amateur against Rosenthal who was interrogating him instead. Agent Triska opened his briefcase, got a set of pictures, and handed them to Rosenthal. "Have you ever seen the woman in the photographs?"

Rosenthal wore his owl-rimmed glasses, then got and looked at a set of pictures of Lulu with Dr. Stubbs at the hotel's coffee shop. Dr. Stubbs's face was purposely blotted out. "No," he said and handed back the photos.

Agent Triska did not take the pictures but instead glanced at Agent Warren, somewhat surprised.

"Could you look at it again?" Agent Warren requested.

Rosenthal dropped the pictures on the table. "Not necessary. One of the qualities I am proud to have is remembering faces and names. To prove my point," he looked at Agent Triska and said, "You need not introduce yourself again. Director Doug Green introduced us four years ago, on the Hawkeye Project. That was the first and last time we met. Is that right, Agent Triska?"

Agent Triska was impressed. "Yes, Sir," he answered formally, then asked, "Have you heard of the name Luningning or Lulu Spence?"

"Yes. I heard it mentioned only yesterday. Why?"

"The woman in the picture is Miss Spence. The picture shows her handing classified documents to a suspected industrial spy and her getting something in return."

"KGB?" Rosenthal asked to give him time to assess the situation. _'Were there reasons for JP to accept him as his father? Was h merely getting back at him?_ ' the questions flashed in his mind.

"We are uncertain," Agent Triska answered. He knew Dr. Stubbs worked for KGB but reserved the possibility of Dr. Stubbs working for Rosenthal, too, a double agent. "How are you related to John Paul Fernandez?"

Rosenthal looked at Agent Triska. "He is my son," he snapped.

Agent Triska did not react. "And Juanita Jones?"

"She is my deceased wife's younger sister."

"Does your son have any dealings with you?"

"No. John Paul and I, for personal reasons, never communicated until last Friday."

Agent Warren asked this time, "Is that why you heard the name Lulu Spence only yesterday and have yet to meet her?"

"Yes. She's the Office Administrator and Secretary of my son's company."

"What is the relationship of your son to Lulu?"

"Ask him," Rosenthal irritatingly reacted.

Agent Triska responded, "Sir, I am not sure if you're aware of the consequence if the government and the public knew that the heir to the largest defense industry in the country, in the world is consorting, knowingly or unknowingly, with a known Russian spy. We are here to avert a scandal."

"Is my son linked in some ways?" Rosenthal prepared to observe their reaction and reply.

"Your son is clean," Agent Triska answered. "That, however, does not mean the Russians will not use him indirectly through Miss Spence."

"I understand. What do you intend to do?" Rosenthal asked Agent Triska.

"Neutralize! That would solve everyone's problem. Miss Spence, after a thorough investigation, has no history; her ID, falsified. The Russians will never acknowledge her existence. And once they know, and we will leak the info that her cover as a sleeper is known to us, they will have no scruples to rid of her. That is the standard operating procedure to them."

"On my part, you want me not to fuss over her disappearance," Rosenthal bluntly asked, as he wanted to ascertain their position.

"It will be to everyone's interest, most especially yours."

"I don't think I could be of any help to you. If you have no other questions, good day, gentlemen."

The Spy

Rosenthal paced the floor after the agents left. He recalled the conversation with Juaning of Lulu's wonderful qualities. What if the FBI is wrong? What if this woman is in a predicament or forced to work as a spy? There were so many 'ifs. He took his secured cellular phone and pounced JP's cell number.

JP took the ringing cellular phone his Dad gave out of his pocket. He saw on its screen his Dad calling. "Hi, Dad," JP cheerfully answered.

Blunt, Rosenthal asked, "John Paul, how well do you know Lulu?"

Wary of his father's tone and question, JP answered, "Almost two years."

"She is a Russian spy," Rosenthal went straight to the point.

"I don't believe that."

"If I can prove it, will you stop your involvement with her?"

"Prove it first."

"Observe her reaction. Tell her, her life is in danger, and she must leave the country immediately."

"Some nut must be feeding you garbage," JP strongly argued. "She can't be a spy. Not her."

"The nuts happen to be FBI and CIA agents. They just left my office. They showed me pictures of her handing classified documents to a confirmed Russian spy and getting something in return. I . . . we cannot have ourselves involved. Too much is at stake when she is only using you. And, even if she's not a spy, her life is still in danger. She must leave the country. I can help you there."

"Dad . . ."

"John Paul," Rosenthal butted, "understand, I am trying to help. Otherwise, I would have kept my mouth shut.

There was a moment of silence, then JP said, "Thanks, Dad."

"I'm sorry, John Paul," Rosenthal said then hung up.

JP thought, _'It was too much of a coincidence that Lulu was in a rush to leave Los Angeles and be secretive about it.'_ He decided to take his father's advice and called Lulu to come to his office over the office phone. He went to the window and slightly moved the curtain with his finger. He was about to peer outside when he heard the knock, and the door opened. "Lulu, please take a seat," JP formally said.

Lulu noticed JP's unusual composure. "Anything wrong?" she asked as she sat.

JP sat on the chair across her. He was sure Lulu would have a logical answer. "Your life is in danger."

Lulu turned pale. She associated JP's warning to the FBI finding out her false identity but wondered why her life would be in danger. Nevertheless, she must leave. "Thank you for warning me. I am so deeply sorry for the trouble I caused you. Please tell Mom how deeply sorry I am for leaving. Tell her, I love her. Love her as though she is my mother."

JP's heart sank. His father was right. "Can I help?" he asked in dismay.

"I doubt you can. I wish to God I don't have to leave," she said with tears pooled on her eyelids about to fall. "I just have to start another life somewhere."

"I doubt if you can without help."

"Why?" as she wiped her tears.

"You are under FBI surveillance. I'll help you."

"You have done enough for me, and I don't want you involved. I'll just have to think of something."

"Not enough. Allow me this much---give you a head start. Stay here," he said and left the room in haste.

A couple of minutes later, Sonny, Sylvia, Alice, Sylvs, and Marijack entered the room with JP. After closing the door, JP, in a sense of urgency, said, "Lulu needs our help desperately and fast. No questions for now. I will explain everything after. Lulu must leave Los Angeles. Will you help her?"

The five spontaneously agreed and together planned her escape.

Minutes later, Lulu left the company building with Alice through the front door. She took her sunglasses from her shoulder bag; cleaned its lenses with a small clothe, making sure her face could be clearly seen, then wore the glasses. As they walked to Alice's car parked at the communal parking lot, she pretended to search for something in her shoulder bag. "I forgot my keys. Meet you at the front," she said to Alice.

"Okay," Alice replied then walked to get her car at the parking lot while Lulu went back to the building.

Marijack was alone and in her undergarments, waiting for Lulu. She and Lulu were almost of the same height, body built, and sported the same hairstyle. When Lulu entered JP's office, they immediately exchanged clothing. As Marijack dressed up said, "Thank you for everything you did for me and my mother, Lulu. Write us, okay?"

"I will try," then handed Marijack her car key and said, "Please give it to Miguel. I know he needs a car." Lulu moved a step back and checked out Marijack dressed up in her clothes. "My dress fits you perfectly," Lulu said while making final adjustments to Marijack's hair. "Thank you so much for helping me. Tell your mom too, okay? Via con Dios Marijack."

"I will. Via con Dios, Lulu." They tightly hugged each other then parted.

Marijack left the building in Lulu's dress and wearing her dark glasses. She entered Alice's car parked in front of the building, and Alice drove off.

A few minutes after Alice and Marijack left, Sonny answered his mobile phone, "Ok," he said. He turned off his cellphone and to JP and Lulu, said, "Marijack said they're being followed, and Alice said to thank you for the day off to visit her mother in San Diego."

Sylvia and Sylvs made sure the back alleys were clear before Sonny, in the company van, drove JP and Lulu to a car rental office a few blocks away. Sonny rented a car under his name then said to Lulu, "Muchas gracias for what you do for my little girl. If you need husband, you find me, and we bury my wife together," he quipped then said, "Via con Dios, mi amiga." (Go with God, my friend)

Lulu beamed at Sonny then kissed him on the cheek. With reddened eyes, said, _"Via con Dios, mi amigo."_

Reveal the Secret

"I have to go home," Lulu said as JP made a right turn from the car rental lot to a street headed away from her home.

"I'm driving you across the Canadian border, and we will plan something there."

"Please drive me home first. I need to get something. Something vitally important," Lulu said, extremely worried.

"FBI in surveillance might be there."

"I have to risk it. I must get my suitcase. There is something in it on which the lives of thousands depend on."

JP was puzzled but too preoccupied to inquire. "OK," he answered and made a U-turn and headed for Juaning's house. He knew he could enter the house unseen through Juaning's utility room's window adjacent to her neighbor's yard. He did it before when Auntie Juaning locked herself out.

"I know you are a spy," JP said.

"A spy? Then, why are you helping me?"

"Because I love you."

Lulu looked at JP. "I love you too, JP. More than I can say."

"Is that part of your training?" JP asked coldly.

Lulu was hurt, about to cry, and sadly answered, "I am not a spy if that is what you mean," and a tear fell.

"What are you then?"

Lulu thought for a moment. "Regardless of the outcome, I want you to know, I love you."

"What about the other person?"

"I was referring to my parents."

The answer was of great relief to JP and made him more determined to help. He took the service alley and parked the car on the neighbor's back driveway with Lulu crouched under the dashboard. He went inside Juaning's house from the neighbor's yard, and through a window of the utility room without a problem. He got Lulu's suitcase, and went back the same way he came in.

As JP drove said, "I love you, Lulu, and do not care if you are a spy . . . or even an Alien,"

Lulu looked at JP and realized it was a figure of speech and did not answer.

JP continued, "I may be able to help if you tell me something I can work on. Why is the FBI after you?"

"Because I am doing something to get to see the President."

"Of this country? President Smith?" JP was stumped.

"Now, you know why you can't help."

"If I can get you to speak to the President, will you trust me with the why?"

"How could you?"

"Not me, my father."

"You think he can?"

"He is highly connected and influential. Can you trust me enough to tell me your problem?"

Lulu knew getting Director Cutler to arrange a meeting with the President may take time, time her parents may not have. "It's a long story."

"I know an isolated spot in the Santa Monica Hills where we can talk."

JP drove to secluded spot in a public land at Santa Monica Hills. A mile away from the nearest inhabited area, he parked his car alongside the roadside, under a tree.

Lulu said, "What I will tell you is the truth. You just have to trust me," She narrated the plight of the Durians---from the time the Durians left their planet till she and her other hybrid sisters left the ship.

After Lulu's narrative, JP was dumbfounded.

"I am human in all respect," Lulu assured JP, and added, "I am not crazy as you may think. I only wish the crystal has the charge to prove it to you. But I must reserve what's left. I hope you understand and believe me."

"I believe you," replied JP. He took his cellular phone and dialed his father's number. "Dad, . . . I need your help . . . It is a long story . . . She's with me . . . We are at the Santa Monica Hills at a secluded spot . . . Press number nine twice, then the pound key on my cellphone and it will act as a directional beacon? . . . I am doing it now."

Twenty minutes later, Rosenthal's corporate helicopter landed with Rosenthal onboard and picked up Lulu and JP. The three stayed quiet amidst the drowning sound of the helicopter's turbine engine. They headed for the Rosenthal Research Center at Malibu Hills, ten miles to the northwest. Rosenthal knew they would be safe there. It was well guarded.

Rosenthal was a cautious and calculating man. He was risking everything to help a woman he suspected was using his son. However, if he did nothing, he might lose JP and, that, he would not gamble. Desperate, he took actions without a plan, something he had never done.
THE LASER GUN

Rosenthal Research Center

The Administrative and Research centers stood side-by-side on top of a hill facing the Pacific Ocean. An enclosed bridge connected the buildings forming a letter 'H.' A magnificent landmark hard to miss driving through Malibu via the Pacific Coast Highway in Los Angeles, California. Located at the top of the tallest hill for miles around, it commanded a scenic view of oceanside houses that stretched all the way down Santa Monica, fifteen miles away. However, the east view was different, a public land---an uninhabited stretch of land with a monotonous scenery of brush-covered rolling hills with sparse thickets and chaparrals. Deep narrow canyons and valleys separated hills for as far as one could see.

The corporate helicopter with Rosenthal, JP, and Lulu landed on the Administrative Building's heliport. David Simpson, Chief Executive of the Center, was alone to receive Rosenthal and his guests. David worked for Rosenthal when the company was small and supplied the US Armed Forces with eating and kitchen utensils then. He believed in Rosenthal's visions and wisely stuck with him. He learned, early in his career, to work around Rosenthal's temper. Despite their long association, David's relationship with Rosenthal always remained on a professional level. He knew that that was the only thing Rosenthal understood.

At the heliport, Rosenthal introduced JP, as his son, and Lulu to David.

"I did not know you . . ." David reacted, then stopped and continued, "Nice meeting you, Lulu, and you, too, JP," shaking both their hands.

After a brief talk with Rosenthal, David brought them to his office and left them there. He passed on part of Rosenthal's instructions to his secretary, "Rosenthal is not to be disturbed, nor is he around if anyone inquires," David stressed.

Rosenthal, JP, and Lulu made themselves comfortable in the living room set within David Simpson's large and lavish office. The room reflected Rosenthal's philosophy - to impress and awe, projecting an image of power on a smaller scale compared to Rosenthal's larger office.

Rosenthal, seated, waited for JP to start the conversation. To harbor a spy known to the FBI and CIA made Rosenthal edgy but not outwardly.

"Lulu is not a Russian spy," JP started.

"I'm glad to hear that," Rosenthal replied politely. He normally studied people across the negotiating table and glanced at Lulu, who gave him a halfhearted grin.

JP continued, "What I will tell you will sound science fiction." He paused, unsure how to relate Lulu's predicament.

Lulu suggested, "JP, can I explain it to your father?"

JP nodded.

"Sir," she started formally, "2.3 million years ago, Aliens found themselves in a situation where they had to leave their planet in a hurry. But things did not go as planned . . ." Lulu continued.

Rosenthal, very objective by nature, attentively listened to Lulu's narrative. Though he was skeptical when it came to the existence of UFO's and alien beings, he remained open-minded and always reserved his conclusion. As he listened, he keenly observed Lulu's composure as she narrated the Durian's predicament. By all indications, Rosenthal found her sincere and normal in all respect. At Lulu's narrative end, he found her story hard to believe, more so, to prove. He asked Lulu, "What, then, is your intention?"

"I wish to speak to the President of the United States and seek his help," Lulu answered.

Taken aback by her request, Rosenthal bluntly replied, "Getting the President to see you purely on your story will not get us through the White House gate. You look too human to be believable. Please, do not take that to mean I do not believe you. If you can prove your story to me, then I see no reason why I cannot prove it to the President. I do not think you have a choice on the matter. You must take a gamble. Prove it first." He was profoundly serious in his manner.

Lulu considered Rosenthal's point. "I understand," she said and took the pyramid crystal from her suitcase. "I will entrust this crystal to you," as she handed it over.

Rosenthal got the pyramid crystal and examined it. He had seen something similar in a novelty shop though it was unusually light for its size and highly refractive.

"Sir," Lulu said to Rosenthal, "in your hand is a communicating device that will link you to the ship's computer. It is a thinking computer and will allow you to access all of Durian's technology. Through that, you can ask the computer named Goopersh to download a design of things that are currently beyond present-day technology. I, however, have only this one very, very important request, . . . please use as little time with it, enough for you to believe. The crystal is my only link to the ship and with my parents. If I lose that option, it will doom them and those orbiting the galaxy."

Rosenthal was skeptical but, for his son's sake, played along. "I understand. You have my word," he said. He always kept his word, and the business community knew and respected him for that.

"You may need a large computer to download the information," Lulu added.

"We have one in the basement of the Research Building. How do I get this to work?"

"Place the crystal near the keyboard of the computer. The access word is Goopersh. From there, you can verbally specify the technical specifications of something you want built."

"Password?"

"No password. Just start the first sentence with Goopersh. Again, please use as little time as possible."

"You have my assurance," and he left them.

A Wish

Rosenthal, with David, went to a conference room adjacent to David's office. They sat at one corner of a large mahogany conference table. David was apprehensive. He had no idea what was going on as he watched Rosenthal, deep in thought, toy a pyramid crystal with his hands.

"David," Rosenthal finally said. "If you had one wish on a technological breakthrough that will surely get the President's attention, what would that be?"

David gave it a quick thought, "A portable laser gun. That is what the military wants and what the President needs to bring the balance of power completely in his favor. We have a contract to develop one."

"How far are we?"

"Very, very far. I'd say the technology is at least 30 years away, most likely more."

"What are we aiming for?"

"Military tank mountable for a start, self-adjusting, capable of blasting through a 15-inch armor plate and . . ."

"Where are we now?" Rosenthal interrupted.

"We need a crane to move it; three hours, if lucky, to adjust; a power source big enough to light a large town; and the target must remain stationary at all times. I'd say that's far from what the military had in mind," David said candidly.

Rosenthal got the humor but did not react. After a brief silence, he asked, "Where are the Russians on this technology?"

"From what I've gathered, they gave up on it and are hoping to acquire the technology through cheaper means, espionage. On our side, unless we come up with something to justify military research funding, the government may cut or eliminate the project completely. We're talking hundreds of millions down the drain."

"David, call the computer room and tell them we will use it. Have them replace all computer disks with blanks and the computer ready for immediate use."

David knew Rosenthal was aware of its implications---total work disruption within the research facility. Without citing the consequences, he made the arrangements over the phone.

* * *

The Research Center housed the largest and fastest computer in the world. It was heavily secured by armed security men and sophisticated electronic surveillance systems. Sound/heat/weight sensitive sensors secured access to the computer room _._ Sid Lahora, the man-in-charge of its security, was waiting by the computer room's steel door.

"Everything set?" Rosenthal forcefully asked Sid the moment he and David entered the room.

"Yes, Sir," Sid snapped like a soldier.

Rosenthal walked to the lone console in the middle of the large room. He instructed, "Sid, wait outside should we need you." He watched David escort Sid out of the room and waited for the thick security door to close.

He placed the pyramid crystal beside the keyboard and sat on the console's padded swivel chair. He hesitated as he deplored the thought of being made a fool. In a muffled voice, as though his throat was dry, he said, "Goopersh."

"Awaiting instructions," Goopersh instantly replied.

To Rosenthal's relief, the voice came from the crystal that glowed lightly. He quickly straightened himself on his seat and said, "Design a portable laser gun with these specifications: Maximum weight: a hundred pounds or lighter to include the power source. Maximum dimensions: ten feet long or shorter and a foot wide or smaller. Range: 16 miles or better. It must have the capability to penetrate, in an instant, a 15-inch armor plate or thicker. Material to use must be presently available or easily built with current technology. Is that possible?"

"Yes. Suggest variable power and automatic range finder."

Rosenthal was amazed. "That would even be better and include an operating and technical manual."

"Request access to your computer."

"Given and terminate communication immediately after,"

"Downloading design per specification in binary form. Operating and technical manuals included."

The crystal glowed, and a light-blue light beam linked it to the computer keyboard that got it to glow. Lines of computer instructions scrolled through the monitor so fast it was unreadable. Simultaneously, activity indicators blinked rapidly at random on the computer drive panels that lined the surrounding walls of the large room.

Rosenthal stood, walked to David, and they conversed.

In less than a minute, the printers started working, and a minute after, Goopersh reported, "Transmission complete. Terminating communication."

Rosenthal retrieved the pyramid crystal and, with David, went to the adjoining room where the printers were located. Rosenthal watched the printing of the schematic diagrams on the graphics printer while David stood by the text printer.

David took what was printed. The first few pages were the parts list, and the assembly procedure followed. He was astonished and relieved to see the parts listed were in the familiar company inventory report format. He skimmed through the form and said, "We have most of the parts, and for the ones, we don't . . ." he speedily searched for the reference page then looked at the material and procedures to make the component. He studied it carefully and exclaimed, "I just cannot believe this."

Forgoing David's excitement, Rosenthal said, "How long to build?"

David clipped his excitement and became formal. He took the printed schematic diagrams from the printer, spread it on a table, and studied it. "Overnight with three men working."

"Get them started," Rosenthal said commandingly.

The digital clock on the wall read 5:24:26 P.M. "I hope Bill Garner is around. He is a shift supervisor," he said as he punched numbers on a speakerphone.

"Bill Garner speaking," his voice came through the speakerphone.

"Bill, David here. I need Techs working on a high priority, top-secret project immediately."

"How many?"

"Three."

"We got two that don't have top security clearance. The rest, gone for the day."

Rosenthal intervened, "Bill, Rosenthal," sounding as he normally does. "Forget the clearance and get yourself and the two working on it. David will bring the blueprints over," then pressed the phone's button that ended the conversation. He got the pyramid crystal while David bundled the documentation and rolled the schematic diagrams and blueprints.

Rosenthal said, "David, I want this assembled, tested, and ready for demonstration before 7 a.m. tomorrow," he stressed.

"It will," David formally replied.

As they were leaving the Computer Room, David got Sid's attention, "Sid, please replace all the computer disks to include the backups then bring the system back online. I'll have Security take the disks to the vault," he said.

"I'll attend to it," Sid replied.

"Thanks," David said and watched Sid go back to the computer room.

Rosenthal heard everything---how David communicated, and the word 'thanks' got his attention. It got him to think--- _'David gets things done under pressure yet does it without stressing the people that do it for him.'_ He remembered his resolution and said in a different manner, "David, for reasons, my son, Lulu, and I must stay for the evening and be kept a secret. Can you arrange that?"

David noticed Rosenthal was unusually polite but unsure if it was deliberate. "That will not be a problem. You can use the executive lounge."

"This project is very important," Rosenthal stressed but not in a commanding manner. "Can you stay this evening and make certain everything gets done? It's that important," he requested politely.

This time David knew Rosenthal was deliberately being polite. "I planned on doing that. You think you can get the President tomorrow on short notice?"

"I still have to figure that out."

"Want to be present during the preliminary test?" David asked.

"Yes, regardless of time."

"I'll call you when it's set," David said then headed for the other corridor, but before David took his second step, he heard Rosenthal call, and he turned.

"David . . . thanks."

David, caught off-guard, got tongue-tied and hand signaled to acknowledge. He smiled then continued walking down the corridor, appreciative of what Rosenthal just said.

Getting the President

Rosenthal was thinking of how to get President Smith to come to the Center as he headed for David's office. He knew the President was attending a well-publicized conference sponsored by the Governor of the State of California at the state's capital in Sacramento the following day. Though Rosenthal personally knew the president and could call directly, he thought it wiser to have men with direct contact to the president to do the convincing. By the time he got to David's office, he had a plan.

David's secretary stood behind her desk as Rosenthal entered David's reception room. Before she could utter a word, Rosenthal said, "I'm glad you're around. Pat Shaw, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir. David requested me to stay in case you need anything." She had been with David for seven years and was a bit nervous---Rosenthal was directly addressing her in person.

"Pat, I need you to arrange something, then you can go home, but it is important you keep my presence here a secret," he said nicely.

"You are not here, and so are your guests," Pat replied.

"Good. I urgently need to speak to the Secretary of Defense, Allan Newman, National Security Advisor, Edward Short, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Joseph Perkins," saying it slow enough for Pat to write the names down and waited for her to finish. "Got that?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Arrange a teleconference with as many of them as soon as possible. Cite matters of immense importance pertaining to national and international securities. Stress its urgency. You think you can handle that?" Rosenthal asked politely.

"Sure can," replied Pat pleasantly with a smile.

Rosenthal returned the smile and said, "If you need me, I'll be in David's room."

Pat watched Rosenthal enter David's office. She was somewhat surprised how pleasant Rosenthal was and, more so, calling her by her name. It gave her reasons to think that the stories she heard of his being bossy, rude, and very demanding as exaggerated.

Rosenthal did not wait long to talk to the three men over the speakerphone. Without mentioning Aliens but mere importance and urgency, he convinced the three to come to the Research Center at a minute's notice. He thought himself lucky---he got all three! He then asked Pat to arrange corporate jets to fly them to Van Nuys Airport in Los Angeles, where a corporate helicopter would ferry all three to the Center before 7 a.m. the following day.

* * *

"Lulu, I believe you," Rosenthal said as he walked in the executive's lounge. "The Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff are coming. The President's coming later is an excellent possibility."

With great relief and joy, Lulu rushed to Rosenthal and was about to hug him but stopped and shyly backed off. "Po-ogi si bobi, I mean, thank you so very much," she said instead.

Rosenthal noticed her hugging intention and asked, "You will be part of my family, right?"

Lulu looked at JP, then said, "If he still wants me."

JP had the widest smile on his face. With stretched out arms, he walked toward her.

Lulu coyly moved a step to meet JP, and they hugged with joy then kissed each other.

The proud Rosenthal watched happily. When they parted, Rosenthal, with open arms, said to Lulu, "Don't I deserve a hug?"

Lulu tiptoed and kissed Rosenthal on the cheek then hugged him tightly. "Po-ogi si bobi, Po-ogi si bobi," she said repeatedly.

JP asked, "May I know what you asked for, Dad?" He was somehow certain it would be some weapon.

' _Telling him now might spoil the evening ahead,'_ Rosenthal thought. "You will know tomorrow. Trust me for now."

It was a relief to both Rosenthal and JP to have Lulu with them as she led their conversation. The three had a wonderful and pleasant evening together.

Meeting with the USSR Premier

Across the globe, early in the morning, Russian Premier Vladimir Krusov was in his black silk night robe with matching silk slippers. Tightly worn, the robe outlined his firm broad chest and toned belly. His hair was cut short that he looked almost bald; his Arian face had telltale signs of just waking. He ushered General Kievsky from the receiving to his private room. It was the only room where he would discuss sensitive matters. The room was built especially for him to secure his conversations from any form of eavesdrop.

Premier Krusov had a firm grip over the Soviet political and military establishments. He rose to power through clandestine arrangements and intrigues he orchestrated. As Premier, he was obsessed with the thought of being ousted by the same means and consequently became paranoid of the information that came through regular channels. Through a network of confidential informants and personal spies, he found ways of knowing things indirectly. It gave him a way to know how accurate the reports were or, worse still, if they were reported at all. Both political and military camps knew the premier's extensive network of spies existed. He was not secretive and talked of its presence with key Russian government and military officials just to intimidate them. This gave him an intangible power and control and used it to his best advantage. General Kievsky was part of this network of spies and informants.

"Have a seat, Comrade Igor," the Premier said as they entered the secured room. Secret meetings were common and waking up early in the morning did not bother him. "The information must be pretty urgent, Comrade," the Premier candidly said.

"It is, Premier," General Kievsky replied formally as he sat. The meeting was special to him. Breaking his cover was a move that could put him within the Premier's coveted inner circle or out of it, for good.

"Do we have time for coffee or vodka?" the Premier jokingly asked to ease the tense general.

"Coffee will be fine," General Kievsky replied, relaxing a little.

The Premier made a short call and ordered decaffeinated coffee for two---the Premier had just gotten advice from his doctor to stay calm. His blood pressure was high lately, and he took the doctor's advice seriously. He continued, "This has something to do with the rift between generals, right?" the Premier made a guess as he walked to an armchair fronting the general and sat, taking full use of the chair armrest.

"No, Premier . . . Have you heard of the Alpha Wave Project?" General Kievsky asked.

"Passingly, yes, but do fill me in," the Premier answered, though he knew he had not. It merely heightened his paranoia over the Military, keeping secrets from him. However, the project was of low priority and something he normally would not be informed of.

"Alpha Wave is a top-secret military research project on wireless communications and electronic guidance system outside conventional radio wave. Please note, military early warning, radar detection, electronic guidance, and communication systems are solely dependent on radio wave," he emphasized. "If we jammed all radio wave frequencies, which we have the technology, and maintain the integrity of our communication via our Alpha Wave, the US and its Allies will neither have the ability to be warned nor launch any defensive or retaliatory actions against any aerial, sea, and land-based attacks. In that scenario, our warplanes could enter any country's airspace undetected and have full control of their sky. A radio wave blackout for six hours will put Soviet warplanes directly over all Allied military targets without their knowing. The war would be over before it could even begin."

The Premier, a high-ranking military officer in the KGB before he became a Premier, explicitly understood its military implications. He also knew the importance of having the technology first, regardless of cost. The thought of having the arrogant US and its puppet NATO allies bow to Soviet's might was his obsession. However, his ire focused on the US. He had a personal score to settle. Deeply etched in his mind was the chagrin of removing the missiles from Cuba, decades before. As a young military adviser then, it was his group who suggested having missiles placed in Cuba and suffered the consequences by getting them out.

The prospect of having a Third World War from the Cuban crisis was something Krusov was willing to risk and strongly advised the Premier, then Premier Khrushchev, not to heed President Kennedy's threats. Though that was almost four decades ago, his country's tarnished military image had never recovered, and he was determined to wipe it clean to include his own.

With NATO supporting US foreign policies, US President Smith ignored Premier Krusov. The Premier had little international backing to dictate anything consequential over international matters. In the US diplomatic circle, they dubbed Premier Krusov as "Lame Duck." A name President Smith inadvertently used. In return, the Premier referred to the US President as "The Pig" and made sure it got to the US President's ears. The unofficial name-calling merely heightened the tension between the two superpower leaders, making the volatile climate between countries worse. However, they appeared friendly and diplomatic to each other in public, but the personal animosity between them remained.

Taking a backseat in the international arena to the United States of America, the Premier concentrated on technological breakthroughs to turn the balance of military power to the Soviet Union's side. General Igor Kievsky was among the men he relied on to get this done. "Do we have the Alpha Wave technology?" the Premier asked excitedly.

"We have, in its early stage. However, we may not have a monopoly on it if we do not act soon," the general stressed.

"The Pig has it then?" the Premier blared, irritated by the thought.

The Premier's semantics amused the general. He took it to mean the Americans though the Premier had President Smith in mind. It got General Kievsky to grin then said, "Not as we speak. That is why I need your immediate authorization to secure a shoal at the Bering Strait."

"Bering Strait? Shoal?"

"Bering Strait is a sea lane between Alaska and Siberia. The shoal is a shallow area within the strait and dotted with small uninhabitable basalt islands of no economic or military value. The area itself is a natural barrier to maritime activities."

The Premier was puzzled. "Why secure it then?"

"It would be better if I explained everything. What I will tell will sound unbelievable but I can prove its veracity. Briefly, there are Aliens on Earth negotiating with the Americans for help. In exchange, they provided them laser technology for warfare to start."

"Aliens!" the Premier scoffed. He had no stand on UFO's (Unidentified Flying Object) but was more inclined not to believe in its existence.

General Kievsky was not surprised at Premier's skeptical look and continued, "A month ago, we had a breakthrough on the Alpha Wave Project. We discovered a new form of wireless communication. On sweeping its frequencies, we came across bands that transmitted a clear voice message, 'Po-ogi si bobi,' repeated every five seconds. Outside Earth, the transmission comes from an object orbiting our Milky Way galaxy. On earth, one comes directly at the heart of King Khufu's pyramid at Giza, Egypt. The second comes from a small barren basalt island at the Bering Strait. The third and the last, we suspect, comes somewhere in the Los Angeles, California area.

"We have reasons to believe the signals coming from Giza and outer space are mere directional beacons, but the one at the Bering Strait acts not only as a beacon but the Alien's communication center."

"Are you certain of this?" the Premier asked as he sat back slowly with his left hand under his chin. He scrutinized the general for hints of instability. He was unsure of how he should take the general's information.

"I have proof," the general answered confidently. "It is for this reason that I came to see you. Less than an hour ago, we intercepted communications between Bering Strait and from the outskirts of Los Angeles, California. To be exact, it came from within the Rosenthal Research Center in Los Angeles, California. From that transmission, a computer that responds to the name Goopersh, at the Bering Strait, downloaded the design of a laser gun. The downloaded transmission was of binary form, a computer language. We can decode it. Thus, we have the technology ourselves. I have a tape-recorded conversation between the Alien's talking computer and someone within a research facility." He got a hand size tape recorder from his coat pocket and played it.

_'Goopersh . . . Awaiting instructions . . . Design a portable laser gun with these specifications: Maximum weight . . ."_ the taped instructions continued until the dialogue ended. General Kievsky pressed the tape recorder's pause button, "We have to amplify this part as it was said some distance from a hidden microphone," then pressed the play button.

" _What is that? . . . It's an Alien communicating device . . . What do they want? . . . They want to talk to the President and negotiate for help in exchange for their technology . . . Why don't they just fly over to the White House? . . . Their ship is without fuel, and they want me to arrange a meeting with the President . . . Then we will bring the President to them! . . . It's not that simple. The aliens fear us humans---they don't trust us. Without fuel, they are defenseless. You can literally walk in their ship and take them and their technology. There are only two of them in the ship. For that reason, their location is a secret . . . What if the Aliens do not get the help? . . . The ship will self-destruct. Thousands more stranded and in orbit in our galaxy and dependent on them will die as well . . . You believe all this? . . . Have you seen anything like what you just witnessed? . . . How did we link our computer to theirs? . . . Through the pyramid crystal and the access word is Goopersh, that is all there is to it . . . Why not download everything while we are linked . . . I gave my word . . . Transmission complete. Terminating communication . ._ . _Let's see what's being printed."_

General Kievsky pressed the stop button. "We are certain the man doing most of the talking is George Rosenthal, the US armament tycoon. We have good reasons to believe the other man is David Simpson, Head of the Rosenthal's Research Center."

"Why not download the alien's technology to our computer?" the Premier asked.

"Unfortunately, we can only receive signals. Transmitting capability, still needs working. Thus, we cannot communicate with Goopersh. With proper funding and support, we will have that capability, in a month. Two at most," the general added.

"You will get everything you need. I want this project given the highest priority. We must have the alien technology at all cost before the Pig does."

"That is why I came to see you. The basalt island happens to be a mile within the U.S. territory."

"The Pig must not have the alien technology," the Premier raised his voice, his face flushed red. "It's either we have the technology, or no one will. What do you suggest?"

"Blow up Rosenthal Research Center and set it up so the entire world will blame it to terrorism. We have the blueprint on the laser gun and the Alpha Wave technology within two months. Can you see what this will mean militarily?"

The Premier glanced at the general and gave his last sentence a thought. "Blow them up and make sure anyone who knows about this is terminated, understand?"

"Understand. Only us."

"Good. How soon can we do this?"

"With your authorization, well within ten hours. Operation Czarina was designed especially for this situation. The helicopter to be used carries two building-buster missiles and two air-to-air. It needs but a target in the Metropolitan Los Angeles area. As for the Aliens on the island, we can get our commandos to sneak in under the cover of our Pacific Fleet performing a naval exercise near the vicinity but in international waters. The fleet is within eight hours cruising time to the Strait.

"Our commandos will abduct the Aliens and download their computer files to ours. If anything goes wrong, at any time, even without the Aliens, we will blow up the island and claim it as an accident during a naval targeting exercise. The US military will swallow the excuse. As far as they know, the island has no economic or military strategic value."

"And . . . for the people involved in Operation Czarina?"

"The helicopter used will self-destruct on landing. Apart from us, the people involved in the mission will all be in the helicopter."

"I see you have planned everything. I will call for an emergency meeting to implement your suggestions. Meanwhile, get Czarina going. I will place our armed forces on General Alert as insurance." The Premier took the phone on the side table and made a call.
CALL THE PRESIDENT

5:10 a.m. - Rosenthal Research Center

The test room in the basement of the research building had, among others, a firing range. Rosenthal, with David, stood beside a heavy wooden table curiously eying the laser gun on top of it that Bill and two technicians built. It was not much to look at. Its exposed electronic components were assembled on in-house-made circuit boards of varied sizes. Bundled wires laid together near a wire-wound eight-foot bronze rod that tapered from four-inches to half-an-inch diameter aimed at a target fifty meter away. Its controls were built on a shoe-size box with a dial at its center and several nobs alongside.

"I want no slip-ups," Rosenthal said sternly to Bill after he examined what they did.

Bill, knowing Rosenthal had a short fuse on seeing things fail needlessly, answered, "Built to specs and triple checked,"

"Okay. What is the target?"

"It's a meter square, fifteen-inch thick armor plate," Bill answered, pointing to a hardly visible target at the far end of the firing range.

David, who studied the laser's operating manual during the night, worked the laser controls on a makeshift stand and said, "Setting at its lowest capacity,"

"Plug it," Rosenthal snapped.

"The one we built runs on a 12-volt truck battery," Bill said.

Rosenthal, astonished, noted Bill's response. "Okay, connect the terminals and fire."

Bill was skeptical. He thought the entire thing was a bunch of short-circuited wires bound to explode in his face. After connecting the terminals to a truck battery, he cautiously extended his arm as far as he could and pressed the fire button. After pressing, Bill thought it failed as he expected a load noise from the gun---a sound like Star War battle scenes. He was flabbergasted when he saw the smoldering target at the far end.

The three hurriedly walked to the target and were awed. The armor plate had a nine-inch-wide hole. The metal simply evaporated!

Bill inspected the wall four feet beyond the metal target and commented, "The wall is slightly warm but unscathed."

Rosenthal turned to David. "If miniaturized, what would be its size?"

"No bigger or heavier than a 45-caliber handgun powered by a triple-A battery," David answered, and excitedly added, "This is worth trillions in rearmament revenue, and we are in a position to set our price."

Rosenthal did not react. He paced the floor with his arms across his chest. Being near the phone when it rang, he answered, "Rosenthal," he said over the phone.

"Good morning, Sir. This is Chief of Security, Larry Ilagan. Your guest will arrive at 6:40, about an hour and a half from now," Ilagan said over the phone.

"Secure the route from the heliport to the test room and from the test to the conference room at the administrative building. I don't want my guests seen by anyone."

"Sir, there are employees . . ."

"Larry," Rosenthal interrupted in a stern voice. "No one sees my guests."

"Yes, Sir. No one is to see your guests," Larry replied. He had done this before but not at this short notice.

"Maintain the status until you hear from me."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then I want you to . . ." Rosenthal continued to give further instructions.

The Demonstration

Rosenthal and David met Secretary Newman, General Perkins, and Advisor Short at the administrative building's heliport. From there, they directly brought their guests to the test room. With no fanfare, Rosenthal, assisted by David, did the demonstration, but this time, the laser was set at three percent of its power. On firing, the target and the metal table's top instantly disintegrated with an audible popping sound.

Rosenthal advertised, "Set at wider beam, it will destroy an aircraft carrier in an instant using a fourth of its power setting. We can surgically blast a lone tank parked among other vehicles on the moon."

General Perkins excited and eagerly asked, "How long will it take to rearm the entire armed forces?"

"In a matter of months, but there is more to it than that. We will talk on it in David's conference room. You have to excuse me as I have some matters to attend and will meet you there."

Getting the US President

When Rosenthal entered the executive lounge, JP asked, "Everything worked out?"

"Better than I imagined. It was a laser gun design that I requested. I know that's the last thing you want to hear, but trust me one more time," he said to JP then turned to Lulu. "Lulu, I will go out of my way to do something for you. I don't want to be placed in a compromising position. Are there minor matters that I should know?" he asked as he looked in Lulu's eyes.

"I told you everything," Lulu replied.

Rosenthal believed her. "Lulu, I agree with your father. Your identity must remain a secret. For that reason, if you do not mind, it will be a privilege and an honor to negotiate on your father's behalf. Your role here is merely an Earthling helping the aliens."

"I do need help. Po-ogi si bobi. I don't know how to thank you," she hugged him with tears of relief coming from her eyes.

"Marrying my son is good enough," Rosenthal said as he waved JP to come, and they all hugged together. "We will be one family from now on. Follow me."

At the Incinerator Room

Rosenthal, with Lulu and JP, got his three guests, and David. Rosenthal led them all to the incinerator room.

On top of a rectangular table near the incinerator were computer disk canisters, the laser gun, blueprints, manual, and a trash bag full of items collected from the test and assembly room. Larry Ilagan and four of his uniformed security men stood on one side of the room.

"Larry," Rosenthal said, "do we have everything here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Throw them all in the incinerator," he instructed as he walked to the incinerator's console.

Rosenthal's guests, including David, were baffled, and looked at each other. Rosenthal was incinerating everything, but they remained silent, dumbfounded.

Rosenthal watched Larry's men load the incinerator and lock its door. Without saying a word, he pressed the incinerator's start button. Instantly, flames engulfed everything in a whirlpool of fire within the incinerator.

Rosenthal looked at JP, who had his best smile and Lulu overwhelmed with joy. The rest were flabbergasted.

Rosenthal said, "Gentlemen, let us go back to the conference room where I will explain everything."

Call to the US President

At the conference room, Rosenthal addressed his seated guests, "The technology behind the demonstration is not ours but Aliens stranded on our planet. They desperately need our help."

"Aliens? You must be joking," Secretary Newman reacted skeptically.

"I am not a joking man," Rosenthal said seriously, looking straight at Secretary Newman. "Take my word. There are aliens on our planet."

Secretary Newman turned serious and said, diplomatically, "We would like to meet their leader,"

"Before I answer, Mr. Secretary, let me explain their situation. The aliens are . . ." Rosenthal explained the alien's predicament briefly, and, in the end, said, "In exchange for the loan of NARLAB's atomic super-collider, they will hand over all their non-military sciences and technologies to be shared to all nations. Military technology is another matter. The laser gun was merely a demonstration of their technology to impress you. The pyramid crystal on the table is the alien's communication device. We can communicate with the alien leader, named Amo Obib, provided we have the President with us. You have two hours to decide."

"And, after two hours?" the Chief of Staff General Perkins curiously asked.

"The aliens will offer the same deal to the Russians, but I doubt the Russian will do what I did to the blueprints and laser gun," Rosenthal said deliberately. "The President's plane, Air Force One, is currently airborne and headed for Sacramento. We have time to divert its route to land at Edwards Military Airbase at Lancaster, California, on the pretense of having a minor mechanical problem. By helicopter, the airbase is but 15 minutes away from here. In secrecy's interest, we merely delay Air Force One's arrival at Sacrament by an hour or two. Should we call the President?"

Defense Secretary Newman glanced at Rosenthal then conferred with General Perkins and Advisor Short in private. A minute later, Secretary Newman called the President and, with General Perkins and Advisor Short, discussed the critical situation and the urgency for the president to confer with Amo Obib. A minute later, the president's plane changed course and headed for Edward Military Airbase.

Moscow

At the same time, General Kievsky was on the phone talking to the Premier, ". . . By a stroke of luck, one of our informants works at Rosenthal Research Center. It's far better than I thought . . . Commandos are now heading for the island . . . Yes. Czarina is in operation . . . Yes, Sir, to include the informant," then hung up the phone.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

At the Administrative Building's heliport, Rosenthal and his three guests welcomed President Smith. From there, they proceeded directly to the conference room where JP and Lulu waited. Rosenthal introduced JP, and Lulu then ushered his guests to their seats.

President Smith, General Perkins, Advisor Short, and Secretary Newman were on one side of a large rectangular conference table with Rosenthal, JP, and Lulu at the other side with their backs at a close curtained window. Rosenthal laid the pyramid crystal on the table between him and the President then narrated the Durian's predicament and the alien's need for help.

Close to the briefing's end, General Perkins' aide came in the conference room and whispered something to General Perkins. The general excused himself and left the room hurriedly with the Aide. Shortly after, he came back, leaving three of the President's security men posted outside to wait for further instructions.

Rosenthal purposely paused as General Perkins went back to his chair. He noted the general was tense and seriously thinking after he sat.

After Rosenthal's briefing, President Smith said, "I do not see any problem in helping the Aliens. They can have immediate use of NARLAB's facilities and any assistance they may need from us. I am ready to confer."

"Mr. President," General Perkins interrupted as he stood and walked to the President's side and whispered to his ears.

The President stood and asked Secretary Newman and Advisor Short to walk with him and General Perkins to the corner of the spacious room where they conferred in low voices.

General Perkins said tensely. "The Russians are on global red alert. Their Pacific Fleet is at the Bering Strait just miles from our territorial waters. Our planes reported spotting Russian commandoes on an uninhabited basalt island within our territory. Russian military communication has skyrocketed during the last hour, and satellite images revealed Russian IBMs out of its bunker. There is something ominous going on, and I don't like it. I have advised heads of the Armed Forces to stay on alert status and wait for further instructions. Mr. President, I strongly advise we go on 'Red Alert.'"

"I do not have a clear picture," the confused President asked, "Where is Bering Strait . . . this island?"

Referring the question to Rosenthal, General Perkins asked, "Do you have a world map around?"

"We do," Rosenthal replied and pressed a nearby button.

A world map slowly slid down from the ceiling adjacent to the wall where the President and the general stood. It filled the whole wall and was too large to point something near its top.

On seeing a laser pointer, General Perkins got it. He checked the coordinates from his notes and aimed the pointing device to a spot at the Bering Strait.

When the pointer's light remained pointed on a spot over the Bering Strait where the ship hid, Lulu, already tensed, reacted in distress, "What have I done!" she gasped and with her hands over her face, sobbed.

On hearing Lulu sob, General Perkins, grasping the situation as gravely critical, asked urgently, "What is the significance of that spot, Miss Spence?"

Lulu did not answer and continued to whimper.

Rosenthal noticed Lulu was distraught. "It may be good if you explain the situation."

General Perkins looked at Rosenthal then said, "The Russians have violated US territorial rights by landing men on a basalt island at the Bering Strait within US territory. The Russian Pacific Fleet is in the vicinity but in International Waters. Russian Armed Forces and their allies are in full military alert. Why are you so concerned, Miss Spence?"

"That is where the Alien ship is," she answered, then turned to JP. "JP, I must go back." She leaned on the table to get the crystal.

General Perkins instinctively moved and got the crystal before Lulu could. "In the interest of national security, the three of you will be guests of the US Government," he said then called in the Secret Servicemen and instructed them to take Rosenthal, JP, and Lulu to the hallway and gave the pyramid crystal to one of the Secret Serviceman for safekeeping. After they left the room, General Perkins turned to the President and said, "Mr. President, knowing what is at stake, we cannot allow the Russians to have the Aliens."

"Get me Premier Krusov on the line," the President said to his Aide, then to General Perkins, "Go on 'Red Alert' and inform all our allies."

Prepare for War

Premier Krusov was attending to visitors when his secretary came and whispered to the Premier's ear, "The President of the United States is on the phone. He said it's urgent."

"I'm indisposed. Tell the President to call much later," then continued to chat with his guests.

The secretary smiled and left but a minute after, came back. "He said it is vitally important. He told me to mention Bering Strait."

The words caught the Premier's attention and excused himself. He signaled his aide to follow, and they walked to his private room.

The Premier took time to make himself comfortable in his heavily padded swivel chair before picking up the phone. "Mr. President, good evening or is it morning? . . . I know nothing of what you are saying . . . We have a naval exercise in international waters in that vicinity, and that is all I know . . . Landing commandoes on US territory? There is nothing there to land on . . . I do not like your tone of voice . . . Let me talk to my generals to clarify matters . . . If you fire at them, you will have to accept the consequences . . . Are you threatening the Soviet Republic? . . . Let me get more information on the matter, then I will call you," he hung up, not knowing President Smith was calling from Rosenthal Research Center.

"Get me General Kievsky on the line," he said to his aide.

The Premier briefly waited then picked the ringing phone, "Igor, the Pig knows about the island. Blow it up . . . Okay. Try to get the Aliens then blow up the island. What about the Czarina Operation . . . Good." He hung up then to his aide, said, "Call and get everybody to the War Room immediately."

Battle for Rosenthal Research Center

On a cloudless day, two US Apache helicopters were airborne guarding the airspace in the area to secure the President at the Rosenthal Research Center, specifically the administrative building. One helicopter patrolled the southeastern sector of the center while the other, the northeast. Both were less than a half-a-mile away from the building.

"A blimp appeared on my screen," reported the gunner guarding the southeast sector. "There it is again. Bogey heading for your area. Eleven miles northeast of you."

"It's not on my screen," replied the pilot at the northeastern sector. "Must be hugging the ground within the canyon to avoid detection."

"Assume it's hostile as the area was declared a no-fly zone."

"Roger . . . Arming," said the gunner while the pilot maneuvered the chopper to intercept.

"Backing you up and heading for your sector . . . bogey on my screen. It's four miles east of you."

"Not on my screen. Where is it heading?"

"Must be flying through the canyons. Can't tell."

"Damn this terrain! We are sitting ducks here. See anything?" the northeast pilot asked seconds after.

"No."

"Got no option. I'm blind where I'm at. Going low to block the canyon east of me."

Seconds passed then, "Bandit less than a mile east of you," said the southeast pilot over his radio.

"Shit! It's on my screen and behind us!" then the cockpit alarm sounded. "Bandit launched a missile!" the pilot said and flew his helicopter steeply upward in the narrow canyon as it dropped flares. The missile hit the helicopter's rotating rear blades and exploded, then crashed on the side of the canyon, fell on the ground, and exploded again.

A frantic order from Military Airborne Command Center came, "Protect the Administrative Building. I repeat, protect the Administrative Building."

"Roger. Protecting the Administrative Building. Intercepting bandit," the remaining Apache pilot radioed back as he raced his chopper to go between Administrative Building and the last reported location of the hostile helicopter.

As the pilot steered the chopper, his gunner was intensely focused on his radar, waiting for a blimp to appear on his screen. Suddenly, a blimp flashed on his radar screen. The gunner said, "Got bandit on radar. Firing missiles." Two missiles flew out and headed for the bandit. A split-second after, the chopper's alarm sounded.

The gunner reacted, "Bandit launched two missiles! One is heading for the Administrative Building and the other for the Research."

"Protect the administrative building. Protect the administrative building," came the frantic order from the airborne control center.

By this time, the chopper was fifty meters away from the Administrative Building and was between the building and the incoming missiles launched by the enemy.

On seeing the enemy's missiles smoke trail, the pilot screamed, "Low - 2 o'clock."

"Got visual," the gunner hurriedly replied and instinctively aimed the ship's Gatling gun and fired at the missile heading directly for the Administrative Building directly behind.

Bullets streamed out of the Gatling gun formed a swarm of leads concentrated on hitting a small and fast approaching target. It was so close when it hit the missile that the massive explosion caused the helicopter to reel backward, hitting the Administrative Building and violently exploded on impact. Almost simultaneous, the other hostile missile hit the Research Building dead center. The massive explosion caused the Research Building to buckle close to the middle of its height and was on fire. A few seconds later, the missiles the Apache helicopter fired found its target, and the hostile helicopter burst in two successive explosions.

Rosenthal, Lulu, and JP were at the hallway outside the conference room guarded by the president's secret servicemen when the first explosions occurred. The blast rocked everyone, but the second that followed immediately after threw them on the floor. The far end of the hallway had a large gaping hole filled with smoke. Despite the immediate confusion that followed the blasts, Lulu's eyes never left the pyramid crystal held by a Secret Serviceman. She rushed and grabbed it.

JP saw Lulu struggle for the crystal's possession and joined. The robust Secret Serviceman easily threw both on the floor.

Seeing JP and Lulu on the floor, Rosenthal grabbed the man from behind. In the scuffle, the pyramid crystal fell on the floor.

Lulu speedily crawled and got the pyramid crystal.

"Take Lulu and run," Rosenthal shouted to JP as he struggled to pin the secret serviceman on the floor.

Lulu said hurriedly, "Goopersh, transport me back to the ship," but before she could finish the sentence, JP had his hand on her arm. In a bright flash, both disappeared from the hallway.

At the Pyramid Ship

JP and Lulu materialized within the transport bay of the pyramid ship.

JP briskly pulled Lulu up as though they were still in the hallway but was surprised to find himself in a different surrounding. "Where are we?" JP, disoriented, asked as he looked around.

"We're in the spaceship. Follow me," she said and led him hurriedly out of the room by the hand. "You should have stayed behind. The crystal has no energy left to transport you back," she said worriedly.

"This is where I want to be. Where . . ."

"Lulu," cried Ningning at the hallway. Amo Obib was with her.

Lulu said when her parents were near, "Forgive me for bringing this on you. There are Russian soldiers on the island."

"We know," Amo Obib replied. "You must leave the ship. Goopersh, charge the crystal."

The crystal glowed on Lulu's hand.

"The crystal is fully charged," Goopersh replied.

Amo Obib said in urgent, "Leave before I order the ship's destruction."

"You and Mom?" asked Lulu hastily.

"We have to stay." Amo Obib answered then turned to JP. "Young man, please take care of our daughter," he said in haste.

"I will," JP, snapped.

"Po-ogi si bobi," Amo Obib and Ningning said almost simultaneously.

At that same instant, a Soviet commando pushed the detonator's plunger. A massive explosion rocked the island. The blast gouged a hole on the basalt wall wide enough for a truck to enter. With the spaceship's protective shields off, the explosion caused rock fragments to penetrate the ship's wall closest to the blast. It activated the ship's defensive system instantaneously. The ship instantly hummed and glowed within the cavern.

The sound of the blast echoed in the hallway and, instantly, a distinctly different computer voice announced, "Trigor overriding Goopersh. Shields set at 100%. Retaliating on targets within twelve miles. You have twenty seconds to abort the attack."

Amo Obib had no time to inquire who Trigor was or why Goopersh was overridden. He instinctively commanded. "Trigor, abort attack."

"You must be seated at the command chair to abort the attack," Trigor replied in its distinct metallic tone of voice.

"Lulu, you must leave the ship! Take the young man with you," Amo Obib shouted in haste as he dashed for the Command Center. Ningning ran behind him.

"Po-ogi si bobi," Lulu shouted as she held JP's arm. She knew Goopersh was deactivated and said, "Trigor, transport us to my room in Los Angeles."

"No one can leave the ship while the shields are up," Trigor responded.

Lulu pulled JP and together ran for the Command Center.

Before Amo Obib got to the command chair, Trigor announced, "Going on automatic defense mode. Commencing attack." The pyramid ship fired its laser guns to all targets within the twelve-mile target radius. Simultaneously three warships, several support vessels, and six warplanes within the twelve-mile range exploded as the pyramid ship burst out of the basalt island and flew straight up at high speed through a cloud directly high above.
THIRD WORLD WAR

Before the pyramid ship fired its laser gun to targets within the twelve-mile range, the Russian Pacific Fleet was sailing at the Bearing Strait. The fleet cruised over a calm sea in international waters at the fringe of the US territorial border at the strait. Its fleet of war and support ships were spread over a five-mile radius in battle formation with its flagship at its center. Spread-out, a third of the fleet were sailing less than twelve nautical miles from the island. Earlier, one of the fleet's ships launched a speed boat full of commandoes that landed on the basalt island. Their mission was to abduct the Aliens, blow up the pyramid ship, and retreat. Once on the island, the commandoes immediately set charges to blast a hole on the basalt wall to gain access to the pyramid ship within the cavern of the island. They were ready and waiting anxiously for the command to detonate the charges.

Admiral Masliv, Admiral of the Russian Pacific Fleet and sailing on an aircraft carrier seated on the admiral's chair at the bridge. He had a panoramic view of his fleet at sea. From his vantage, the basalt islands appeared as jugged specks at the horizon, fourteen miles away. He was jittery---the strait left little maneuvering room for his fleet should events turn for the worse.

At that same time, Premier Krusov was at the War Room in Kremlin. The premier was busy ascertaining Soviet military forces' readiness to go into full-scale war at a second's notice. The tense atmosphere in the war room brought back old memories to the Premier---memories of being among the young military advisers looking over the war table during the Cuban crisis when the world held its breath on the likelihood of a nuclear war between the USA and Russia. However, this time, he was at the helm, in command, and, inwardly, relished in his power. He felt invigorated and gratified as he issued directives and commands.

A military officer came to Premier Krusov's side and said, "Admiral Masliv is on line one, Premier."

The premier hastily picked up the phone on the side of his chair and said, "Krusov here."

"Premier, the commandoes are waiting for the order to detonate the charges on the island," the Admiral said.

The Premier laconically responded, "Go ahead."

Admiral Masliv, with his free hand, signaled an officer in direct communication with the commandoes on the island to give the order to detonate then, with the same hand, he picked and used a binocular to confirm the explosion. He saw the blast. It was at this exact moment that Trigor gave the twenty seconds warning to retaliate to Amo Obib at the pyramid ship.

As the twenty seconds ticked down, Admiral Masliv reported, "Premier, the commandoes have confirmed the sighting of the pyramid ship."

"Good," the premier reacted."

"Once the mission is . . ." Admiral Masliv abruptly stopped mid-sentence on seeing several of the fleet's ships within the pyramid ship's twelve-mile range simultaneously blown out of the sea. The explosion of the nearest ship to the flagship violently blasted the seawater high up in the air. The seawater spray obscured the admiral's view that he failed to see the pyramid ship burst out of the island at high speed going through a large cloud high above. In urgent panic, the admiral said over the phone, "Premier, something has happened. Please hold." With the phone still in his hand, he rushed to the bridge's window to get a better view of the sight outside. In horror, he saw thick black smoke hovered from where the fleet's ships used to float. When he looked up, he saw smoke trailed the remnants of six warplanes falling from the sky. "Premier, the fleet is under attack," Commodore Masliv frantically said over the phone.

"What?" the Premier burst. His blood pressure instantly rose, his face reddened.

"The Americans have fired and destroyed many of our ships and warplanes in international waters and airspace, unprovoked. The remaining ships are sitting ducks in this narrow strait; more US warplanes are heading here. A US attack submarine is in the vicinity. Are we to retaliate?" Unknown to the Admiral, the six planes destroyed were US warplanes, the first to reach the island's vicinity.

"Retaliate. We did not start this. The Pig did. Retaliate!" the Premier screamed and hung up. "General Petraish, launch all our missiles against all US and Allied targets and mobilize all our forces immediately," he ordered with vigor and added delightedly, "Comrade, we are at war!" The Premier was elated and relieved by his decision.

"Yes, Premier," the general replied and immediately went into action.

Their Fuel

Within the Command Center, Amo Obib, in disbelief, said to himself, ' _Where is the ship getting all this energy?_ ' then asked, "Trigor, where is Goopersh?"

"Goopersh is deactivated. Trigor takes full control of all ship functions when the ship is under attack."

Immediately Amo Obib asked, "Where are you getting your fuel?"

"I am independently powered."

"Trigor, share your fuel with Goopersh?"

"I am not programmed to share my fuel. Returning control to Goopersh once the threat is no longer present."

"Goopersh has no fuel to run the ship. If you do not share your fuel with Goopersh, the ship will implode the moment you transfer control."

"I am not programmed to share my fuel," Trigor repeated.

"Show time of control transfer to Goopersh on the screen," Amo Obib ordered and glanced at the digital clock displayed. They have twelve minutes left! He stayed motionless on the command chair, pondering for a solution.

At Rosenthal Research Center

The little left of the Research Building was in flames. The Administrative Building had its east side wall gouged and was on fire. The blast blew a large section from the fourth level through the eleventh floor, twenty-nine office windows wide. The conference room, which was at the northern wing of the building, was in shambles. With half of its side wall gone, the skylight lit the inside of the room.

The heavy conference table, on its side, saved the President and General Perkins, who were thrown behind it during the explosion.

A few feet away, Secretary Newman was on the floor with Advisor Short partly on top of him. Secretary Newman pushed Advisor Short's body aside and saw half of Advisor Short's face blown off. Unhurt, Secretary Newman ran out of the room in panic.

The President and General Perkins, joined by their aides and several Special Service Men, vacated the building through the fire-escape stairwell. Before they reached the ground level, the phone within the briefcase chained to the President's Aide, rang.

The Aide swiftly got the phone out of the case and handed it to the President.

"This is the President . . . Repeat . . . Let me confer with General Perkins." the president said, then called General Perkins' name as he waved at the general while holding on to the phone.

On the President's signal, General Perkins rushed beside the President.

The President said in urgent, "The Russian launched missiles against all our NATO Allies and us. Hundreds are in the air. A large number are heading for our country. Missiles launched from Russian Atlantic nuclear submarines will hit east coast's targets within five minutes. More are coming as we speak. Missiles are heading for west-coast targets. Estimated time of impact - fourteen minutes. What are our options, general?"

"I don't think we have any but to retaliate. The attack here was to take you out of the picture and create initial confusion. A clear sign of a preempted war. We need you to give the orders, Mr. President."

"We retaliate. Goddamn! Retaliate!" he shouted.

Inside the Pyramid Ship

Confused to what was happening, JP asked, "What is going on, Lulu?"

"If Trigor, a thinking computer, transfers control to Goopersh, another thinking computer, the ship will implode as Goopersh has no fuel to operate the ship." She glanced at the digital clock and said, "We have less than six minutes to act!"

"Who is Trigor?" In haste, JP asked.

"Trigor must be a defense-programmed computer running independently of Goopersh," Lulu answered. "The attack on the ship activated Trigor as the ship is on defensive mode. My father is puzzled. We all are. This ship, in theory, has no fuel to even fly out of the island. Apparently, Trigor has a separate fuel source and won't share it with Goopersh."

"Does the ship have two separate fuel sources?" JP quickly asked.

Lulu immediately responded, "Two working in tandem."

JP looked at Amo Obib and said, "Sir, I am a computer programmer. I may be able to help."

"Please," Amo Obib replied in desperation.

"Can you think of a reason why a separate computer program must handle the defensive system?" JP hastily asked.

Amo Obib gave it a thought.

"Father," Lulu interjected, "you told me Goopersh is incapable of attacking."

"Yes," Amo Obib replied. "Goopersh is programmed to evade and never to retaliate when the ship is attacked. It will automatically shutoff any ship armament it detects when activated."

"Therefore, for Trigor to retaliate, Goopersh must be deactivated?'"

"I guess it did just that," Amo Obib quickly responded.

"Lulu tells me there are two fuel tanks," JP asked.

"Yes. Tank 1 and 2."

"Then, both are empty?"

"It must be as Goopersh monitors both tanks."

"Trigor must have exclusive use on one of them. Can I communicate with Trigor?"

"Sit here and start the sentence with Trigor."

JP sat on the command chair Amo Obib vacated and immediately asked, "Trigor, what is your fuel status?"

"Fuel status, full," Trigor replied.

Amo Obib, Ningning, and Lulu could hardly believe what they heard and looked at each other in disbelief.

Amo Obib hastily said, "One of the two tanks must be full and under Trigor's exclusive control,"

"Trigor, which fuel tanks are you hooked up to?" JP asked in a deliberate tone.

"Hooked up to fuel Tank 2."

"Trigor, is there a link valve between Tank 1 and 2?" he asked without missing time.

"There is a link valve that connects both tanks."

Amo Obib looked at the transfer time status then said, "Young man, if you must do something, do it now. We don't have time."

JP was too preoccupied to answer or maybe even hear. _'What would he do if he were the programmer?'_ he asked himself then asked, "Trigor, is the link valve between tanks open?"

"Link valve is open."

"Trigor, close the link valve."

"Link valve is now closed," Trigor replied laconically.

Surprised, Amo Obib said, "The fuel indicator reads half full. Young man, you did it!"

"Not yet," JP replied in haste and continued, "Trigor, can I view the sensor that monitors the link valve status?"

"Please view the screen," Trigor replied.

In the fuel compartment, a remotely operated vehicle (ROV) flew from its dock to the link-valve control panel and zoomed on it. On the screen, it showed the control panel door wide open and the electronic circuit board within exposed. Lulu, who was intently looking at the screen, noticed something unusual. A short wire dangled within the control panel and called everyone's attention, "There is a tripwire shorting two connections at the top right of the screen."

JP focused on it commanded, "Trigor, remove the tripwire."

The ROV's mechanical arm removed the wire.

Amo Obib looked at the valve status which read 'CLOSE' a second before, now read 'OPEN.'

JP took a deep breath, and his posture relaxed while the rest were visibly tense. He smiled at Amo Obib and Ningning and said, "It's done." JP vacated the command chair and went to Lulu's side and said to her, "I love you."

"I love you," Lulu replied and hugged him. Lulu, not knowing what JP did, bade her parents farewell---"Papa, Mama, Po-ogi si bobi."

"Control transfer to Goopersh in ten seconds," announced Trigor.

"I pray it works," Amo Obib said as he held Ningning by his side.

"It will," JP confidently replied.

No one felt the control transfer when the timer read 'zero' to everyone's relief. Simultaneously Goopersh announced, "Goopersh activated and in control."

Amo Obib wasted no time to sit on the Command Chair. "Goopersh, report fuel status."

"Fuel tank half full. Detecting multiple nuclear detonations on planet Earth," Goopersh reported as it displayed planet Earth's dark side on the screen that showed multiple bright blotches of nuclear blasts on Earth's surface.

Amo Obib, though shocked, reacted decisively, "Goopersh, go back to Earth and neutralize all nuclear warheads you detect anywhere, now!"

"Neutralizing all nuclear warheads," Goopersh acknowledged, and from the pyramid ship's apex, beads of light shot out for targets on Earth in rapid succession. The ship continuously fired its laser gun to missiles bearing atomic warheads as the ship circumnavigated Earth.

"What is happening?" Ningning reacted on seeing multiple nuclear detonations on Earth.

"World War III has begun," Amo Obib answered in dismay. "The ship's laser gun is firing at nuclear warheads that have yet to detonate and convert its nuclear cores to harmless material," he explained. "There must be thousands of them," he added in astonishment and horror.

The entire East Coast of the United States was on the ship's screen. It was on the dark side of the planet. Small, bright, light-orange dots that got larger each second marked hundreds of nuclear blasts on US east coast targets. When the ship flew over West Europe and still on Earth's dark side, the scene repeated itself. Hundreds of nuclear detonations were concentrated on USSR and its satellite states. The same scene of destruction appeared to United States allies in Europe.

The four stared at the holocaust before them in silent horror.

' _What has humankind proven and accomplished?'_ flashed through Amo Obib's mind as he walked toward Ningning. Both watched the screen as World War III unfurled before them from outer space.
THE NEW WORLDS

Rosenthal Research Center grounds

President Smith was led away from the burning building to safer ground by his security men when he saw George Rosenthal in handcuffs a short distance before him. He accosted his security agent, who held Rosenthal's arm, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Mr. President, he helped the woman escape."

"That's the least of our problems. Release him," he said commandingly. "We need him more as a free man than a prisoner. We are in a state of war," the President said to Rosenthal.

Taken aback, Rosenthal reacted, "The Soviets declared war on us?!"

"They already launched their missiles!"

Before Rosenthal could say another word, a secret service man approached and said to the President, "Mr. President, we have to secure you."

"Very well," he answered, then turned to Rosenthal. "I have to leave. I advise you to stay away from military targets."

"Why?"

"Russia missiles are heading for west coast targets. Expect them within eleven minutes. Good luck, George."

"Thanks for the warning," and added, "Good luck to you too, Mr. President."

Soon after the president left, David parked the golf cart close to Rosenthal. Without fanfare, Rosenthal stepped in the cart and said, "Russian missiles are in the air and will reach west coast military targets in less than eleven minutes. We are not far from Point Magu Military Naval and Airbase. I think it's better we see our life's end from the vantage of the hilltop ahead if you know what I mean."

David understood what Rosenthal meant. Taking shelter made no sense. They were but a few miles away from two sure military targets, Point Magu Naval and Air Base, the closest. He drove and parked the golf cart at the hill's top. Both men got out of the cart, took their cellphones out of their pockets, and started punching numbers.

Rosenthal punched JP's number. It rang on the floor where JP struggled with the secret servicemen. After a dozen ringtones, Rosenthal stared at the phone then punched keys, waited, then said, "Katie, . . . I'd like you to know that there are only two people in this world that means a lot to me. It is you and JP . . . Katie just listen as I don't have time. Many times, in the past, I wanted to tell you that I . . . I love you, Katie . . . Thank you so much for your years of devotion," and he hung up. He then dialed JP's electronic mailbox then said, "John Paul, this is your Dad. Forgive me for all the time we lost. I love you, son. I never thought I could say those words and feel it. It is only now that I realize how wonderful it is to say them to people that means a lot to me. I only wished I had said it more often.

"John Paul, I want you to take over the company. Shutdown all companies related to war armaments. Divert the funds and assets to ventures that will help humanity. It's too late for me to do it. You do it for me. I want . . ."

"Mr. Rosenthal," David called out as he pointed toward the sky. "Missiles are coming."

Rosenthal scanned the area of the sky where David pointed. He discerned faint white lines etched high up on the clear blue sky. "John Paul, I love you. Goodbye, son," Rosenthal concluded his message, then he looked at the panorama around somewhat leisurely.

As the white streaks in the sky became bolder, David knew they had a little over a minute left. He went by Rosenthal's side and said, "Mr. Rosenthal, it was a pleasure working for you," then noticed Rosenthal was not looking up but rather scanning the horizon calmly.

"Likewise, and call me George," Rosenthal replied as he continued to view the scenes on a cloudless day. "You know, David, it's a pity that it is only now that I see this beautiful panorama. I have been on this hill at least twice and never saw this awesome scenery. David, at the last minute of my life, with all the power and wealth I amassed, I come to realize I have accomplished nothing. With all my wealth, I come to Him poor in spirit with a worthless story of a life of a vain man. What a waste. What a fool." He turned to David and added, "David, if given another chance, I want you to help me build another empire. One that will help people of the world.

"We will divert all our company resources to find ways to clean our planet of pollutants in the air, land, and water; develop clean, cheap fuel and efficient engines to power industries and transportations; better fertilizers to increase agricultural yields; better insecticides to control pest, do pharmaceutical research to combat diseases; and find ways to make nonproductive resources of this planet productive." He looked up and saw three projectiles heading near their vicinity. "We don't have time. Lead the prayer," he hastily said.

David prayed aloud, "Our Father, who art in heaven . . ." and Rosenthal echoed. As they prayed, they watched a missile head within six miles east of them. It did not explode in the air as they expected but continued earthward and disappeared behind a distant hill. They followed another projectile, and, to their surprise, it disappeared from their view without exploding behind another distant hill before them.

"Russian hardware," Rosenthal retorted. "There's another that's heading for Edward's Air Force Base." Realizing it was over twenty miles to the northeast, he pulled David to the ground and hurriedly said, "Close your eyes. This time we are far from the target. We may live to tell a story."

Flat on the ground, Rosenthal turned on his cell phone and listened. He heard no static discharge that followed a nuclear blast and joyously said, "David, none of the missiles exploded. Come, we have a lot to do to build a better world. So, help me, God, that will be the first and last thing I will do."

Trickery, a Virtue

Goopersh reported, "All nuclear warheads are neutralized. 1,143 nuclear detonations detected and concentrated on the Eastern United States, Europe, and USSR."

Amo Obib seated on the command chair ordered, "Goopersh, start decontaminating Earth's atmosphere of radioactive contamination."

Goopersh responded, "Initiating decontamination." The ship rapidly flew a hundred miles above Earth then sent a wide beam of light down to the ground as it circumnavigated the planet.

Amo Obib turned to JP, and curiously asked, "What was the function of the tripwire?"

"It was aimed to trick Goopersh. Answer this, what would Goopersh do if the fuel link valve sensor indicated 'Closed' as I ordered."

"Goopersh would open it."

"As I suspected. Tank 2 was full all the time, but the fuel status must indicate 'EMPTY' for Trigor to have exclusive use of Tank 2. For Goopersh to think it's empty, the link valve must read 'OPEN.' when it was physically closed."

Lulu joined, "So they installed a tripwire, making Goopersh think it is open when it was closed all the time. Goopersh was monitoring only Tank 1!"

"I think I understand," Amo Obib interjected. "If Trigor transferred control over to Goopersh with the tripwire in place, Goopersh would instantly sense the link valve to be close and would open it, then we would be in big trouble."

"But why did they do that?" Ningning asked.

"I think I know," Amo Obib answered. "During the switchover procedure, they must have caught the conflict between Goopersh's programmed responses to Trigor's retaliatory actions when they simulated an attack on the ship. In that scenario, Goopersh programmed never to use the ship's armament, will shut it down the instant the armaments are activated. Short of time to reprogram, the quickest solution was to close the link valve and short the monitoring circuits such that 'OPEN' on Tank 2 meant 'CLOSE.' Unfortunately, they had no time to relay the message to us as Goopersh was offline during the switchover."

Ningning responded lamentably, "All the time, we had the fuel but had no way of knowing."

"How did you come to a solution so easily, young man?" Amo Obib asked JP.

"Trickery is a virtue human's good at," answered JP.

"We should learn that," Ningning reacted.

"You are better off without it," JP responded, beaming.

Giving it a thought, Ningning replied, "You are right, young man."

Amo Obib understandably smiled.

Ningning asked Amo Obib, "Do we have enough fuel to hook up with the colonizing module?"

"Enough to get the colonizing module and explore thousands of planets."

"Sir," JP started uneasily. "Will you take Lulu and her sisters with you?"

"Much as Ningning and I would like that, Lulu and her sisters are Humans and fit more with your society than with mine.

Elated, JP held Lulu's hand and said, "Sir, I would like to take this opportunity to ask for your daughter's hand."

Amo Obib grinned at Lulu, "She's old enough to make that decision. If she wishes to marry you, I have no objection," and then turned to Ningning.

Ningning beamed at JP and hugged Lulu. She said, "However, Amo Obib and I must know your name."

Lulu introduced JP.

Amo Obib said, "It is our custom to have the parents around in a nuptial ceremony. Are your parents alive?"

"My father is, and my Aunt Juaning is like a mother to me. Can they be transported here for the occasion?"

"That will not be a problem."

Half an hour later, one of the many mosquito-size surveillance craft sent to search for Rosenthal found him at his downtown office. It sent a video of Rosenthal kissing Katie at the hallway with people around joyfully applauding.

"Should we take both of them?" Amo Obib asked.

"Please," JP replied.

Amo Obib did, and also got Juaning and Lulu's three sisters who were fortunate to be in no way near a nuclear blast.
THE FINAL DECISION

The reunion was concluded with Amo Obib officiating a simple marriage ceremony for Rosenthal and Katie, JP, and Lulu. At the ceremony's end, they realized there were many reasons to celebrate but had no food on the ship.

"Can we go to a supermarket?" Juaning curiously asked.

"Can we, Papa?" Lulu asked eagerly.

Ningning, who stood beside Amo Obib intervened, "Of course we can," then looked at Amo Obib, "Right, Amo?"

"Right," Amo Obib responded, grinning.

"I'll pay the tab," Rosenthal offered.

"Use a credit card?" Juaning asked.

"I don't carry cash."

Juaning exclaimed, "Use plastic and adulterate the occasion? I got real money and will take care of it. Right, George?"

"Right," Rosenthal replied, smiling.

"Who will go?" asked Ningning.

"All the women," Juaning responded quickly. "We were made for that. We leave the old ones behind."

Lulu joined, "Then JP comes with us. We need someone to carry the heavy stuff. Right, JP?"

Before JP could answer, Lulu's sisters altogether shouted, "Right!"

Everyone laughed and, soon after, the women and JP prepared to leave the ship.

Less Damage

Amo Obib and Rosenthal walked the women and JP to the transporter room. They watched them de-materialize. Amo Obib commented right after, "That's where our future is heading."

"Right," replied Rosenthal.

Both men heartily laughed.

As they walked, Rosenthal asked, "With the fuel, what are your plans?"

"Oddly, I have yet to think of it. I never thought it would end this way. It wouldn't be as easy just to leave."

"I would surmise you are contemplating helping us, Humans."

"Clean the atmosphere; help rebuild North America and Europe . . ."

"That will take time," Rosenthal interjected. "You can't be at all those places at the same time."

"How true. However, we can help those we can easily reach out to. It will take two days to get and bring back the colonizing module here on Earth. With 250,000 Durians and our technology, it will take less time to help the wounded, the sick, and rebuild what was destroyed. That will give Earthlings a good start."

"When will helping stop?"

"I do not understand," Amo Obib replied as he looked at Rosenthal.

"Rebuild North America, rebuild Europe, famine in Africa, the epidemics in Asia. The list has no end," Rosenthal stressed.

Amo Obib stayed quiet for a few seconds. "I see your point," he reacted. "I had the same dilemma when I felt it better to build a city for the Migrants. Then, what about the people at the other continents, in Central and South America? Of the places where the Migrants came? It does seem there is no end." Unable to find an answer asked, "What would you suggest?"

Rosenthal weighed what he would say as he looked at Amo Obib then decided to go about it his normal way, "Leave," he stressed. "Leave us to our problems."

"Just leave?" Amo Obib retorted.

"You'll do less damage and us humans, more good."

Amo Obib was taken aback. He expected him to be elated, grateful, appreciative, and thankful. The help was freely given! The word, 'less damage,' rang in Amo's head. He looked at Rosenthal questioningly, not grasping what he was trying to convey---the logic, the wisdom. He must understand knowing his decision would affect two worlds. He pursued the subject, "I still do not understand human ways. You are more in a position to comprehend the consequences of my action by being Human."

Rosenthal grinned. "Lulu explained well your culture, your ways that I understand your dilemma. Your culture has conditioned you to help. You cannot depart from your nature. You can't help but help."

"Helping each other should be a way of life. What is wrong with being helpful? Forgive me; I do not understand."

" **Helping, by itself, is noble. It is when you must decide when it is better not to help that a line is drawn.** Leave us Humans to struggle and be proud of what we will accomplish for ourselves when the need arises and despite all the problems. Leave us to learn from our mistakes and triumph over it. That is the best help you can give."

Amo Obib gave it a serious thought then said, "I see your point. We must let humans fend and solve their problems as we Durians must fend and solve ours. Thank you." He paused for a moment then with a sigh of relief said, "We will stay long enough to clean and repair Earth's atmosphere, then reunite with the colonizing module and search for a new planet we will call our home."

Rosenthal asked, "Will you bring Lulu, her sisters, and JP with you?"

"JP asked the same question of me. I wish we could be with them, but my children are as human as you are. Lulu has JP. I worry for my three other daughters. They are so innocent of Human ways. I wish . . ."

Rosenthal cut short Amo Obib, "You need not worry. I will adopt and care for them as though they are my own."

"Po-ogi si bobi. I mean, thank you so very, very much. Ningning will be so happy to know that," he said with joy. In a serious manner, added, "I will leave behind all of Duria's science and technology and will need someone to administer its distribution as some may not be wise to divulge at this point in time. Do you know of anyone who may be able to help?"

Rosenthal, with a wide grin, replied, "I think I do."

### PO-OGI SI BOBI

The novel's survival---its message, philosophy, the story, rest solely in your hands. If you like the story, please recommend it to your friends.

Being an untrained writer, I spent years to write and rewrite this novel, my first. I would be so grateful if you would spend a minute to write a brief review as I am so curious of your reaction. Assess it for its story as I am not a professional nor a literary writer but merely a storyteller.

Po-ogi si bobi.

About the Author

I was born on December 14, 1943, in Davao City, Philippines. In education, I have a degree in Bachelor of Arts major in mathematics, Industrial Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, and a Master's in Business Administration. I migrated to the United States in November of 1976 and worked there until 1997. My last employer was Mileage Plus, Inc., a subsidiary of United Airlines, as a Senior Systems Analyst. I retired on that same year and returned to my native land, Davao City, Philippines, and had lived there to this day. I have a son, John Paul (JP) Campo who resides in Los Angeles, California.

On and off, from March of 1981 till August of 2020, I struggled to finish this novel. With no formal writing training, I literally told a story (tell) opposed to the literary standard of 'show.' The story's pace is fast as there are a lot of scenes to cover. I can only hope that the quality of the story, as written, and the philosophy moral issues it addressed and subtly embedded in the story itself is much to your liking.

Love God and one another---PO-OGI SI BOBI

Other books by this author

I have three other novels still to be written as it completely done but still in my head. My writing it depends largely on how this novel, Help, is received.

One book will be titled, "The Other Life" --- a contrast between opulent life versus simple living---which is better for our children and us. It is a story of a couple, extremely wealthy by themselves but kept it a secret even to each other. Couples who sought a meaningful life for themselves and their children. Of how each fought hard, the temptation to reveal and use their wealth when life got tough for each of them. Of the problems they had to raise two boys (one became an addict) and a girl to teach them something of better value when money, material things, and social lifestyle becomes an issue. How each, very discreetly and secretly, poured millions of their wealth into improving the quality of life in their community without the community knowing who their benefactors were.

The other book will be titled "Forgive, love." It is a story of a physically abused nine years old boy, malnourished, mute, and abandoned to the care of monks in a monastery not far from a small town. How this disabled boy, who mumbled only two words that sounded 'Giv' and 'Lab,' meaning 'forgive' and 'love,' transformed the whole town, once divided by conflicting tribal groups, to live their lives under those two words. A boy who left a legacy of forgiveness and love in merely three weeks of his life with the townsfolks.

The last story will be titled COVID-19. It will be a story of a struggle of a woman who owns and operated a home for the elderly in the midst of the corona virus pandemic. A story of what is right and what is wrong, of conscience when she administered euthanasia to the remaining elderlies in her facilities at the elder's request. How the townsfolks who, knowing why she did it, willfully hide her from authorities when the woman was charged for multiple murder. How the community strongly rallied behind her.

I am not a writer but merely a very imaginative fellow. I am looking for someone to collaborate in writing the above as a novel. If you are willing, I will provide the detailed skeleton of the story while you help put the flesh on it. Contact me via my email address: bibocampo@hotmail.com.

Connect with Arturo Campo

**At 76 years of age** , as of December 14, 2019, learning is not easy but familiar with HOTMAIL.

Write me directly through my email address: bibocampo@hotmail.com if you wish to discuss the story, Help.

Boldly, I signed up for a Twitter account and wonder into the unknown. Hopefully to read your comments and answer some of your questions. I hope you enjoyed HELP.

My Twitter link: http:/twitter.com/@Bibo1943

DEDICATION

### To the loving memory of my father

Anastacio Malaya Campo

### My mother

Remedios Ponce de Leon Fernandez

### My wife

Luningning Aguirre

### \--------------

### With much love

Allison Campo, my grandchild; John Paul Campo, my son; Lyra Campo, my daughter-in-law; and Melody Tibong
Acknowledgement

You will never know just how far your help got me going.

Many thanks:

Nena Gutana

Caridad Marasigan

Norma Ezpeleta

Antonio Bacalso

Glen Cear

Melchor Espiritu

and most specially Marijack Pamintuan and Stephen Brandon. Both inspired me to finish this novel.

Finally, to my grandniece, Olivia Green, who helped me final edit the book. You will never know how grateful I am for the tedious work you did to find the many errors in the book. To my other grandniece, Remy Marasigan, you opened my eyes to sentence structure and paragraph consistency. Together, Olivia and Remy, thank you.

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