

CONDUCTOR

A Myth of Mind Control

By Eric Stanley Thomas

Copyright 2016

To Stanley Nelson Thomas

Who encouraged me to

THINK BIG

I

am

a fragile

human, not a

hearty outcome of

evolutionary nature.

Adapted to intelligence,

the body doesn't

matter. I am

eternal

spirit.

# PROLOGUE

October 1975

A Sense Mapping

A lone, tall, and imposing young man stood on the forest edge and had a private conversation with his Conductor. The Conductor, a thought voice inside of his head, said forcefully:

THERE,

SEE THE BOY

BY THE JUNGLE

GYM?

The

little

red-headed

boy?

SEE

HIS RIGHT

HAND MOVING

COUNTER-CLOCKWISE?

Detector-in-training Agent Ackroyd adjusted his goggles and zoomed-in.

Yes?

PULL BACK

AND OBSERVE

THE PLAYGROUND

ACTIVITY.

Yes?

THE BOY

IN THE GREEN JACKET

CHASING THE THREE GIRLS?

THE KID PUSHING THE DIZZY

WHEEL? THE DIRECTION

OF MOTION?

The girl

cart-wheeling?

I get it. You're saying

the red-head is

influencing?

SUBTLE,

ISN'T HE?

Agent Ackroyd hesitated.

No,

not really. If

he's influencing, why

does he need the hand

movement?

GOOD!

He's

not the

influencer.

CORRECT.

Agent Ackroyd goggled the corner classroom windows and said:

There's

a blonde,

button-nosed

girl blazing her sixth

chakra against the

window.

MEET

TEN YEAR OLD

MONICA

GIFFORD.

Jeez

she's strong!

She's conscious

of the ability!

She must be

a conduit.

The Conductor thought to himself:

I show Ackroyd grade school playgrounds across America, fertile and accessible plains of energetic observation, and yet he still takes these rare finds for granted as if every schoolyard harbors a conduit class.

YES,

AGENT,

SHE HAS

PLACID-SET

PARENTS AND

PUPPET-SET PEERS,

AND I DISCOVERED THAT SHE

HAS CORNERED THE LOCAL BRAT-CARE BUSINESS BY SUB-CONDUCTING THREE OF HER DEAREST FRIENDS INTO PAYING HER A FINDER'S FEE FOR EVERY BABYSITTING JOB THEY PERFORM! MONICA KNOWS EVERY FAMILY THAT NEEDS A BABYSITTER

WITHIN TEN MILES

OF HER HOME.

Which

means?

SHE

KNOWS AT

LEAST EVERY FAMILY

IN THE LOCAL

DISTRICT.

I'm

here to

detect if she goes

conduit?

YES!

I HAVE HER AT

REGIONAL

PLUS.

She's

more than a

regional?

MAYNARD,

WHAT DOES YOUR

ENERGY BODY

CONVEY?

I

feel

a strong

transient

awareness.

SHE'S

AMAZING.

_She knows I'm here_ , thought Maynard, involuntarily circling his left hand counter clockwise.

A rare generational find, locating Monica Gifford at such an early age, when she could be molded and trained coherently, is the reason she endured her eventual imprisonment. For thousands of years, governments, secret societies, religions, and power brokers, have kept mind control a secret in order to consolidate power to a limited few. There are forces that employ fear, corruption, propaganda, media control and distraction, and a top-down power structure to keep all of humankind in check; guidance usually confused as being a God's omnipotent voice and invisible presence.

The mind control hierarchy is a undisclosed physics-based range of mental power; only a few individuals can attain upward mental mobility and knowledge within the control consciousness, and only if they are allowed to do so. The higher one goes, the more attention is paid to your advancement by those above, and the less that your freewill is actually yours, until, by a rare generational occurrence, you're able to topple the Master Conductor at the peak of the pyramid.

# PART ONE - Man in the Half Moon Dome

#

Speed & force = power / control.

June 2015

1. Canon City

Maynard Ackroyd positioned his massive body and resolutely cold conduit mind between the isolation cell door and the steady arrogant glare of Guard Bubba Tibbons. From within the cell, Monica Gifford screamed at Maynard to piss-off, for the world to piss-off, and for all gods and goddesses to piss-off. Monica's skills and unorthodox Gurument training and unfortunate fate had led her to a private Colorado Maximum-Security Prison.

I owe Monica everything. Maynard glared back at Bubba Tibbons and his tin foil block hat. Through clenching teeth Bubba said, "Monica's all yours, sir, after this here taser makes her shut the hell-up. Puhleeeeze move aside."

"No," said Maynard.

"No?" exclaimed Bubba, "No? See how Monica's downed everyone in the cellblock? This interview is over!"

Maynard said calmly, "She hasn't downed you, Mr. Tibbons. Monica is a kind of ethical channel."

Bubba relaxed and managed a smile and patted his block hat built-in camera, "And I'm wearing Channel Number Five! I know she's heavily medicated, and I know you're a fed, sir, but I have to protect us from this lunatic. Now back away!"

Maynard wouldn't budge from blocking the cell door, so Bubba decisively tasered Maynard's right kneecap. As Maynard yelled and crumpled over in agony, Bubba recharged the taser. The tension of Maynard's so-called follow-up interview with Monica evaporated as Bubba gloated and hovered over the fetal Mr. Ackroyd and listened to his pitchy moans. _There would be no interview of Monica today and I'll leave Ackroyd in her cell if I have to._

Then Bubba opened the cell door, shooting the taser to the chest of Monica, who proudly welcomed it with arms held high. She didn't collapse or give ground. The cellblock lights went dark, and the emergency battery lights kicked-on. Abruptly enraptured by the rippling air distortion behind Monica, Bubba felt a diverse energy intrude, like a hot desert wind invading a cool mountain shadow. Bubba froze in awe of the soothing waves of energy. Through the ripples, an intrusion of blackness, sparkles, plasma-like energy, and superimposition. A colorful and bizarre four legged sheep clown formed right next to Monica.

It then galloped around the stunned Bubba, encircling him in misty color, and bold threatening movements, splattering Bubba with multi-colored paint drops; a mind-stretching cornucopia, woolen white sheep and circus clown images warped the air; the Clownsheep went through the cell door avoiding the rubber bullets fired by Bubba. A continuous stream of thought forms emanated out from the entire cellblock, and expanded outward from the whole prison to merge with the high prairie late spring azure sky.

Monica used a judo move and took down Bubba Tibbons, and then stared at the open cell door and Maynard's moaning form on the walkway; then she thought about her father. Her mom had been killed in a solo car accident when Monica was six years old. Her Dad, Glenn, raised her in rural Mendocino County until she was fifteen. He was a freelance bookkeeper for several legit businesses and had a underground client who grew thousands of pot plants. Glenn taught Monica everything he knew about bookkeeping and finance. One day, the underground client accused Glenn of skimming cash and framed him as the caretaker of a remote pot farm on state forest land. Glenn was murdered in the Soledad Prison exercise yard by an associate of his shady client, in front of a very passive prison guard, which now colored Monica's opinion of all prison guard's ethical range of behavior.

Never again will I be jailed by low-con losers!

Monica stomped on Bubba's ribcage until it cracked, and he screamed at her in pain, then whimpered and mewed, and faded into a state of shock. She stepped over Bubba and looked down at the prone Maynard; joyful feelings of loyalty and bitter revenge intermingled as she suppressed her guilt. She sense-mapped the prison wing, and discovered that many of her cellmates were awake and mentally prompting her to trigger a mass escape. Discerning all of the prison grounds and guards, and support staff, she planned her escape in the clarified moment, looking at the first guard station, and headed for the Outer Sanctum.

2. The Bypass Café @ Half Moon Bay

Weber Grambling had one eye on Clutch Antoine and one eye on Clutch's daily tormentor, Toad Belfour. Weber didn't need gaydar to detect the flamboyant Toad Belfour. Nobody in California needed gaydar anymore.

Toad knew how to rile Clutch. It was pretty easy... everyone riled Clutch. Toad was middle-aged, slow and deliberative, a fat happy slob, and a trust fund hippy. He squeaked along in tattered and faded denim shorts, wearing a loose fitting red and gold Hawaiian shirt, his eyes holding sparks of menacing wit.

Toad gripped a platter loaded with diggings from the round-tabled buffet menagerie named Donut Mountain, featuring the maple glazed South Peak, two French Cruller ridges, and the bubbling Hot Chocolate Fondue Fiord with floating and dissolving customer-abandoned whip cream test shots.

Executing the risky balancing act, Toad stopped at Clutch and Weber's table. Body cologne and body odor arrived with him. Toad faced upward cringing, barely suppressing a sneeze and let go a big blaster. A plain cake donut landed on Clutch's Dutch Toast, splattering droplets of syrupy melted butter on the table.

Blurting caustic giggles, Toad said," Bless me! I do feel snotty today." Then a squeaky ambivalent shuffle to his table, sniveling and swiveling and laughing weakly he said," Keep the donut." Clutch started to get up, but Weber motioned him down. Clutch slouched and sighed, and fell backward, slap-whooshing the mock leather cushion.

"Clutch...pummeling Toad won't stop the flirting."

Squinting and ignoring Weber, tacitly claiming territorial breakfast plate rights, Clutch picked up a knife and began to fork, slice, and lift a section of Toad's plain cake donut. He dipped it in the hot buttered syrup boat and ate it.

His anger melted away. Nasal whistles accompanied suctioned air through his broad nose as he chewed and swallowed carbo load ala Toad.

Weber darted his eyes at a passing waitress, and smiled cautiously and remembered why he possessed a pen in hand. It was for the unsigned insurance license form under Clutch's water glass, the one splattered with buttered syrup droplets. Despite Clutch's distrust of those California State sub-conduits who cajole and covet taxpayers, and then tax away the taxpayer's chance at saving money for some dental work in the near future, the newly stained form had to be signed.

It was a simple formality of the California Private Eye Credentialism Board.

Weber acted as a buffer, as usual. After a few mental prods, Clutch signed and dated the splattered liability form. Now they could practice private detective work for another year in all California counties. Fortunately, Weber mailed the renewal form before they actually began to incur work-related damage later in the afternoon.

Clutch and Weber left the Bypass Café in their motor home named Karmavore, and clunked over Hwy 92 to south freeway 280, while the news radio hyped the Clownsheep story like an instant suburban myth that'll fade out by the next news cycle. Clutch's toothache got worse.

Accompanied by co-anchor chuckles and insightful outbursts from an effected off-studio audio engineer, the aged anchorman reported that an elusive pack of wild dogs in Colorado had attacked house pets including Yollar, the champion Malamute show dog.

Fast and furious the strange Clownsheep mob had struck. Clutch turned the radio down and grabbed his tablet. Weber drove and watched CNN on the dashboard flat screen. Karmavore is a 500 horsepower twenty seven foot Recreational Vehicle equipped with a CB radio, MP3 system, a small commercial satellite dish, a Gurument issued off-the-public-bandwidth classified Wi-Fi satellite dish system, a cell phone booster unit, a solar and gas generator, and an isolation chamber that blocks electromagnetic waves. The aluminum siding distorts non-electromagnetic energy wave spin and had been replaced with expensive carbon nylon composite armor panels. For Clutch, listening and responding to world news is an exercise in worldliness. The Clownsheep story was certainly sensational weirdness.

In short, a deliberate, bizarre, mind control swath effect had issued forth from Colorado with the power to erase the imagination in those that were within range. This is not to say creativity ended. Crap still issued forth within the influence of the effect. Those who continued to produce only copied what had come before.

"Authorities today in California are baffled over a rash of petnappings and killings and gross felony mayhem in and around Yosemite National Park. The effect has migrated into California from Colorado."

"Wackos runamuckas," ranted Clutch.

"It seems our greatest creative artists are under attack by an insidious malady as yet to be identified...perhaps a microorganism? How could this happen to so many at the same time? Surely this is not a coincidence. What's next Sean?"

"My show of course, hey folks...if the effect hits the rest of California, there will be no new quality commercials or visual arts, dances, books, fashions, and architecture! Music and makeup! Tattoos! What the hell is going on here? That's it. What a day, folks, what a day! Lines are open in five minutes. The ten oh eight guest is the chef from Maya Magoos...barring a stroke that is."

"And thanks to the lucid Sean, and from Jimbo and Ed, thanks for tuning in to the morning news. We hope the effect has disaffected our devoted listeners. Thank goodness Sean is still unaffected."

The Clownsheep mob was now in Yosemite! The swath of mind control hadn't reached the Bay Area yet. Weber Grambling steered Karmavore to north 680, then east on 580 toward the Sierra Nevada's, proactively anticipating that the Gurument would soon ask for his help to manage the transdimensional breach.

3. Foray

Someone from the Gurument had shut off the prison electric grid from the main feed outside the prison walls, and someone on the inside had shut-off the back-up generator. Monica Gifford, having finally overcome the drugs the warden put in her food, stepped over Maynard Ackroyd and sauntered toward the terrified prison guard manning the secure watch post, whose squinting, slack-jawed, and woozy white trash attitude pressed the plate glass to see Monica's shadowy form approaching him with malice of forethought. She siphoned the guard's attention energy and redirected it to the manual override lock lever which the guard pulled on involuntarily to open the vestibule door.

Monica moved quickly through the doorway, her eyes penetrating to the next watch post. She skirted the cameras and knocked out most everyone within a mile radius of the prison and kept the other watch post guards alert and siphoned. She needed the guard assist through the control pass-points until she could finally exit the mind-numbing prison. A rubber bullet whizzed by her left shoulder, and from behind her the Gurument Agent Ackroyd said, "Lay down with your hands behind your back!" Then there came a Gurument Conduit operative, Maynard's inside man, who had shut down the prison power generator, and wore a fazed block hat and pointed a bean bag gun at her face...

Monica did not lie down for the Gurument. Mixed feelings for Maynard would not get in the way this time. She squeezed back and Maynard and the other man crumpled in pain. She headed for the next pass-point and made the female guard open the door and pass out. Monica remembered the guard as being the meanest crony bitch of them all. She palm punched the guard's false teeth out and threw them behind an artificial plant. The battery powered alarm system faded in intensity. Monica made it to the visitor's lobby where a third Gurument Agent waited, wearing his own block hat designed to block conduit level telepathic intrusions. Monica acted rashly. The helmeted Gurument Agent took his own life by firing a point blank rubber bullet into his own temple. When this was discovered by Maynard, he confirmed to himself that Monica Gifford was no longer a strong Regional Conduit and probably had never been a Regional. _Very few people alive can stop her now._

Monica leapt over the dead Gurument Agent and entered the administrative wing and met no resistance as she approached the visitor lobby and final control point. A veteran male guard, compliantly opened the door, and she let him down gently with a forehead kiss. Outside the air was crisp and breezy and open. Monica engaged hungrily for new minds to read, and all the teaming minds for miles around were available to her, unimpeded by the self knowledge of Monica's capability. And so she sent the actionable people and authorities out of harms way.

The Clownsheep thingy was many miles west; its colorful thought forms struck at her mind and left control hooks in her energy body like those of a mature Beta Conductor, draining creativity from all of the other creative people in the path of it's transdimensional terror.

She thought: _I wonder which one of us the Gurument fears the most?_

4. Common Ground

The day before, the powerful thought wave form had overtaken Canon City, Colorado, the "Capital of American Prisons", a sprawl of public and private prisons where thousands of boundary breaking criminals live symbiotically side by side with boundary enforcing guards, sharing incarceration psychosis, the hyper-vigilant duty to control a prisoner coupled to the hyper-vigilant urge for the prisoner to escape.

The unfathomable Clownsheep Edgar, juiced-up by the hyper-vigilant effect, clobbered Central Colorado consciousness and creativity with a continuously spawning fear-based fever wave of dark thought forms, radiating outward to the ego controlled world. His sphere of influence was fifty miles in diameter. At first the thought form effect was tangible only to the artistic themselves. Abstract landscapists and beloved poets suffered mild strokes, while others clawed at creative blocks; many continued their uninspired craft, a nullification of their previous artistic status.

Inside the epicenter, mild brain strokes increased. The effect gently accelerated senility in the imaginative elderly and tweaked everyone's touch tablets and smart phones with apps that opened indecipherable symbols that enhanced the distraction. The forces of government erupted into action. The evidence left by Edgar was made chaotically, scattered here and there in a flurry. Hoof prints in the mud and sandbars. Greasepaint colors rubbed onto aspen bark. Dog and catnappings', a swath of bloody fur-kid corpses from Canon City to Montrose littered the countryside.

Heckling the bird life and scattering the deer, this rippling movement of light and color, at first thought to be a gang of cruel performance artists or a sadistic flash mob, combined dancing with pet stalking, targeting campsites and remote cabins. Side glancing witnesses saw chaotically comical wild dogs. High-con and perceptive witnesses perceived sheepnish at the edge of their vision.

Edgar moved so fast as to appear to be multiple Clownsheep. Elegantly shaped, a blur of a pantomime, witnesses claimed Edgar was the name he kept naming himself, the only word he ever said he said repeatedly, pointing at his chest: Edgar, Edgar, Edgar! He also spoke his name inside peoples' heads.

His hairdo was a frightful mimicry of a spongy red harlequin foolscap minus the tinkling bells. A white face pocked by caked-on boils gushing primary green, orange, red, yellow, and blue greasepaint; the witnesses felt sharp energetic eruptions of pleasure malice, leading their attention to unprecedented dark thought form fulfillment, to the untapped subversive nature of the ignored and collective unconsciousness.

Edgar spied on cabin homes in Pagosa Springs, prancing back and forth in the shadows of pine trees, he twirled and spun-off red and pink paint drops. He surveyed a shady lawn with his paint smeared hardbound travelogue in hand, always waving the book at the witnesses, and he moved swiftly towards a fetching celebrity dog.

Across the road, the reddish tan English bulldog, Chutzpah, careened and twisted inside his pen, springing from tense haunches, pawing at the latched gate, his tongue pressing the galvanized wire. Slobber elongated as Chutzpah's master, Ernie Arneson, lifted the latch.

"Chuzzie good boy. No leash for now!"

The gate swung violently as Chutzpah heaved against it. He ran in circles, half growling, half submissive. Arnie crouched and teased him by dangling a leash. Chutzpah came forward sniffing cautiously, and then resumed his hang tongue expression.

After affectionate pats, Arnie hooked the leash to Chutzpah, then they went down the primrose path, past the choir of nine stoic garden gnomes, to the gravel driveway circle joining the paved roadt as a postal jeep pulled up with the thrice week delivery. The ponytailed mailman said, "Hey Arnie, you got another plate."

"Yeah, looks like it," replied Arnie as he accepted the envelopes and a slim cardboard package, "It's my second Stooges plate. Suppose to be as stunning as the second Bev Hillbillies."

The Postman nodded and half-smiled. Then abruptly, Chutzpah ripped free of the leash. Arnie and the Postman watched Chutzpah run away towards the Nicholson's driveway entrance across the road. Arnie yelled, "Chuzzie! Here boy! Don't go up there!" The postman drove on.

As Arnie reached the base of Nicholson's driveway, a dog doomed yelp echoed around the neighborhood followed by a terrified woman's scream. Arnie froze. Then a tail-tucking Chutzpah came running down the driveway tearing agitated circles around Arnie, who dropped the mail, moaning when the Three Stooges plate cracked with a ceramic death ping. Arnie grabbed Chutzpah by the collar. Fresh blood soaked Chutzpah's chin and breast. Chutzpah licked Arnie. Orange and white greasepaint streaked Chutzpah's back and smeared Arnie's hands.

Arnie took hold of the leash and tied the looped end to Nicholson's yellow reflective address post. Chutzpah whined and clawed the pavement, bending the plastic post slightly. Arnie began a slow climb towards the sound of a woman wailing. Dread tainted nausea welled inside him as thoughts formed recognition.

God, don't let it be the almighty prizewinning show dog Yollar.

Arnie stared at Nicholson's side lawn, which lacked any obvious scream source.

What was all that commotion in the woods?

He knew the sobbing woman by the edge of the lawn. She pointed at the woods.

What was her name? Oh yeah, She's Nicholson's cabin sitter, Rachael.

She wasn't too hysterical; in fact, she added relief to Arnie's situation by confirming that it wasn't Arnie's Chutzpah that had dragged Yollar into the shadowy woods.

Something else had done the killing.

Rachael shakily pointed at the brushy forest undergrowth; it had to be a bear, or whatever. Arnie was naked without a shotgun...

He could see a pack of fast and wild animals across the far side of the back lawn, in the trees, dancing and pirouetting off their hind legs. Then came an agonized groan from Rachael as she grabbed her temples and crumpled to the ground. Arnie bent over, sick to his stomach, his head throbbed with every Chutzpah bark. In a peak frenzy of confusion, Arnie threw up and jogged back down the driveway with Chutzpah to call the sheriff and to find something to dissolve the paint on Chutzpah's reddish tan coat.

Hours later, the authorities said the Edgar Clownsheep creature had surprised and menaced Yollar on the back lawn as Yollar played towel n tug with Rachael. Edgar had dragged Yollar aside and disemboweled her in the woods between scraggly juniper bushes. On top of bloody pine needles, seven colored rhinestones glistened off Yollar's torn collar. When her mausoleum was built her followers added revenge to the sublime tenets of dog idolatry.

5. Groveland Cleave

High horsepower Karmavore rumbled across the farm plain of California's San Joaquin Valley to the golden foothills west of Yosemite National Park. Weber took Highway 120 up the Old Priest Grade short cut in order to pass the slower RV's, and to diabolically hold back the faster passenger cars. At the top of the grade there was a turnout and intersection to rejoin 120 proper. Clutch took over the driver's seat while Weber used his IPOD to video cars passing by with their angry occupants displaying middle fingers.

"Bored teenagers," said Weber.

"What's that?" replied Clutch.

"Punk kids pretending to be sicko's."

"What? The cars behind us?"

"No. I don't buy the wild animal theory."

Clutch shrugged, "Oh? Where do we start?"

"I don't know. Keep your eye open."

They slowed to 25 mph at the Groveland town limit sign and entered a charming gold mining village adorned with cops and buzzing bystanders. Tired and confused townspeople and doctors from "Veterinarians for Peace" conferred by a Red Cross tent housing catatonic victims of the effect. They parked a block away and Weber got it all on his IPOD. They were at the front lines...

Patrolman Matthew Jeffers approached and had Clutch and Weber's ear right away: "They been through here early this morning. They left prints and paint droplets. If yah ask me, they aren't wild dogs...maybe wolves. You guys from the county? Can I see Eye Dee's?"

Weber whipped out his wallet and Clutch got his out real slow like.

Weber asked," Which way did the wild dogs go?"

Jeffer's beady-eyes perused their ID's and said, "From San Mateo County? Eh...okay, okay...uh...we surveyed west of here...no reports of attacks there. I think we got our hands full with this bunch of retired hippy artists up here. Their pets are left unattended. You know the rest."

"No I don't," replied Weber," I believe you can tell me some more if I buy you breakfast at Ansel's."

Weber pointed across the street.

Jeffers face lit up." Ansel's? They got them foo foo garlic hash browns...sure I'll take yah up on it. Not often I get to talk with prying eyes from San Francisco."

"Half Moon Bay," corrected Clutch.

"Well, here's your ID's. Yah won't believe what we found up near Buck Meadows."

They ate a fine country-sized meal and listened to Jeffers describe the stroke victims and horrible pet attacks outside the mainstream of the usual deviant rural crimes. These unknown culprits were some kind of city-bred imports practicing ritual sacrifice, taking a dare, or being just plain head sick. Jeffers thought the mind effect hysteria was a symptom of the boomers city to country migration. Then Jeffers asked," Ready to see the evidence?"

Weber replied," If it's close. Otherwise we'll go up to Buck Meadows."

"Out back close enough?"

In the back was a slashed and mutilated body of a mature German Shepherd named Garvey, who had belonged to Ansel's night cook. Wearing a headset camcorder, Clutch filmed the perimeter, seeing paint droplets smeared on low branch oak leaves, zoomed in on the stylized graffiti lines tagging a piece of plywood leaning against an antique shed. He took blue, red, and yellow paint drop samples that stunk like petroleum jelly.

Jeffers showed Weber the footprints. Weber quickly observed the cloven hoof indents, not wolf, dog, horse, or cougar.

More likely a goat or a sheep!

Unusual violence, signs of agility, very active hoofs. Many were obliterated by vigorous contact, as if the perps had been leaping around and enjoying themselves, and there was as many as twenty attackers or as few as one. Too messy to tell.

Weber got the chills. In the corner of his left eye he thought he saw something. He looked left. There was nothing. It may have been the tail of a squirrel, or the spark of reflected sunlight, or a low flying bird.

Weber studied the recently watered backyard, which had been torn up, where clumps of mud and grass mixed with hoof gouges. Weber carefully observed a detail that was so obvious he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. He concluded, although they were subhuman in nature, it was people who had left handprints as they cart wheeled into the bushes.

Weber was often self-conscious about his hasty analyzing; someone wore hoof shoes and knew gymnastics and carried paint tubes and had an extreme need to kill pets. The wild dog theory was a wild fiction.

"Say Clutch."

Clutch was on his knees, filming a headless squirrel on the ground.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe the Canon City effect caused some artists to go over the deep end."

Clutch chuckled, "Art students? How can you tell?"

Weber said with a sly grin, "It smells like they make their own paint." He leaned in toward the plywood paint spots, grimaced and rubbed his nose, and entered the edge of the woods to continue his survey.

At this point, after observing the professionalism of private eyes from the Bay Area, Deputy Jeffers decided he trusted Clutch and Weber and headed to his patrol car, and sped up the highway towards Buck Meadows.

Weber walked slowly towards the street and said," We figure out these hooves, we find our perp. Let's follow Jeffers to Buck Meadows."

"Sure," said Clutch as he finished taping the crime scene. He scratched his head, and nodded reluctantly.

This was not going to be a vacation, this vocation of ours.

"Vacation? We always lead the good life," said Weber, reading Clutch's mind.

Clutch shrugged and said," I want to see Half Moon Dome...I mean Half Dome! Why do I always say that?"

"Well, it's probably because there's a full moon tonight, and we're going to Yosemite Valley, and our home is in Half Moon Bay," said Weber with affection.

"Screw that! It trips me up every dang time we come up here."

"Long fall from Half Dome-"

"When you land in the Mavericks. Let's get going," said Clutch.

Clutch and Weber burned to solve the case, shoot down like dirty dogs the improbable pack of wild dogs with hands for paws, because this was much easier on the soul than nabbing tragically stroked-out tagger art-terrorists.

Karmavore arrived in Buck Meadows where on the fringe of Weber's awareness two animals shadowed them, crossing meadows and clearings like some rabid demons, stirring pine needles and scattering birds and rabbits, disappearing east over a wooded ridge. A fleeting feeling of nourishing empathy oozed over the ridge top and stoked the heart of Weber's anticipation.

6. Fizzgig

A tunnel through solid granite framed Highway 120. Sunset engraved tree shadows were on the water stained cliff faces, and on the other side of the tunnel a solitary Clownsheep landed upon Karmavore's roof.

Clutch yelled, "Rock fall!"

As their adrenaline surged, Clutch and Weber cursed at what they thought were rocks striking the roof. It was a Clownsheep stomping and tapping his hooves upon the noisy resonate metal fiber composite roof which also housed trap like plastic air vents, delicate satellite receivers, plastic skylights, a fifteen foot housing enclosing a retractable awning, and a pop-up siren and flasher.

Weber managed to pull off the road into a paved turnout while Clutch readied his net blaster. Then there came a static noise from the back. Clutch and Weber faced the back window of Karmavore as a Clownsheep came through the curtained window, which miraculously didn't shatter with the impact! Weber thought:

Holy shit, a transdimensional?

The creature waited for Clutch or Weber to make a move. Clutch fired the net blaster. The net went through the Clownsheep and flattened the curtains and sagged onto the window ledge, and became entangled with the curtain.

Palms out and fingers up, the bobbing and excited Clownsheep said," I good! I surrender! I surrender! My name is Fizzgig! Got paper towel? Don't want to stain wheelhouse. Don't want to stain." He waved his palms back and forth. Red drops squirted from his middle fingers. Blue paint drops formed around his eyes.

Clutch and Weber stared at Fizzgig, dumbfounded.

A surreal paint-leaking clown merged with a sheep?

Clutch thought to Weber:

When people say things twice in a row it usually means they're lying.

Clutch sat down on the kitchenette nook seat and took several deep breaths. Weber was deeply affected by the closeness of an intense emotional wave source. He sat down in between the driver and passenger seat and wept unabashedly. He pulled out his I Phone and pointed it at what was now a submissive Clownsheep named Fizzgig who was somehow here to surrender, or to advise, or to commune. Weber couldn't sort out his array of feelings. No doubt Fizzgig was a dangerous being. A Clownsheep had been seen near where a herd of deer had been slaughtered at Buck Meadows, and near a grisly discovery of dead pack mules and horses inside a Forest Service corral. Fizzgig moved in a macabre wiggle, bowing slightly, inner torso glowing pink, swinging his hips along the narrow aisle. Elation surged through Clutch and Weber's energy bodies.

Fizzgig trust. Fizzgig compassion. Fizzgig rapport.

His pulse racing, Clutch groped for the paper towels hanging above the sinklet. He tossed the roll underhanded. Fizzgig caught it, unraveled about four feet, and dabbed and wiped the hall paneling.

Sniffling, Weber videoed in mushy awe. Fizzgig gently caressed his grossly colorful pore sores and facial splotches. Waves of emotion continued to bathe Clutch and Weber. The cell phone camera recorded visual distortions, electromagnetic wave emanations, strange twisted dark light filaments coursing the air, lasting only a hundredth of a second, barely detectable to the human eye. Fizzgig's upper body skin color changed constantly. Broad red and black lines accented the mouth; lines bold and crimson flowed into thinner line patterns on his pronounced upper cheekbones. Yellow eyes glistened, a sharp tunnel of beamed universal thought forms connected to Clutch and Weber's mind. Black-lined crow's-feet hinted of a humorous intent lying dormant and ready to be released. His fore-torso a human male with arms and hands and a flowing wool mane, his rear and lower torso the design of a sheep with muscled legs atop cloven hooves.

Fizzgig smiled with restrained menace and suddenly changed into a wolf and then back into his indigenous Clownsheep form. Weber laughed tearfully, shook his head, and squeezed his eyes as if to clear an unwanted vision. Clutch regained composure and charged at Fizzgig and landed solo and hard on the back cushions. Dazed, he spun around, crouched, and leapt again at Fizzgig, who right crossed Clutch's left chin. Oddly, Clutch's head didn't snap back from the blow. He wobbled and moaned, and then fell backward and hit his head.

Weber chuckled maniacally.

Fizzgig said, "Kill your camera, not your heart."

Weber reflexively shook the I Phone. No viewfinder and no visual, but later he discovered that the sound recorded.

Fizzgig instructively said, "Road signs say no camping."

Under extreme energetic potency, Weber returned to the driver's seat, and proceeded into Yosemite Valley as Fizzgig sat like a dog in the aisle space, taking in the wonderful twilight canyon.

When they pulled into the Stoneman Meadow turnout, Fizzgig, brimming with excitement, spoke to Weber telepathically:

LONG

PIGLET. SHARE

EYES! I NOT

HURT.

By this time, Weber was composed and unfazed by the wave-like mind effects, but not so sure of Fizzgig's intention. Weber understood the danger of being close to a transdimensional being emitting a powerful control wave. Paradoxically, it was a happy seizure to overcome. He let it run like a current by all of his senses and sense-mapped Karmavore and Stoneman Meadow, holding and scanning his own position in space and time. He began to understand Clownsheep motivation.

Our modern world, spawning multiple distractions, is an impressionist's slow motion day-mare, where shape and form are dismissively taken for granted, like a gravity-resistant moth to an irresistible flame.

It came to Weber's mind that Clownsheep seek dense beauty. Geo-fixed places spread out over the Earth; godhead vortexes absorb and replenish the natural beauty of a place. Animal forms, in the path of the moving Clownsheep, embody transcendent beauty. The Clownsheep's unique channel of recognition becomes transferrable to any available human visual cortex. The residual effect of this visual cortex intrusion is that the effect itself cancels out the imagination of artists who dare to see through the eyes of others. The truly artistic become dysfunctional while the truly uninspired experience no change.

The unfortunate pets, so savagely killed, were caught in the wide swath of an onrushing transdimensional being. The pets competed with the aesthetics of what the Clownsheep wanted to see: which was nature unimpeded by spoiled domestic pets stealing the scene. Without due condiment, pets were fresh meat standing.

7. Temporal Flat

Parked inside the Lower River Campground, Clutch revived the next morning inside Karmavore. Scolding blue jays and chattering and annoying children were too close to the back window. Groggily moving forward, Clutch side glanced left to scope the shower toilet, groaned, stepped forward and made side glances to the right to scope the kitchen stove and micro countertop. A severe headache tugged him downward to a partially bended knee. Neck muscles tightened to enhance the pain. There was a throbbing bump on the back of his head. He thought: where is Weber and that damn thing Fizzgig?

His heart thumped louder, almost as if he wore earplugs. He wheeled around. No threat. Incessantly chirping kids and a harsh memory of a bad yesterday; Clutch remembered Fizzgig passing through the rear window of Karmavore and how the window didn't break. Then there was the right cross punch across his chin...

Claustrophobia squeezed the tubal motor home, pressuring Clutch toward the side door. He glommed onto a cold beer from the micro-fridge before leaving. He exited half falling and entered the row of teeth-like silver capped Airstream trailers and gleaming white Winnebago's. He swished the beer in his mouth and spit it out. His breath was horrible.

I'll brush my teeth later.

In between the dusty pines were noisy children running around between RV spaces in a constant flow of action and screams that amplified pain in his head cavities. A stare at the ground and Clutch saw orange and blue paint drops, and Nike footprints and Fizzgig hoof prints leading towards a piercingly bright green meadow bisected by the Merced River and joined by smaller rivulets.

"Isss Clownsheep profile! Nature doesn't model from human faces!"

"Please look through my eyes," pleaded Weber.

A moment passed of sublime patience. Fizzgig co-opted Weber's visual cortex as Weber co-opted Fizzgig's. Fizzgig said," I sssee a green moneyman. Maybe an Amerindian."

"Indeed. Amerindian Head penny. I can see the profile of Firehouse Pete from the circus...say, have you been to Mount Rushmore? Now there's a circus."

"Mount Rushmore? Mount Rushmore? Sounds like a sexy freeway."

"Mount Rushmore is a national memorial, an egotistical monument, a sculpture of former presidents-"

"Focused by artistic eyes?" asked Fizzgig.

"Yes. But what's behind those eyes? A heartfelt interpretation? Eh?"

Weber hardly had to point out to a Fizzgig the difference between a deliberately designed mountain sculpture and a naturally weathered mountain precipice. Fizzgig, being polite and of a higher consciousness, simply said in Weber's head:

I

HAVE

CHOSEN GOOD

EYES FOR

ME TO

SEE.

Weber opened his mouth, started a word, stopped, surprise flushed him back to reality, for Clutch now stood a few yards away, transfixed, facing Weber and Fizzgig as they lay in the meadow spellbound by the grandiose magnificence of Half Dome. Clutch scratched his forehead and slowly turned to look up at whatever had their admiration.

Weber squinted back at him, "How does your head feel?"

Clutch kept his back turned to shield a slow burn.

"What do I feel? I don't think you want me to go at great length explaining how my damn feelings are functioning because it's a damn overtime pain session. Shall I demonstrate?"

"Feeling normal then? What do you see on the face of Half Dome?"

"Half Moon Dome?"

"Yes."

"Half Moon Bay."

"You see Half Moon Bay?"

"I see water stains caused by the ceaseless lapping of waves. Man, I got a sour stomach."

"Fizzgig and I both agree we see the profile of a man or a Clownsheep. George Washington or Bobo the Clown?"

Clutch pointed at the puffy clouds," And there's Ronald McDonald!"

Disappointed, Weber asked, "Don't see it, do you?"

"See what? What am I suppose to see? Can't I see a mountain? Oh yeah, you're right, Weber. There's a mountain goat up there, and I see a para-glider. If he gets blown against the rock face he'll be known forever as the man on the Half Moon Dome! I-"

"See we're getting nowhere," said Weber.

"I see bloodstains and bones and rotten skin that used to be rock climbing dudes who have that risk taking gene I have in spades but to no avail because I can't seem to kick this Fizzgig's ass!"

Clutch chugged, squeezed, crinkled, and dropped his empty beer can and lunged for Fizzgig. The net blaster, as fired by Weber, slammed Clutch to the ground. Clutch oofed and rolled and cursed. He entangled with the net and rolled towards the rivulet bank. Fizzgig morphed into his wild dog persona, and circled Clutch, leaping across the rivulet, leaping back, dripping blue paint drops to mark his territory, an unintentional taunt, depending on your point of view.

"Hey!" yelled Clutch.

"Why are you aaafffraid of me?" asked Fizzgig.

"Up yours."

Children from the campground had gathered close by, attracted to the whining wild dog circling the netted Clutch, to Clutch's angrier and angrier back talk to what looked like a large playful dog. Levity, that front man for reality, had Weber in stitches. The children came closer as did their giggles.

Clutch said," I get the chance, Weber, I'm gonna wrap your skinny ass in this here damn net!"

Weber laughed even louder, holding the net gun behind his waist.

"Mister why you stuck in a net?" asked one of three little girls.

A little blonde boy said, "He's a bad dudey."

Clutch struggled to raise himself up by his right elbow, to no avail, and fell backward. He said, "Hey kids. That isn't a dog there. Just try to pet him. You'll come away looking like a Jackson Pollock."

They gawked in unison. "What?"

"Never mind. Can someone help me?"

Meanwhile, Fizzgig had latched onto a distant scream, and stopped circling Clutch. The kids heard two sharp yelps from Fizzgig, but Clutch and Weber heard:

EDGAR!

EDGAR!

Fizzgig leapt away, and in three great bounds was into the woods as two girls squealed with delight and chased after Weber who ran after Fizzgig while the rest of the kids piled-on Clutch, tickling him through the net cords. In the meadow grass, a furious and tumbling Clutch disentangled himself, flinging the now frightened children away from him as he chased after Weber and Fizzgig toward the campground.

A distant animal screech pierced the air. Other screams joined in nearby. Weber ran towards Karmavore. A mad harmony developed overhead and reverberated off the massive granite walls.

8. Boundary and Cursor

Riding in a Gurument jet copter on the way to Yosemite Valley, Maynard and the Master telepathized:

LET ME

GET THIS STRAIGHT.

YOU'RE GOING TO MEET

THEM IN YOSEMITE AND HELP THEM

TRACK A TRANSDIMENSIONAL

INVADER? DOES WEBER

OUTPERFORM

YOU?

Yes

sir.

WEBER

IS A CHALLENGER.

VERY ELUSIVE WITH HIS ABILITY,

OCCASIONALLY SKIRTS MY DETECTION.

THIS IS A REAL CHALLENGE.

I FEEL YOU

AGREE?

Weber

is my loyal

friend. I love his energy

as much as

yours.

CLUTCH

DOES EVERYTHING

RIGHT THE SECOND

TIME?

Yes

sir.

THINKS

HE'S DOING

IT RIGHT THE

FIRST TIME?

Yes sir.

Frontal lobe damage

makes him think he did it

right when he

actually

didn't.

DOUBLE

CLUTCH? DO YOU DETECT

MORE THAN ONE

CLOWN SHEEP

INVADER?

I

detect

only

one.

THERE

ARE TWO

SKIRMISHING.

A

stalemate?

A

CROWD

PLEASER.

The Conductor thought to himself:

Following Fizzgig, Edgar is the one perceived as many, from Colorado to California, bringing mayhem, attracting the rare Beta Conduit, and blocking creative imagination. The vast populations of sub-conduits are too oblivious of the all-permeating spectrum field and the interpenetrating influence acting on their wave-particle directional characteristic. They deserve to be exploited.

I

WISH

MONICA HAD

BEEN SUBDUED

AND BROUGHT

TO ME.

I'm

sorry, sir.

I have my

limits.

The Conductor thought:

My greatest disappointment is one Monica Gifford, recovering meth addict and a fairly confused Gurument challenger, now on the move, away from the artificial grid, migrating to the natural grid. She has an inkling of what I am and will not stop until she discovers me. As for who I am, well, before she can find that out, I will have to kill her myself.

Monica Gifford had passed through the fringes of the prison parking lot, carefully avoiding the cars and blacktop roadways as a route of escape, and made haste for the open country surrounding the prison. Downtown Canon City proper was an hour's walk and that's where she would find a vehicle sans a Gurument tracking device. The suppressing drug formula had been gradually reduced in her jail block's oatmeal. The prison mess cook must've been a Gurument man. Someone was on her side. It couldn't be Maynard. When the Clownsheep creature passed through her cell, Monica was already less impaired, more grounded, thinking clearer, regaining balance, raising defenses, and plotting her escape.

Who wanted me to escape? Is it Weber?

Trudging through a green wheat field, Monica remembered the dead block hat Gurument man and silently intoned:

Sorry, forgive me; I love you, thank you.

It was the only way to forgive, and to ignite self-healing. The Gurument had held Monica in a drug induced state to prevent her from searching for the Conductor. The Conductor knew where she was and could read her mind. He or she controlled Maynard. Monica could not read the Conductor's mind and yet knew the Conductor was out there. Maynard Ackroyd either knew the hidden Conductor or he was being siphoned and controlled by the Conductor. Either way, Monica knew there was a mastermind controller. As for Monica being a powerful conduit, it was up to her to find this more powerful person and to end the winner take all mentality.

The Conductor watched Monica, brought her along for a guided meditation, a subtle mental prompting to go to a geo-fixed location in Southern Utah, to an uncertain communion.

9. Cogs in the Fall

Clutch caught his breath and rested in the midst of falling granite chips and mayhem. Hoof mark scrapes, paint spots, a black poodle carcass impaled on a tree branch. He leaned into the cliff base with his left shoulder, hands protecting his head from granite shards and falling twigs. Edgar the Clownsheep tagged the gray granite with glyphs and chased after the uncatchable Fizzgig when he felt like the distraction would be fruitful. Clutch slid under an overhang for protection as the heckling beast blurred past several times, mocking him. The popping granite maelstrom hailed onto dried oak leaves, the ricochet rocks forced Clutch to squeeze into a ball and commune with colonies of sticky overhanging spider webs.

Weber finally found Clutch nursing two scraped knees, cursing the cliffs. Fresh pine cut aroma seared the air, calamitous screams echoed across the valley walls. Edgar continued to rip the territory and deface the walls with graffiti. Clutch and Weber headed carefully down an ancient rockslide. When they returned to the meadow, they sat and gazed at the Arches formation, which framed a huge and colorful mural of a cognitively dissonant Clownsheep portrait, looking like it had always been there, sinister and ethereal. Behind Clutch and Weber, a silent Edgar approached, steadfastly concentrating to engulf mind control on the acres around him. He pivoted and danced, imparting and invoking cold shudders of vileness to the people, daring them to breathe. Wet paint and animal blood tattoos merged on his coat, where he oozed body murals, and emitted invasive spray droplets covering the ground, singing an incoherent old world bar chant, his sing song laughter bent the vile air.

Senses objectified. Edgar rushed towards Clutch and Weber. His force reached out and froze their gaze. They endured paint tags and stood helpless as Edgar's swirling dance and paint drip terror-fest edified new boundaries, amplifying threat and fear, solidifying an uneasy oneness. Edgar, in a whiz of furious motion, changed into Monica Gifford wearing her prison drabs and then back again into a Clownsheep glaring his menacing eyes at every target. A wave of panic ensued and there was an invoking of troublesome thoughts. Darkness flowed over Clutch and Weber. Body aches, a faint and dimming awareness flowed through them. Penetrating psychic bombardment meant to disarm the mind in order to freeze the body and control the soul. Then an insight struck Weber's mind: Clownsheep aren't cannibals. Earth animals are sport prey, and humans are to be treated humanely.

Clownsheep controlled integration waves poisoned the senses as the stretched-out Edgar whizzed by chasing after a formerly retired greyhound running for its life. Flames seared Clutch's visual cortex when he lifted his head to try to get a bead on the passing disturbance; his sinuses surfed by a Clownsheep Migraine. Weber thought there had to be a way to block the Clownsheep mind-wave intrusion. Use the motion tracker alarm system stored in Karmavore? A non-human or non-animal disguise, like a hollow plastic tree, or a bear proof trash can? And where was Fizzgig at the moment?

All of a sudden the unfiltered image of an automatic weapon appeared in Weber's head. The Clownsheep had disarmed his memory of weapons? No retrieval or usage of a threatening image? A captured audience? If Weber could remember when Edgar blocked the gun archetype he might feel the very moment of intrusion, slide under it and create an interference pattern. He might be able to restore the gun image in his head and maybe camouflage his position, and then use his electrified net blaster to capture Edgar. In the meantime, Clutch's mind was fiercely dualistic; anger came from deep within and broke the thought interference and filtering, giving Clutch the restored thought of the purpose of a gun and he imagined giving Edgar a dot-to-dot full-body slicing to settle the matter once and for all.

10. Special Mental

Monica Gifford was free of the prison, finally liberated from the mind numbing Gurument drug, no doubt a fluoride-based psychic suppressant. She was free to assert her considerable influence on all the mean high and low-con people in her way. The crazy transdimensional Clownsheep thing had led the authorities and conduits away from her...it seemed to exist to distract the sub-conduit prison guards and local authorities from finding her as far as she was concerned. She claimed an open path to renew her search for the Alpha Conductor.

In the wilderness of the scarcely populated Southern Rockies, she would be undetectable, and easily elude the Gurument and Maynard Ackroyd for at least awhile, and hide in the slot canyons of southern Utah. However, Gurument satellite scanners were calibrated to target her, especially since there weren't any other local Beta Conductors to stick out like a sore thumb and they didn't have as many people to scan in the hinterlands of the four corners region. Native shamans emerged on her sense map. They might run interference. The Alpha Conductor had to be tracking her and was letting her get away. If she could find camping gear and a four-wheel drive vehicle with a winch, she'd go below mesa level, avoid the primary surface grid, and finally be clear of the noisy and controlling rabble.

Now that she was thinking clearly, she sense-mapped a narrow swath of the Canon City environs for any threats to her movement. To be back in her world was a huge relief after being frozen in mind-body captivity, after being blocked from using the astral plain, her deviant personality inexpressible under the powerful mind suppressant drug. However, the suffering continued; waves of withdrawal symptoms arose in the form of post-traumatic trembles and chills from head to toe.

The Gurument sedatives forced upon Monica's cellblock inmates were supplemented by the densely electrified prison walls designed to suppress special-mental powers. Secretly rediscovered around 1900, the world of human energy body and mind is an interconnected web, and the modern electric grid of wire and wireless technologies suppress direct mind communication and special-mental abilities, pushing aside the individuals' innate special-mental gifts.

Monica had to get as far as she could from the influence of the dense cities and towns, away from the web of power lines that entrap humanity inside a culture of continuous growth improvement, from the modern technologically sophisticated model of slavery by fear, distraction, spectatorship, and consumer seduction.

In 1975, at the schoolyard, when Maynard Ackroyd had tethered his attention to Monica, she became aware of the idea of group control, the basic Gurument thought form. Monica could penetrate Maynard's mind and every mind in the county, but found the substitute Principal Feinzeig impenetrable. So there were limits to her power within a chosen geographical range of people; they who held even greater power and knowledge could block Monica's intrusions. How did they retrieve their power? How did they grow and learn? How did this minority of mind controllers live? Was it cooperation, collaboration, or some kind of a pecking order? A year after being discovered by the Gurument, Monica decided to challenge the boundary of her awareness, to reach her mind farther to see just where those limits were.

She forced rich strangers at great distances to send her postal money orders to a post office box, and she kept the bank account and method of income a secret from her dad. A controllable result was planted in her father's mind: the daughter-can-do-no-harm thought form.

Now in the outskirts of Canon City, Monica sought the owner of a blue Chevy Blazer parked behind a Stop & Go. Sense-mapping and then finding the convenience store manager's mind, the manager gladly handed Monica the keys to his Blazer when she entered the store and he smiled in contented acquiescence as Monica walked out of the store with a free 20 ounce bluish slurp-ice and a to-die-for bag of salty Lay's Potato Chips.

11. Channel Serf

The valley floor was the cloud ceiling. Wind gusts and rain pelted Karmavore. The Clownsheep had disappeared and twelve pet dogs were dead. The roads and roadblocks of Yosemite Valley flashed red and yellow law lights, light pollution muted by the fog, dogs, and forest. Fizzgig was also missing while strong waves of emotion still permeated the valley and influenced people to be stressed. The rainstorm had dampened Edgar's attack; the clouds obscured a source of his power. Edgar regrouped somewhere under an overhang rock, near cascades and mist.

For Weber, the close exposure to creative energy enhanced his perceptions. The summer storm interfered with Karmavore's satellite television feed with blocky unintentional artsy digital mosaics on the flat screen, which strangely held Weber's attention. According to the police band radio, no one had come close to capturing or shooting the swift Clownsheep. The National Park Service downloaded amateur digital videos. They optioned streaming video to CNN of Edgar, Fizzgig, Clutch, and Weber. Clutch and Weber tuned in to and correlated data with other download video sources. All Clutch and Weber could get was fuzzy radio station news. Very little information was getting out to the public. The networks were being handled carefully by the Gurument.

Weber sat up straight as if his Mother was in his head.

"Maynard," he said in hushed reverence, eyeing his I Phone resting on the dashboard, the ring tone bleated the Talking Heads Burning Down the House. Weber grabbed it and pressed talk, "Hello Maynard. Are you close?"

"I'm very close, Weber."

Hearing Maynard's name, Clutch pulled the right side curtain open and looked out the window.

Weber said, " Got my prompting?"

"Your cry for help?"

"I have no client to set the parameters of the investigation."

"I have a client with unlimited funds."

"Oh? Not the-"

"Gurument? Why not?"

"What overt agency this time?"

"The President saw both of you on CNN. He saw the video of the Clownsheep, and the damage and mayhem. The proximity phenomenon has become one of national interest, quite frightening even though it is somewhat limited to the west-"

"The Spook Master is now here." said Clutch, closing the curtain.

There was a tinny rap on the screen door. Weber still held the phone to his ear and opened the door, ending the phone call, starting an unbrokered dialog as Maynard Ackroyd came inside and settled into the dining niche with his waterproof laptop and hands free satellite phone. A wide grin didn't hide his concern for Clutch and Weber, "You two are a mess."

Clutch tossed a roll of paper towels to Maynard.

"As I was saying, the effect is strongest wherever Edgar appears. Do you realize that you and Clutch are the only human beings to actually speak with a Clownsheep?"

Weber pondered for a few seconds, "Clutch would rather beat the crap out of the Clownsheep than investigate them for the government."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

Clutch added, "But I'm calmer now."

"You've served a noble purpose," replied Maynard sincerely, "Now we know that a physical assault is pointless. We must find another way to corral this evil multisensory invader and close the vortex."

"What vortex?" asked Weber.

"The vortex traveling with them." Maynard pointed out the window and frowned; "Demented activity is non-existent at night. I believe daylight reveals all the natural beauty Edgar so intensely desires. The Sun fuels his appetite for murdering pets, the byproduct of his metaphysical energetic maelstrom seeking recreation. Edgar needs to mar beauty and goodness and the poor household pets are the ones who suffer for it."

"The pets owners also suffer," said Clutch.

"Even more unnerving is Edgar's ability to emote at a high intensity, to mimic, and to read and control minds," warned Maynard.

Weber wondered, "Are Edgar and Fizzgig really here? Are they just a figment of our collective imaginations, or is it just a multisensory manipulation?"

Maynard telepathized:

Clownsheep

leave paint

drops!

Clutch peered out the front window and pulled back quickly.

"I'm seeing Fizzgig again."

12. Socket of Resistance

Monica spent one night in Montrose and went south on Route 550, turned west at Durango on 160 and camped at Mancos State Park a few miles northeast of Mesa Verde. The serene and maze-like canyon country was a welcome shelter from the techno-generated coercive force-embracing waveforms rolling over the Earth's surface.

An adept could thrive in the low protected canyon eddies in the Earth's crust. Fourteen years of being a captive, under the constant Gurument eye, and finally becoming an autonomous human being alone in the wilderness of natural energetic waveforms was unspeakably cleansing. First chance she could, she found a private campsite and went into a fetal position and let her survival induced sad compartmentalized emotional suppressions and loss of love well up. She released her pent-up feelings into the moonless twilight sky darting with moths and bats.

She grounded deep into the sandstone and could feel every iron ferrite molecule answering her penetrating current with connective acceptance. A sense-map arose and formed a wide crustal side view picture of the sacred four corners landscape for miles around and miles deep. Womb-like caverns and alcove overhangs were everywhere in her minds eye. Strange clusters of trans-corporeal entities floated in the caverns and were drawn to her presence so that they gravitated towards her and thickened in density on the nearest cavern sides to Monica's position.

She gradually released tension and unraveled her body to conform to the ground tarp softened by pine needles, stretching out on the unzipped sleeping bag comforter. A warm temperature inversion made the night air windless and pulse with cricket rhythms. A huge tickling brown moth landed on her damp cheek seeking moisture. She giggled and allowed it to stay because somehow she knew the toxic composition of teardrops would not poison it. The moth stayed for a minute and flapped away and was scooped-up by an opportunistic cave bat who also desired the flavor of her tears.

Her resistance to life melted away and her reactionary ego serving self yielded to her present consciousness identity. In that moment, Weber's consciousness came to her and she knew she had never been out of his mindfulness range. He had become more powerful than she had and this grounded her security needs to his trusting presence. Clutch was also there in her mind, and he was as loyal as ever to Weber and Monica. And then there was the passive mind presence of the Alpha Conductor, ignoring her as if her challenge was secondary to another. Jacob, her long lost lover, was somewhere above and preoccupied with a new vocation. His consciousness did not expand to meet hers. It was focused on another distant planet.

This did nothing but confuse her into wondering about the scope of her range of influence and sense map capabilities. Alpha was strangely distant and detached. What she wanted was Weber in her arms and a six pack of ice cold beer. Let the conventional interrogators try to get her to renounce her special mental abilities. She welcomed a bullet in the head rather than give in to the high con slave masters:

I'll let them try to capture me. These Gurument hunters have never seen my full skill set. I'm sweet and ruthless just like old money.

She closed her eyes and allowed sleep to take over and Weber's energy to envelope her with protection. His transient face came into her minds eye and she sighed in helpless desire for his real face.

13. Performance Heart

Clutch and Weber and Maynard pressed their faces against the windows and cupped their hands as blinders to block the glare. Clutch was now indifferent towards Fizzgig. As the loser in a fair fight, apparently all energetic hostility had been honorably discharged. Fizzgig suddenly licked the outside window, leaving fluorescent paint streaks. The three of them pulled back. Weber let Fizzgig in and Maynard sat in the dining nook and gaped in awe as Weber toweled-off Fizzgig. Thought form waves permeated Karmavore. Maynard grounded and protected his energy body, intensely observing Fizzgig.

Weber said, "Maynard meet Fizzgig, er, the good Clownsheep."

Nearly overcome, Maynard said, "Good God! Hyper-real or what!"

With his eyes closed, Fizzgig bowed to Maynard.

"I am many things. I am a human."

"More than a human, I'd guess."

"Sir Maynard, I make me self an anti-Edgar buffer."

Maynard blurted, "Where is Edgar? We have to steer him away from Los Angeles and San Francisco."

"He's coming here!"

There was an awful yelp and ruckus and scream outside Karmavore. Hoof clops crossed the paved campground road, young girl screeches and a nearby dog yelped for its life. Weber muted the sound of CNN and quick dialed the patrolling authorities on his cell phone. Maynard, with his eyes closed, told everyone to ground and protect. The three of them doubled over when Edgar's nausea wave struck. Edgar whirled through Karmavore's back right wall, throwing a spray of brilliant red and blue. Fizzgig careened off the interior walls, and disappeared out the shard-less front windshield.

Eyes becoming unglazed, Clutch and Weber seized their senses and ran out the side door behind Maynard, who stopped just outside, and then Clutch bumped into Maynard's huge back as Weber bumped into Clutch's broad back. Maynard sense-mapped three hundred and sixty degrees, receiving a violet thought form from Fizzgig, the confounding meaning of which was immediately available. Weber backed off and pulled Clutch away from Maynard. Maynard turned to face them.

"The pets are scene stealers! Edgar is insanely envious of pets! The beautiful backdrop of Yosemite is his stage."

Clutch said, "It's a movie. We're unpaid actors in a movie!"

Weber added, "It's a mockumentary! The story started in Canon City. The concentration of prison evil and Gurument grid manipulation created a rift for Edgar and Fizzgig to punch through."

Maynard amplified, "I kept Monica in Canon City! Who's Fizzgig? Why does he present himself as a target and an antagonist of Edgar? Right now, it's a performance art piece merging the audience and performer. The rift entrance is closed in Colorado. Edgar is delighted with his new dimension, in the splendid stimulus of Yosemite and California! To create and destroy at the center of attention."

"Exactly!" said Weber, amazed at Maynard's insight.

14. Fibs Knee

Speaking to administration staff officials, and congressional members of defense appropriations subcommittees, Senator Liverdale said, "Yes, we're very concerned with the long-term welfare of artists. The stroke-like effect has made them practically useless people. Only mimics perform now. Original, creative acts are a thing of the past. I feel a volunteer mimic program will serve the needs of society. However, the homeless artists are a severe problem. Celebrities applying for a computer data entry jobs; we've all seen the vacant stares. They don't believe they are rich or talented. Horrible, fortunately, their left brains haven't been affected."

General Sowell interjected, "The Senator needs to be reminded that above top secret operations are to be kept _secret_. I object to free accommodations for a non-productive old-skill minority population. I will fight the appropriation of my project technology and the foolhardy public exposure! Please keep the FEMA training site unoccupied."

Senator Liverdale surveyed the attendees eyes, "I'm sorry for that display from the General. Really I am. As you see for yourself, the military/industrial/academic complex is very possessive of its holdings. I don't believe I'm disclosing sensitive national secrets to undermine our national security when this meeting itself is so highly classified! If one minority of power can't share with another there can be no sense of partnership. I will accommodate the needs of any desperate minority who needs my help."

General Sowell was incredulous; "I won't allow civilians to take over a training site just so they can reconnect with the creative side of their brains!"

Ignoring the General, Senator Liverdale said calmly and decisively, "I propose we remove homeless artists to the Fundamentally Basic Stable Neighborhood Environment. F.B.S.N.E. or Fibs Knee. This is not a relocation camp of no-return. Located in California's Camp Roberts, we fly and bus them into McMillan Air Field. The stroke effect may have a limited duration. Fibs Knee may be the best place for the safe restoration of the artists."

Sowell steamed at the esteemed Senator, effectively unable to find the right words. Out of the pandemonium of officials, Senator Liverdale picked the eager raised hand of a staffer from the White House.

"How will we get them to Camp Roberts Fibs knee without arousing the public?"

"Good question, good question. A public quarantine issued by Presidential order will initiate the necessary public cooperation to transport those that are confirmed to be afflicted."

A kelp forest of swooning hands, mesmerized faces rising with the tidal wave of problem solving thought forms coalescing into a viable solution.

"Senator! Who determines who's afflicted? Surely you've noticed that many performers continue to work? How do you explain their immunity to the effect?"

"No explanation required, past my personal opinion, which is that these performers aren't really imaginative artists. Of course, neither am I. And I do pity the real artists. They might recover their memories and abilities right there in the quarantines' ready-made city and see the world with a newfound awareness. I see the potential for healing at the Fibs Knee."

General Sowell, fuming at the proposed misuse of one of his bases, decided to bring his case to the Secretary of Homeland Security and the Director of FEMA. They ignored him. The dear citizens of the United States found out about Executive Order Power the very hour the Federal Emergency Management Agency took it from Homeland Security. FEMA booted up programs and commandeered the media and energy grid. Remote viewers like Maynard Ackroyd, Special Field Officer attaché to the FBI's Operation Mind Probe, were reassigned to the FEMA Clownsheep Force Recon Operations. Emergency Order 11004 gave the government power to relocate the stricken artists, and EO 11000 gave them the right to form round-up squads. Then on to Mass Emergency Detention Centers (MEDC); then from MEDC to the Fibs Knee at Camp Roberts.

The anti-creativity effect pulsed the energy grid of the Western United States. Power centers, universally sense mapped by shamans, and utilized by extra-terrestrial spacecraft and psychics, amplified the art block. Hollywood all but shut down.

FEMA managed the grids, sending the National Guard to contain Edgar the unstoppable Clownsheep, and to round up the stricken artists. Maynard was instructed to actually track and kill Edgar, if he could.

FEMA compiled hospital records to identify artists that mattered. Some were faking it just to get free housing. Anyone affiliated with the National Endowment of The Arts was herded into the MEDC's, and an inordinate amount of landscape gardeners, chef's and actors, dancers and composers, and writers and models. There were secondary hoards of tradesmen and machinists, mimes and street performers, cartoonists, painters, and potters, stand-ups and musicians, sculptors and set designers, architects and athletes.

Conspicuous by their absence: politicians and most professors, accountants and porn stars. Half the CEO's made the list, one-tenth the engineers and computer programmers, and one-tenth the scientists. But the Fibs Knee could only handle about three thousand trial recoveries. If the grid quarantine were to be successful, artists would have to be rotated until all were restored. If the isolation had no effect, the trial artists would be returned to their homes and retrained at MEDC's to learn a useful occupation. The American public voted on the Internet for the first cycle FBSNE load. Candidates would have to show a previous income from selling their art. The top three thousand moneymakers dominated the ballot.

Maynard Ackroyd arranged for Clutch to go undercover to the Fibs Knee and assist the artists' revival and to sense-map for artistic impostors.

15. Block Hats

The trouble with a curving narrow mountain road cut is it makes for an efficient chokepoint and roadblock, and a useful ambush point. Monica was west of Mancos, Colorado and came around a bend of Highway 160 where the tin-hatted Gurument operatives waited, wearing gas masks, blocking the roadway and road shoulders with their unmarked primer grey vans. A stinky yellowish fog of vapor poured from a gas cylinder in front of the blockade.

They employed sonic wave amplifiers to disrupt the electromagnetic spectrum. Monica slammed on her brakes as the engine cutout and she skidded left so the right side of the Blazer faced the ambush. She ducked and reached for her gas mask and sense mapped the scene. There were fourteen Gurument conduits slaved to a distant Conductor. They formed a unified and strong will. Monica also found a pair of weak rear guard conduits about an eighth mile away waiting to put a stop to any vehicles coming from the west.

Hadn't they learned she had the ability to bypass the stupid telepathic block hats? She rolled out the drivers' door and crouched, staying behind the Blazer, and proceeded to take the operatives out one by one with an anger driven thought form. Rubber bullets hit her ankles from underneath the Blazer and she winced and swore, and unleashed the _lay down like a squirmy colicky nauseous cry baby_ thought form and even got their pin numbers and debit card numbers to boot.

Nonconventional modern human-tech warfare is cleaner and faster than our forceful technological warfare. The Gurument operatives lay on their sides writhing, and vomiting inside their gas masks, which they removed only to have the yellowish gas overcome them. Monica came out from behind the Blazer and moved the two vans from the road's right shoulder, then she got back into the Blazer's driver seat and maneuvered carelessly, running over several groaning conduits, and then drove through the amazingly ineffective roadblock, eventually passing and flipping off the two standing and gawking rear guards that forgot to get in their van to pursue her. She drove about a mile and looked in the rearview mirror and then took off her gas mask. In the left side view mirror, the rear guard van was catching-up to her and one operative even fired live rounds. She made them drive off the road, sending a precise _avoid mama and baby stroller_ thought form that invaded the pursuers visual cortex. Unfortunately, the Gurument driver slid down the embankment in a cloud of dust and rolled out of Monica's vision and came to a stop upside down, the wheels spinning off clumps of dirt and brush.

The Alpha is watching me!

Monica drove on and waited for a voice, not her own, to speak in her head and to acknowledge her. She pulled off the road and demanded attention. No voice came from inside her head.

A strong passive mind, the Alpha was everywhere, holding the space, amused that Clutch and Weber and Maynard were preoccupied with the Clownsheep. The Alpha mind corded to Monica's mind and knew her fight against the Alpha was no reactionary fluke of luck and had real strength behind it. The Alpha knew that Monica had gotten away. She invoked confidence and pulled back onto the highway and thought:

I am now Alpha strong.

16. Hitch Hetchy

Edgar broke out of Yosemite Valley after Clutch was choppered to the FBSNE at Camp Roberts. Clutch's new duty was arranged to keep his temper from disrupting the delicate plans to snare Edgar. From inside Karmavore, Weber and Maynard sense-mapped Edgar's gruesome paint dripped trail through the Sierra countryside. They utilized satellite assistance and Gurument tracking cats. Through constant meditation, they followed Fizzgig's trail of thought forms, the same thought forms that led Edgar along. Then there came a close bursting thought form as Fizzgig intersected them on Evergreen Road, adjacent to the Hetch Hetchy Reservoir:

SEE

THE RED

FALLS?

Blood tainted the lake from foamy red Wapama Falls, roiling with the late spring runoff from Falls Creek; Edgar had been busy killing vulnerable mule deer and dipping them in the stream. He graced the grid with his strong emotional thought forms which radiating outward from the ridgeline towards O'Shaughnessy Dam and to the outflow resumption of the Tuolumne River at the base of the dam.

Edgar unstuck his hardbound travelogue from his grease painted chest and gathered himself topside at an O'Shaughnessy Dam utility door. He rubbed away blue and green and red curly hairs and opened the guidebook to the section entitled "Towards Home". Flicking paint drops on it, studying the map portion, an escape route was revealed.

The watercolors!

Two Cobra copters converged. Edgar was delighted. They swirled, they threw meaty beef bones at him and dangled a smelly old golden retriever in a harness. Edgar had his fill and plunged into the inner dam works. The copter dangled the remaining live dog bait, and flew circles over the dam and headed west down the river canyon, leaving a scent for Edgar to follow. Weber and Maynard watched Edgar's vortices dip into the Tuolumne River Canyon. A small eddy shimmered nearby, created by Fizzgig, spinning off the canyon rim.

"Good. Edgar has given up chasing Fizzgig and found the channel," said Maynard, "are we ready for him?"

Edgar entered the diversion tunnel, a system of solid rock tunnels and multiple pipelines that run west 140 miles all the way to Upper Crystal Springs Reservoir in San Mateo County. When Edgar emerged from the domed Pulgas Water Temple ten hours later after giving his hopeless pursuers the slip and wreaking mischief along the way, Weber Grambling and Maynard Ackroyd, sporting fake mustaches, sat patiently on a nearby park bench with professional movie cameras in front of them, pointed at Edgar. They pretended to be Hollywood moviemakers. Bright lights froze Edgar, he posed and pantomimed awe shucks humility, rubbery hands patting his chest, blush pink greasepaint blotches erupted from his cheeks. Then, a few yards away, Fizzgig taunted Edgar with a multi-colored vortex that shot into the sky. Fizzgig galloped away as the enraged Edgar, perturbed by Fizzgig's interruption of his spontaneous publicity session he so desperately desired, pursued Fizzgig without any doubt he would catch his transdimensional adversary.

With the arrival of the miasmic paint outflow from the pipeline and the presence of Fizzgig, Edgar's psychedelic paint blooms flowed into the loch-like reservoir unnoticed by Interstate 280 early morning commuters or the opportunistic digital photographers.

17. Fallen Artist

Maynard arranged for Clutch to be put through a rigorous chakra clearing to prepare for the Fibs Knee Quarantine. Affliction or no affliction, conscious or unconscious, Clutch, Weber, and Maynard were on a secret bandwidth wired for talk while Clutch also monitored the Camp Roberts test city for anomalous transdimensional invaders like Edgar and Fizzgig.

The orientation center was a who's who of artistic celebrity. As Clutch entered the briefing hall, Anthony Hopkins, Mick Jagger, and Alice Walker formed a reception line, greeting newcomers, providing nametags, and sorting artists by art form. Clutch was redirected to the Geo-Form Art symposium.

Each group art symposium exposes the participants to slides of their art - a starting point to perhaps jog a memory. Placed in the geo glyph crowd, Clutches' fictitious portfolio had included plowed field art on fallow Half Moon Bay fields. The designs were best seen from two to four thousand feet in a hot air balloon or private airplane. Clutch was apparently fond of producing renditions of geometric designs inherent in the Flower of Life geometry. His intent had been to amplify crop circles, induce vortexes, and throw them back at invading extra-terrestrials to protect the Earth Goddess, or at least that is what he wrote in the fictitious submitted portfolio application which was considered upon by the web voters. When the symposium leader showed slides of Clutch's work, Clutch had a hard time explaining his base creative motives.

Christo snuck from behind and threw a white sheet over Clutch, saying " I can't believe it, either, Mr. Antoine. I've been putting coverings over landforms and buildings."

Clutch ripped the sheet from his shoulders and turned on Christo, "Ditto! I can't believe it, either! I always thought your stuff needed a giant tipped-over plastic laundry basket near-by."

Christo gasped, "I'm trying to reconnect!"

Clutch had never been an artist and he faked it quite well. Admitted from the alternate candidate's pool, placed there by Maynard, Clutch had a perfect cover: it wasn't too difficult being naive about his own fictional art form. Be an observer, an audience, a spy.

The Internet voting had only taken twenty-four hours...many voters discovered that genuine artists were still alive and were viable human beings. The first week in the Fibs Knee environment of support and encouragement revealed renewed optimism as the blocked artists were exposed to many art forms. After a presentation, the theaters would erupt into debates about the future of art as if the artists weren't in on the joke. To be told you were once a viable contributor and then to try to reconnect to your own art led to frustration and dismay when the connection didn't happen.

After a viewing of Werner Herzog's movie _Every Man for Himself and God Against All_ , word began to spread that the Government was not ever going to bring them home to their original life. But the less severely affected realized absurdist creativity was coming back to them when several comic actors conspired to reform the Monty Python Troupe.

The punk ballerina, Missy Morocco, gazed through an open window at the stars, rehearsing a dance movement in her mind's eye. The dances were coming back to her. Clutch Antoine, sucking a cranberry juice box, sat next to her. He had an eye for short, dark-haired, slender women. Missy leaned into the window, avoiding eye contact.

"Are you thirsty?" asked Clutch.

Missy turned slowly, raised her left eyebrow, nodded, and reached for a wax box of pro-offered orange juice. She exhaled abruptly," Thanks. What's your name?"

"I'm the world renown geo glyph artist, Clutch Antoine."

She studied Clutch's eyes and then said, "Oh...crap! You're a Freelancer!"

"Well, yes...and no. Wait...you know about Freelancers?"

Missy leaned in to Clutch's face, about five inches away, and said, "I found out about the Fibs Knee plot, and sort of went along out of self-preservation. The government has no intention of returning us to a normal life. They have a quota formula, a need to import creative types to off-world space colonies. Up until now, they couldn't kidnap too many famous artists and entertainers or even well known scientists, you know, to serve the colonists on other planets and space stations, because of the attention it would draw" she pulled back, "and I don't know why I'm here," she answered glumly, " I'm a exotic pole dancer! I consider myself a mocking critic of traditional dance...a high strung, low wire act."

Clutch thought: she can read minds! Damn, I must be honest with her...

"I'm really not an artist, either," consoled Clutch, "but I know that some conventions are worth mocking."

"Oh...I like you already."

Clutch continued, "Look who didn't make it on the first ballot! Most country music stars and ninety nine percent of radio talk show hosts."

"Yes, it's quite delicious, isn't it? All that is good and lasting is wasting away in Central California. But where we going? Don't you wish everyone in the world was artistic so we could trade in art and crafts and not be singled out as a rare commodity to be shuffled off-world?"

"That's very good mind reading."

"The Gurument sent you?"

"Clutch and Weber Detective Agency, out of Half Moon Bay. We formerly worked for the Gurument as remote viewers and special ops."

"So you work with Maynard Ackroyd?"

"Yes. Whom do you work for?"

"I'll tell you after we have sex."

"Your room or mine?"

Several hours later, upon discovering that Missy was Gurument, Clutch texted Weber: **The artists are feeling better.**

Weber replied: They are?

Clutch: Cured! The effect is not lasting.

Weber: Stay putnik for awhile.

Putnik?

Throwing cold

war code at

me?

Something

not right.

I

slept with

a psychic punk

ballerina.

That

must be

it.

18. Whine and Dine

"He's a metaphysical criminal. I'll keep him until I know for sure what to do with him," said Maynard Ackroyd holding his ground against a formidable animal activist. Mitzi Galetly waved the court order violently in Maynard's face.

"He's to be transferred to animal control officers! A new species Mr. Ackroyd!"

"It's a non-native species!"

"Are you FBI? Why do you have jurisdiction?"

"Ma'am, the Clownsheep crossed state lines."

"Does the FBI have jurisdiction over the metaphysical?"

"Does animal control?"

"Show me your-"

"ID? I already did that."

"I want to see it again."

Maynard sighed and almost gave in, "Lady, get out of my face or you'll be arrested. Move off to the side and I won't have a problem."

Mitzi began to say something and was cut-off. It was as if her thought was taken away and labeled an invalid line of questioning. She simply gave-up and began to scan for a spot behind the cameras and turned to look at the freakish animal one last time while she was close enough to smell its toxic breath.

Edgar the Clownsheep now stood in the middle of the caterer's tent, inside a makeshift studio, transfixed by fifty motion picture cameras and a hundred blazing theatrical lamps. Maynard and Mitzi, hot and sweaty from the lights, and a half hour of argument, continued to glare at each other until Maynard tipped the fate scales. He said, "Let me show the American people why we have to be cautious."

And then they were on CSPAN. Thusly viewed by a national audience, Mitzi's tall mocha brown poodle, Berretta, conveniently broke his restraints and charged at Edgar, who promptly torn Berretta to fajita pieces inside the ring of cameras. Mitzi Galetly whimpered, moaned, and then screamed in shocked outrage. She snatched a carbine rifle from a plainclothes FBI man and fired an errant shot at Edgar. They tackled and dragged her away; Mitzi yelled hotly, "Kill the damn beast!"

Straddling a CNN camera, Edgar devoured more of Berretta's carcass, picking poodle hairs from his own crimson lips, posing for the cameras. The mist of Edgar's euphoria dissipated. He circled the mock stage and before the live coverage he stood on his back legs and secreted paint globs from his underbelly that flowed downward and filled his crotch and covered his hind legs. He gyrated and pretended to ignore the cameras and the audience.

Then Edgar spun into a hyper fast vortex, and shed paint drops over everything. The drops came from an infinite source. He thought to himself that the camera party was going nowhere and that humans need a script to make a spontaneous decision. I have their full attention and all they do is criticize and plot my demise.

Constant complaint and commotion emanated from the animal rights coalition members watching a flat screen TV from outside the tent, amplifying Mitzi's newfound rage. In the back of the sheriffs van, with her bare hands, Mitzi shredded the court order she had worked so hard to get. An active member of Fur Kids Peace Action, per Mitzi's influence, flipped the main power breaker feeding the cameras and lights. Un-mesmerized, the Edgar maelstrom ripped the tent a new exit. Chasing Fizzgig, Edgar headed down the San Mateo coastline to traumatize the beachcombing pets of the hapless wet suited surfers lining the shoreline all the way to Monterrey.

19. Grande Scene

Weber Grambling and Maynard Ackroyd met at a hotel in San Luis Obispo with five major studio chiefs to discuss building a fabulous domed "movie" set on the central California coast. Weber wrapped-up his pitch, "I want real mountains, real breezes, and real effects. Edgar the Clownsheep must be in a state of grandiose awe. And for God sakes no other animals on the set! Edgar is a metaphysical creature, an attention junkie," he begged, "I need lots of backlighting and cameras."

Maynard read the executive's thoughts. They all want the same thing...the exclusive rights to an exorcism.

Hugo Nameses, of Parsec Productions, said confidently, "We'll have your movie set built in four days. Can I ask why we can't lure the creature to a Hollywood set? I'll have your scene in thirty six hours-"

"Edgar mustn't get to Hollywood, we have to capture him before he does," said Maynard. Hugo nodded, "We can do it. Gentlemen, why not? We mustn't let this mystical corruption reach Hollywood! Gentlemen?"

With media rights dancing in their heads, there were violent nods of dutiful approval of the unique opportunity at hand. Hugo continued, "Mr. Grambling? A virtual reality dome, this is what you want? I don't have all my talented artisans available, only my bored young computer graphic techs can help us now."

"We don't need them! All we need is your best photo shoppers!"

"I see," replied Nameses, "so how do we contain the Clownsheep?"

"The entire dome's a stage."

"Yes! Mr. Grambling, the Clownsheep are chewing the scenery?"

"Yes sir! If Edgar gets away, it will be pure escapism!"

The pun jousting made Weber relax and Maynard groan, although it was a good thing Weber and Nameses got along. The dome snare needed all that illusion and power expertise. Psychics see through the façade, illusionists literally capture the imagination. Maynard took Weber's cue, "Let's hope there's no premature evacuation."

Clutch and Missy were picked-up by a chopper and were whisked to the dome set at Pismo Beach. Miles to the north, there was a temporary stalemate, as Edgar defecated in the pools of San Simeon, keeping the Park Rangers at bay with waves of mind freezing dread. Holding Edgar's attention, a satellite laser carved intricate crop circles on the green open hilly slopes west of the palace until the virtual dome tent was made ready. Then four days later, along the grassy ridgelines, used as stepping-stones, the archetype field geometries carved by the satellite led Fizzgig and Edgar to the dome trap at Pismo Beach. Maynard's Gurument containment squad escorted Missy and Clutch to meet Maynard and Weber as they tested the transdimensional vortex generator blinds provided by the ingenuity of the Stanford Research Institute. Edgar the Clownsheep was a transdimensional being. By opening a rift when Edgar was rapt and attentive, Maynard and Clutch and Weber would try to pull him literally off our stage, out of our dimension.

The Hollywood photorealist muralists' produced a sky-high ceiling dawn and a brilliantly colored star constellation and a half moon setting over vermilion sands and silvery peaks graced by waterfalls and dark firs lightly encrusted with snow. In the center of the dome set was an array of cameras. The SRI gravity wave blinds lay like mossy mats on the floor.

Missy Morocco was delighted with the dome set. She danced with Clutch as the studio crew made final adjustments and left. The fabulous set was ready. Only Clutch and Weber, Missy and Maynard, and twenty Gurument operatives hidden behind the Faux Mountains, would be present for the Clownsheep arrival.

"Hell of a stage!" bleated Weber.

"To hell with Edgar!" agreed Maynard.

Fizzgig appeared first, his coulrophobia was keen and justified. He reached the camera circle and danced a pure and frenzied stream of body consciousness expression and then he froze, enraptured by the artificial landscape. Clutch guided Fizzgig to the shadows before Edgar's maelstrom hit.

"Isses weary gud," whispered Fizzgig, "I will stay."

The satellite laser burned a spiral tree of life mandala three blocks from the dome tent. Dark streaky objects and forms of mystery harmed the very air. A wave of energy engulfed the set. No time to waste, Maynard flipped a switch and the anti-gravity mats began to demagnetize the air and the floor area inside the camera paddock and created a man-made transdimensional portal.

Suddenly, a Gurument cat tracker came into the dome dripping blood, white and yellow paint on its haunches, and collapsed. And then the ever swift Edgar arrived, finally in the spotlights, awestruck by the commanding and beautiful mountain set. When Edgar froze, the past/present/future stretched image he had projected when he moved became one solid Edgar. It was the past and present and future happening all at once.

As Edgar sunk into the Gurument mat device, his paint secreting sheepskin peeled off and lay dormant next to his strange travelogue. Fizzgig remained transfixed from a distance, confessing to everyone to forgive him for the gross diversion he had made in order to lead Edgar...and then Fizzgig was also pulled downward into the wavering field trap.

Next to the sloughed sheepskin, Edgar's hardbound travelogue remained and had as its last entry:

Black is blue and white is light

two wrongs make a plight

this will hold me rapt!

Hold my attack!

I make a come

back!

20. Ground Zero

Weber felt a frantic woman's mentally urgent prompt just before his I PHONE ring tone sang the Talking Heads "Take Me to the River". He answered, "Clutch and Weber Psychic Eyes, Weber Grambling speaking."

"Mister Grumbling? I need your help!"

"Gram-, please call me Weber...Miss?"

"Mrs. Eileen Cornelius!"

"Is that a French accent I hear?"

"Yes sir."

"How can I help you?"

"My husband is named Paul Cornelius and he is missing."

"How long has he been missing?"

"Thirteen months!"

"Have you contacted the police in your city?"

"In Redwood City I have filed a missing persons report. With Social Security Administration I have run out of patience. With my representative, with my embassy, with my lawyer! I'm tired of filing reports! Please, you must listen to me...Paul has been removed from Lockheed's computer system! He doesn't exist! Asshole men in wrinkled neckties and dark glasses tell me to let go and just go home to France with my delusions in tow!"

"Is your husband a scientist?"

"Yes sir, he is a space habitat specialist."

"And he has been wiped from Lockheed's books?"

"Yes you know this? I show them Paul's pay stubs because they say he has never worked for Lockheed! They call stubs forgeries...they say it's easier to counterfeit things now that we can manipulate digital imagery. I yell at them why would I fake such a pay stub?"

"And they escort you from the premises, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"They think you are a loony?"

"Yes! They must think I am a pushover."

"You're certainly not a pushover Mrs. Cornelius. What were the circumstances when you last saw him?"

"A few days before he left, Paul told me they had selected him to go away to support an ultra secret project and that I could not see him for at least a year and that there could be no contact until he returned. He told me all this! And then a day after he left they allowed him to call me and say goodbye and Paul said that he was already a great distance away and said don't ask him where it was because I wouldn't believe him anyway!"

"Did Paul tell you where he was?"

"No Mr. Grumbling! Please help me in this matter. People come to you for a way to get past the fire, the...how you say?"

"Firewall, yes, Eileen, I have a way. We must talk in person when I get back to the West Bay."

"Please call me soon...I am making plans to fertilize the divorce and move back to Lyon."

Monica! Weber suppressed a giggle, "I'm already working the problem...I can't say what the outcome will be."

"Thank you."

Eileen Cornelius hung-up and Weber dragged her number to the I PHONE folder named LSSP for Lockheed Secret Space Program. Weber then telepathically realized Monica's destination as Moab, Utah. He didn't even need Monica's face to be able to connect to her anymore.

OMG it's Monica! I just have the damn Gurument debriefing where all I could do is go deeply dumbfound over the actual existence of Edgar and Fizzgig, and now Monica is in Southern Utah? How did Edgar, a figment of our collective minds, manage to kill pets and leave paint drops on people? How come I can take his picture?

Then Weber's I PHONE sang the Talking Heads Burning Down the House.

Gurument almighty! Now what does Maynard want?

# PART TWO - The Edge of Light

To the witness it is born!

The object that you scorn,

is not a blind presence.

October 1995

1. Center of the Unknown Universe

The discovery of trans-evocative wall art was not announced in a scientific journal. Scientific instruments did not record it as it happened. Very few historically meaningful events are recorded for posterity. On the premises of Summit Fountain School, a one-room schoolhouse, camera enabled cell phones were not actually forbidden because of New Age anti-technology sentiments...they just didn't have them yet.

Psychically gifted ten-year-old students glued balsa wood shapes onto circular plywood sheets for a lesson in symbol minded power through mixed media usage of leather and wood materials. Pyramids and ziggurats and spiral bursts were very popular. Diminutive Walter Wells made a complicated crop circle design and painted it cobalt blue, and then when each of the art students who had gazed at Walter's little masterpiece finally began their afternoon naps...well, they experienced rippling spontaneous out-of-body attunement sensations ripping at the fabric of the their naïve and unknowable subconscious reality agreements, penetrating their limited energetic preparation or protection.

Their teacher and headmaster, Charley Nadal, perceived the trans-evocative out-of-body sensations when he went to bed later that night. A dormant and vibrant thought form activated astral vibrations that kicked-in so fast he had to sit up and shout, "So that's what happened to my kids today!" and that was after the school office phone had rang off the hook for three hours as he placated the parents of his twelve students.

I must speak with Director Fenzeig in the morning. Our little site vortex is really working! Walter Wells is an exceptional special-mental...he could even be a beta conduit!

The powerful vortices in the Santa Cruz Mountains make Sedona Arizona's feel like a smeared pile of burnt sage. All along the forest-lined Skyline and Summit Roads, parallel to the San Andreas Fault, a trained practitioner can easily sense-map the vortexes that vary in size and density, providing the source-seeking conduit a primal attuned fix on energy portals throughout the thickly forested mountains. When primal portals were discovered thousands of years ago by shamans and conduits, they feared to enter the portals. Cords of thought form energy from the other side communicated controlling minds seeking...slaves! Two-way connections can be terminated and power can be balanced. Then it was discovered that not all entities from the next great dimension are malevolent.

The Summit Fountain Elementary School Founder and Director, Dr. Serge Fenzeig, does not suffer careless fools and does not accept children from families that practice traditional religion. Young prospects must practice New Age fundamentals: Modern Society is brimming with manipulators! Unconscious energy suckers! Energy vampires! Gifted children must be protected from materialists! _Charley Nadal says the school site is a vortex success. Now we can build more classrooms! I finally have a mature headmaster of vortex knowledge! Now I have a very strong undiscovered child who can break through conventional concepts and be trained to enter the high world of thought form control!_

Charley Nadal swooned over Walter Wells, his prize protégé. Walter mostly cringed in humility for being singled out as a elite special mental. He always felt safe in his own mind; felt safe in his own artistic expression, a sort of fortress against the uncontrolled bombardment of thought forms from everyone else in existence.

Walter sat in the back of the classroom watching Charley play the role of the helicopter teacher, constantly singling out and hovering over Walter for praise. Charley carefully explained to the rest of the students that the discovery of Walter's ability to create evocative art was an event so profound that each student and their parents would have to keep it secret for now because lurking in the Earth grid were people willing to exploit Walter's special mental ability in order to control as many people as they could.

Thought forms were the subject today. It was Walter's role as a peer group leader, and young practitioner of powerful thought forms, a boy capable of transforming minds, a boy who had just discovered a new art form as yet to be recognized by anyone else...well...

Walter should teach my class today. Can evocation art be mastered or even taught? Where in the Student Applicant Checklist did I miss Walter's evoking ability?

Summit Fountain Applicant Checklist

Please affirm the following statements by checking the boxes on left.

1. □ I believe in an unbrokered relationship with God.

2. □ I need a person to guide me to God.

3. □ God is irrelevant.

4. □ I have completed some public elementary school.

5. □ I have never attended public schools.

6. □ I'm home schooled.

7. □ My parents think I'm gifted but haven't told me this yet.

8. □ I'm learning to use my spiritual gifts.

9. □ I think I'm gifted.

10. □ People are uneasy around me.

11. □ I make friends easy.

12. □ I can see and feel things nobody else can.

13. □ I am afraid of my abilities.

14. □ I want to go to this school because I feel like an outcast.

15. □ Alternative schooling is for losers.

16. □ Sacred Geometry is my favorite subject.

17. □ Art is my favorite subject.

18. □ I know what sense mapping is.

19. □ I know how to read maps.

20. □ I am afraid of nature and the outdoors.

21. □ I love nature and the outdoors.

22. □ I have been visited by supernatural beings.

23. □ I can converse with and hear voices in my head.

24. □ I can hear voices but I can't talk to them.

25. □ I understand there is an energy grid around the Earth.

26. □ I understand there are energy field vortexes.

27. □ I have truthfully checked or not checked the above boxes.

Walter Wells, being unusually focused, had checked only boxes 16, 17, and 27. Certainly, the recent chalkboard introduction to vortexes had opened Walter's mind.

"Okay, my brave students, really, I know yesterday was a challenging day for each of you. I'm glad your parents had the fortitude to drop you off at my humble school once again. I think you're ready to sense map a vortex. Shall we learn more about fundamental thought forms? Walter, please tell us what a thought form is."

2. The Neighbor in Law

"The reality that any power control system works is that people cooperate or agree with it, not because of any truth or superiority. I refuse the explosive implant," said the defiant Agent Monica Gifford.

Maynard Ackroyd fidgeted, "This knowledge and rejection will make you become a challenge to the pecking order, and then you will be drugged, jailed, killed, or sent off."

"Sent off? Clutch and Weber refused the implants too!"

Ignoring Monica, Maynard said softly, "There's a dangerous conduit I'd like you to quietly track and turn."

"Jacob Bjerknes?"

"Good god, Monica! You're finally a viable human being."

"What do you mean viable?"

"Listen to me, Jacob is a predator, a serial killer, an energy vampire, and a healer. I call him the Shaman Vampire."

Monica wiggled her eyebrows and said, "Shaman Vampire? Cute...do you think he'll see me coming?"

"Maybe. Probably underestimates the scope of his range. He's a loner and a bisexual and he primarily kills gay and bisexual men."

"How romantic! So you feel my bisexuality will endear me?"

"Energetically? Oh yes he will be very attracted to your energy body and your hotness. You've got to be his type."

"Blood type you mean?"

"He's a perfect convert to be a conductive operative for the Gurument."

"Oh sure, another whack-job seduction! Bring him in unharmed?"

"Please, no permanent damage."

"C'mon Maynard, you saw what I did to the Army Navy game."

Maynard saw Monica get the Army Cadets to cheer for a Navy touchdown and kept the Navy Midshipmen and everyone else from noticing. It was astounding! The only person who could limit Monica was an Alpha Conductor or Monica herself. Maynard's left cheek nervously twitched.

"Get Bjerknes to think of the Gurument as a trusty neighbor that will borrow him from time to time."

"Like the prying eyes of Clutch and Weber? Okay...so he's in San Francisco?"

"Uh, yes, but finish your training with Clutch and Weber at a youth soccer game in Maryland tomorrow."

"Okay...so when do I go to San Francisco?"

"I'm hoping Weber can teach you the moral difference between crass crowd manipulation and group mind control."

"I don't like large crowds. My specialty is to quiet a noisy bar of low-cons."

"Very funny. I'm counting on you to get these notions out of your head! Weber will show you conductive and mature manipulations and Clutch will confirm them as long as you don't try to manipulate him too."

"Poor Clutch...I love a good puppet."

"Poor Clutch? He's a respected Beta Regional!"

"And I'm a disrespected Freelancer!"

"Dear, there is no such thing as a Freelancer!"

"Weber is a Freelancer! And how would you know? You're a conduit tool," and then she glared at Maynard and cleared her throat, "Who is the Alpha, Maynard?"

"Give it up, Monica! Clutch and Weber will pick you up at ten."

"Fine! So what does a soccer mom wear to a crowd control event?"

Monica backed away, faked a smile, and left the windowless office.

Maynard lay down to meditate on his puffy office couch and received the typical inner ear high pitch sound which signaled that his master's voice and energy would be intruding into his head momentarily. A faceless voice of absolute power and love:

GET

THE GIST,

MAYNARD?

Monica's

coming

round.

I

KEEP

HER AT

BAY.

She's

boldly

independent.

SHE'S

AS CURIOUS

AS A CAT, THIS ONE.

I WANT CLUTCH

AND WEBER

TO SHADOW

HER.

The

Wish's have

been tracking

Bjerknes

for five

days.

THE

WISH TWINS

NEED ALL THE

HELP THEY

CAN GET.

3. Bald Ego

Jacob Bjerknes stalked the Castro and Haight District, seeking random victims in a dark manner to amp-up the local fear quotient. Bleed-Out Death by Vampire Fangs in the Neck would be the perfect Chronicle headline on Halloween morning and would add a groovy tension to the foggy and dark-fun street carnival atmosphere.

Jacob drove a modified VW camper van, equipped with an outside massage table that folds down out of the left rear side panel. The van was painted a deep violet and gold, a swirling tie-dye effect, with chrome trim, a recessed emergency light assembly, and inside, all the amenities: stereo, carpet, a cooking nook, and room to sleep three. He looked for a pair of prime cut twins named George and John Wish, both as queer as a pair of tolerant conservatives. He drove by the Golden Gate Park panhandle penetrating the Haight Ashbury District, parking a block from a private bisexual nightclub named the Sticky Mug. Jacob had been secretly persuading the twins to return to the Sticky Mug ever since he spotted them carousing there the night before. He looked in his side view mirror as a taxi pulled-up next to him, much too close for comfort, the taxi driver letting the twins out on the taxi driver's side.

The twins literally stopped the oncoming traffic with their imposing physiques, sauntering arrogantly back towards the Sticky Mug. The Wish Twins' wore iconic and hallowed matching Norse God costumes: studded black leather long jackets, chopper chaps, and oversized white-framed sunglasses, attracting catcall whistles and honking horns.

Ah, Halloween week!

Jacob followed their side mirror reflections as they rounded the back of the van and stepped onto the sidewalk. In the twilight, once again, Jacob felt the impression of being tracked by a group of powerful minds. He got out of his van and pursued the twins just after they entered the nightclub. He wanted to flirt with them, wanted to leave with them, wanted to see them revel in their own sexually charged murders.

The doorman let Jacob in even though he wasn't a Sticky Mug member. Jacob too, was Norse tall and blonde, and stunningly handsome. He really didn't have to use his mind control to manipulate most people because he had everyone's second chakra by the balls. He moved through the club slowly, acclimating to the energy, locating the twins' solidity in the dim light; he had delightfully perceived the same energy signatures the night before. They were unusually special mental and behaved as one unit. Not as strong as Jacob, but very aware of the overlap of interpenetrating thought fields as they energetically invaded the energy bodies of low con high-vibration meth-head twinks and aggressive tomboy alcoholics.

George Wish, the twin wearing a red bandanna, put his arm around a pierced young leather-clad woman with spiky hair and chatted her up, while John Wish, wearing a white leather bandanna, zeroed-in on Jacob's direct eye contact.

Jacob thought in amusement, I have been found, no doubt at all.

John came forward and whispered a sweet something into Jacob's right ear.

Jacob replied out loud, "Oh yeah? I was here last night...I'm hella smitten-"

Then he abruptly said to John telepathically:

By

twins

of your

caliber.

John grinned knowingly, and mentally beckoned his brother to come and join the reverie. George grumbled and gently apologized to the aroused woman, and made his way over to Jacob and John. Up close Jacob saw they both had light blonde fuzzy unibrows. Without the twin's permission, Jacob penetrated their third eyes, and with his calming thought form, took over the conversation before it got started.

They began to resist. Jacob concluded that they had been tracking him for at least several days. John leaned into Jacob and said, "I know what you are." John's transient facial features changed to reveal an unshaven face with red tormented eyes under a glowing bright pink unibrow. He had hairy ears and a dutiful malice leaked from his third eye.

Jacob thought: despite the strong telepathic overlay, I claim them first!

He reached out to the twin's mental bodies with erotic intent, preferring non-verbal preparation, and discovered: they are sizing me up for a night of homosexual rape and bondage!

Then turn me in to the Shadow Government?

Jacob slowly stood up and made for the exit and his van. The Wish Twins followed, smirking at each other, cocksure of the upcoming outcome.

Jacob rarely had to fight physically, and in the steamy enclosed VW, this was not the time or place to be violent. He sought control. The Twins kneeled behind the modified drivers seat which swiveled around so Jacob could make eye contact.

"I know what you both are," said Jacob.

"Oh?" they said in unibrow unison.

Jacob seductively tickled the back of George's neck with his right hand and his left hand caressed the neck of John, "Oh yes, my friends."

"We know what we have to do, Mr. Bjerknes," said George.

"We prefer you," said John.

Compliant precondition benefits a shaman. Jacob used more than love to calm them. The twins sat back on their haunches and tightly gripped the vans interior handholds, crouching and whimpering, turning completely docile, then holding on in pure fear as Jacob lurched his van onto the street and sped away into the urban night.

4. Energy Camp

Charley Nadal wrote on the chalkboard with spiral flair:

Activation of Thought Form and Mind Control

"Thought form spirals equal physical vortexes in nature, like a tornado, which equal the auger-like motion of our Solar System as it transverses the outer arm vortex of our Milky Way Galaxy. Is the repetition of the vortex form a coincidence or is it a manifestation of sacred geometry and the ability of the collective universal mind to shape reality?"

The mesmerized classroom of ten to fourteen year olds barely fidgeted.

Oh yeah, I've got them!

Charley's students were soaking it all in so smoothly since classmate Walter Wells had abruptly introduced them to the power of symbols. Charley continued: "So it begins in the visual cortex, in concert with the voice, that the thought forms are sent and received. When you raise your voice a thought form is delivered with equal force. When a person knows how to silently penetrate the passive mind defenses of another person, it becomes easy to plant a thought form of self-intent. The recipient of mind control, who rightfully thinks that all thought is self-generated and self-directed, will actually absorb thought forms that are generated outside of the recipient's mind. If a recipient knows how to protect the mind, only a trained telepath can break through and manipulate the recipient's will. The trick is to do this seamlessly...the recipient must always regard willpower as self-generated for the thought control to work."

Megan Smith raised her hand and asked, "Charley, does a spiral give me the power to read minds? Is that what you mean?"

"Megan, spiral is the shape of energy movement, aligned to spiral thought forms which are accessed in the source field of the multi-verse and the interpenetrating minds of others. An energetic vortex is also the boundary point between two mind dimensions."

Megan squealed with delight, "That's what I thought!'

"The universal source field is the medium of the mind. Only you can willfully suppress access to the universal mind, unless your will is being controlled. Your mind interfaces the thoughts of others and can modify another's access to the visually sensed world. The brain cortexes can be manipulated, bombarded, blocked, and given false images-"

The Conductor said to Charley telepathically:

TOO

MUCH

INFORMATION

CHARLEY!

The

children

are assimilating

in leaps and

bounds!

The Conductor ramped-up admonishment in the form of thought bombs and forced Charley to deal with an intense cognitive dissonance.

Let

me finish

the lesson!

THE

PART ABOUT

THE POWER PRIORITY?

THE CONDUCTOR?

WANT TO

GO THAT

FAR?

Actually,

with your permission,

I would like to proceed telepathically

and introduce the concept without

sonically verbalizing

it at this time.

Is that

okay?

The blocker bombs ceased:

OKAY,

CHARLEY,

OKAY.

So Charley introduced telepathically the thought form concept that changed his students and particularly Walter Well's life forever:

Mind

control activation

develops the human ability long

withheld from use by the masses and used

by the powerful for their own gain to thus procure energy from others and to give with force their own selfish ideas the receiver doesn't own or believe in...a participating behavior within set limits made by

the level of awareness

of the participants

themselves.

Charley smiled, waved at his pupils, and said telepathically, "No more questions today," and verbally dismissed his students while imagining that their brains were quite full. Walter and his classmates stared in controlled awe with goose bumps on the side. Being that the children were gifted, sensitive, and hypnotized, Charley disarmed his alluring snare by erasing the phrase on the chalkboard after adding two letters to the first word:

Deactivation of Thought Form and Mind Control

5. Land Mind

At the north end of the soccer field, the remote viewers sat cross-legged on the lawn in the scattered shade of an elm tree and its scattered yellow fallen leaves still holding their summer moisture. Clutch Antoine to the right and Weber Grambling on Monica Gifford's left. Monica, letting Weber tease and flirt with her, wore a black scarf blindfold and sense mapped the movement of the young girl soccer players. Her first task was to "see" them before attempting to "control" them. She grounded, cleared, balanced, and protected the surrounding playfield energy and felt the players and their parents, and then merged the feelings into inner sight. Monica leaned into Weber.

"Your energy today is so edible...can't we send Clutch to Starbucks or something?"

"I'm right here you minx," said Clutch without turning to make eye contact with Monica's blindfolded eyes.

Weber said softly, "Honey, if you ignore Clutch, and try to manipulate the green stripe team's goalie and allow a score, and do the same for the yellow stripe team, I promise we will celebrate tonight in San Francisco, without Clutch's divisive black presence."

"That won't prove anything," inserted Clutch, "the little girls might score without Monica's influence."

"Shut-up nerds," said Monica with a slanted smile.

Monica opposed the instinct to concentrate and focus; she stepped aside mentally, like an impartial spectator, effortlessly blocking Clutch, and emptied her warm Weber feelings into the ground. Observing and slowing the action in her mind's eye, Monica sent a distracting thought form to all of the green players to imagine that a new puppy was waiting for them at home and she sent a narrow thought form command to the green goalie to allow the yellow forward striker to kick to the high center of the goal net.

Monica telepathized:

Score

one for

yellow!

Clutch telepathized:

Doesn't

prove anything.

Then, while Monica ignored Clutch, the yellow goalie decided to grab her water bottle by the side of the goal while the green's counterattack finished-off a rousing goal strike in the lower right net. The yellow goalie blushed as she nonchalantly came back to a center goal position.

Monica gloated:

Score

one for

the green

stripes!

Weber telepathized:

That

goalie is

embarrassed.

However, a terrific

back to back

result.

Clutch said out loud, "How about another back to back?"

Monica replied, "How about a Grande Mocha with a dollop of whip cream?"

From the sidelines, a soccer mom screamed at the head official who stared at the irate mother, his hands on his hips, a whistle in his mouth.

"Please stop that brutish lady from yelling at the Ref," suggested Weber.

Monica refocused her sense map, and in moments replied deftly, "That ref is the loud bitches' ex!"

"Even more of a challenge," said Weber.

"What an asshole she is!"

"Please try."

The angry soccer mom suddenly turned away from the side of the soccer field and jogged in a wet hurry to the restroom.

"I want a gold star for that one," said Monica, "and where's Clutch going?"

"Starbucks...and it wasn't you that sent him there."

Weber put his right arm around Monica, then planted a gentle kiss on her left cheek and while lifting the blindfold he said, "Passing grade, there's no such form as a perfect thought form."

"Did I pass?"

"Sure did pass!"

"Did I go fast or what?"

"No other transient interference that I could detect."

"Did I ignore Clutch's skepticism to the core?"

"I should be asking the questions."

"Well?"

"Did you notice that the stout referee was blocking your intrusions into his mind?"

"I uh...no."

"When the ex hubby ref was being yelled at by his ex wife on the sideline, you attended more to the ex wife's dominant form of direct anger which was really being fueled by the former intimacy with the ex hubby."

"Oh...I see...his is an aloof control drama, which is very passive!"

"Very simple! He was the only person you kind've skipped over. You could've made the ref make a bad call to spoil a scoring result instead of directly messing with the players' minds and humilities."

"Efficient choices?"

"A lay of the land means to solidly ground and ordinate and feel all thoughts instantly. A blank or passive sense persona in a field sense map is not ever empty, and is likely a conduit."

"The ref is a conduit?"

"He's Maynard's control drone."

"So the angry bitch works for Maynard too!"

"Naw...she's just an angry bitch."

6. Drones

Jacob Bejerknes drove east of Oakland on Hwy 24 past the green steep hillsides and perched houses of Orinda and Lafayette, having the goal in mind of killing and leaving the Wish twin's bodies at Rock City picnic grounds on Mount Diablo. They had become more complicated as victims, more sophisticated as prey. He didn't want to dump them on the streets of San Francisco. The bed-burbs of Contra Costa County could use a sensational shock.

The nude Wish's snuggled very close in the back of the van, black plastic tie wraps locking their hands together behind their backs. Their bandannas served as blindfolds. They still had smug smiles as if they were in on the joke and the sadistic nut job, Jacob, driving a van of doom was simply being played for a fool.

After all, they were Gurument Conduits trained to resist latent mind control, trained to protect against uncontrolled high con intrusions. They knew Jacob was at least as powerful and dangerous as a rogue conduit. And they too could see with their third eyes. Jacob was amused by their confidence.

The twin's don't know that I intend to kill them.

"Guys, must I pry deeper to find out who's your puppeteer?"

George said, "The Gurument wants your talent."

"Join the Gurument? What the hell is that?"

"Let us train you to control the gift," said John.

"When I reach Mt. Diablo I will get better answers."

George exhaled loudly and rasped a knowing giggle, "Don't be an idiot, Jacob. We're on your side." John added, "If you keep killing people you'll be caught and then you'll practice mind control on only isolated death row inmates."

"What the hell is the Gurument?" repeated Jacob.

George said, "The Gurument is the operative slang for the Psy Ops Division of Black Ops. The N.S.A. originally trained us as remote viewers."

"Clever," said Jacob, "So the N.S.A. wants our e-mail and our mind content? Can you read minds like I can?"

John said, "Yes and no...we can sense map your mind but we cannot invade it or control it...at this time."

Jacob said, "That's an understatement!"

"We're supposed to be your bodyguards," said George.

"Who's the bodyguard now?" laughed Jacob, "when you're having sex with each other you're going to strangle each other simultaneously to enhance your orgasms and death."

"That won't happen," said John, "I'm certain you feel an elusive presence in your mind?"

"Yes I do...I call it the chorus of control."

"They work your mind to comply with them, to obey them," said George.

Jacob cackled, "They've been trying for a long time! Do they imagine that I'll cooperate? They must know I lured you to the Sticky Mug."

"They know...and they represent the original _they_ that everyone blames for the disparity that humanity endures," said George.

"They are in charge?"

"Resistance is futile," said John.

"Oh c'mon, John, a bit melodramatic? Aren't you my siphons?"

No reply to the question.

Jacob thought only himself:

Then my quest for a Brains Lord is done...the Brains Lord is in my mind and there's nothing I can do. If they do control me they are an accomplice to my serial murder spree! Are they causing me to be a deviant psychopathic killer? How do I-

Interrupting, a woman's voice said inside Jacob's head:

Jacob

Bjerknes!

The hornier than

thou muscle men are

not worth

it.

So abrupt was the female voice intrusion that Jacob swerved right onto the Stone Valley Road exit ramp in Alamo. He realized that the voice's thought forms had been in his head for hours; a dissonant feeling that one of the shadows in his head was talking in his head, an invading mind coexistent with his own private thoughts. Jacob became nauseous. He pulled into the Alamo Safeway parking lot.

"I can teach you crowd control and how to spy at distance," said John.

"We can be your lovers, your loyal guardians...you'll never have to meet the boss," said George.

"Sorry, I don't use brokers," said Jacob as he rolled down the window and spit-up bile, drawing a disgusted look from a Hawaiian shirt wearing brown bearded trust-fund hippy loading groceries into his BMW.

The woman's very sexy voice intruded again and said:

Listen

to the Wish's.

The powers that be made

you a killer for a

reason.

Jacob covered his eyes with his fists and thought with rage outwardly:

Get

out of my

head!

7. Emitters

Why are we so fragile?

Wrote Charley Nadal on the chalkboard and then he stated, "Emit, receive, perceive, and pass through the energies of the universe; we all feel the light passing through us, and share our thoughts by emitting them to the various occupants and recipients in the source field."

Walter Wells knew the secrets Charley gave out were mostly intended for him because he had been practicing positivism and this gave him reserve power based on Charley's reinforcing attention. His Mom and Dad buffered the negative energies invading the home. Walter knew his classmates were often less mature, but they were not under direct attack. He had been drawing the attention of mysterious malevolent entities, and they gave Walter an occasional electric shock like a internal seizure disorder, according to Charley. The Summit Fountain School student body was protected by the combined consciousness of its high-con teachers. Walter thought it was time to make the Summit a boarding school where sensitive's like him were protected around the clock by a palisade of energetic volunteers and teachers.

Charley continued, "The terminology of human energy thought form interaction with the natural universe is best related to electricity physics. Gain as in gaining energy skills when consciously practicing them. However, there can be decreases too, like when I disconnect socially or when I'm not grateful or self-absorbed-"

"Always say thank you," said Megan Smith.

"Thank you, Megan. I do connect when I am grateful, and when I'm aware of the full spectrum of energy and thought forms, large and small, that are exchanged through the energy grid medium. Today, I want you to short-answer the following questions honestly and it's okay to not know the answers. There are only honest answers for these questions. Please don't make too much effort. I don't know is okay and first impressions are usually the best. There are no right answers and the ones that are simple always ring true. Yes and no answers work the best for correcting a test." Charley passed out a questionnaire to his students titled:

RHYMES WITH INTERNAL

What kinds of unseen wavelengths are there in the source field?

Are energy and thought forms only felt, not just seen?

Do I put-up a defense (anger) when my current thoughts (ego defense) are being challenged?

What is one example of overcoming a perceived limitation?

Are thought forms the Missing Matter?

How do you shield thoughts from others?

What do you ground to?

Do I also transmit and receive thought forms through the spoken word, through body language, through computers, and cell phones?

Do I engage the universal energy sea and allow the depth of current penetration at which it permeates me to initiate emotional growth?

Am I an eternal being learning at a pace which can take many lifetimes?

Allowing all energy to go to my core being is the ultimate paring of personality to life experience pared to spiritual maturity. People are emitters; fountain vortexes are emitters, the radio, the sun, and the stars. Is your mind an emitter and a receiver?

What is the eternal moment?

"Charley?" Walter nervously raised his hand after previewing the questions.

"Yes, Walter?"

"Mostly I know the answers but I can't find the words to say what I know."

Charley nodded, "That is why language really is the most important subject."

"My vocabulary is not keeping up with the thought forms received."

"Walter, a complex thought form contains component thought forms. Complex thought forms are best described as a ball of rough twine. When you receive a complex thought form in our slow motion reality, you have to unravel the content in a linier fashion, ignore the fraying, much like a book is identified by its all encompassing title; it must be read in slow time by assimilating a long line of words in order to understand the whole meaning."

"So all words are component thought forms?"

"Yes! Single words are thought forms distilled to the essence of a meaning, both simple and complex, and used in many forms of context."

"So I'm getting thought forms all the time that don't make sense to me?"

"The universe is irrational," said Charley.

Walter still felt awkward. To receive a mysterious thought form, not know its surface context, but somehow know its deeper meaning without actually being able to express the meaning! He thought:

People can know something without being able to prove it! If I could send thought forms without the brokering words, I could directly communicate with anyone without having to explain myself!

Two hours later, when all the questionnaires were turned-in, Charley pointed at the chalkboard and addressed the class, "Why are we so fragile? If humans are so advanced as a species, why do we live a much shorter life span than a parrot or sea turtle or a redwood tree? Is it possible we are designed to live shorter lives because we have many life spans?"

"We are eternal," said the class in harmonic unison.

8. Invocative

Bjerknes,

can't we just meet

at the Danville

Denny's?

Monica would not get out of Jacob's head, and once he banished the feeling of being raped by a woman's mind, Jacob attempted to enter her mind with greater force. He thought he could siphon anyone. He began by looking for her associations in power and fear, the entrances into her mental body, and who she was connected to and her name in the ether and in The Akashic Records, to find the so-called Gurument...and where was the Gurument headquarters? The head squatters! Maybe they're all spiritually discorporate walk-ins!

Monica said:

Nice

try big

guy.

Is

your real

voice the same

as the one

in my

head?

It's

all real,

Jacob.

Can

I have

your name?

You don't feel

like a stranger

anymore.

My

name is Eileen

Cornelius.

One

leg shorter

than the other,

eh? I hate

the name

I lean.

Hate

is a strong word,

my big Vampy

Shaman.

C'mon,

tell me your

real name.

I

will

when we

meet in

person.

I've

never been

this intimate with

a woman

before.

I

have.

No

such thing

as too much

information

with you.

Jacob,

we have to

reel you

in.

You're

a part of

a chorus of

control?

The

Gurument

is very powerful.

I

get

it.

By

the way,

very funny

calling a Conductor

a Brains Lord. Been holding

on to that label since

you were a

kid?

Conductor?

So that's the

name?

Choo,

Choo and a

symphony, my

Beta Freelancer.

Jesus,

there's

structure

after

all?

Isn't

there always?

How about your

bisexuality?

Ever had a

woman?

Why,

can't you

tell?

Why

be fixated

on only male

genitals...

excluding

your

own?

Can't

read my

mind?

So

you have

slept with a

woman?

Sleep,

no.

Okay,

Jacob...

set the Wish's

free at the

Danville

Denny's.

What's

wrong with

the Safeway

parking

lot?

I'm

waiting

for my veggie

omelet! My associates

monitor our telepathic interaction.

They don't like Safeway

parking

lots.

Get

out of my

head and I'll let

the twins go. Are your

associates close by? I want to

meet you in person

before they take

me.

Monica hesitated and waited for Weber's advice. Weber abruptly entered Jacob's head and said:

Bjerknes,

please go to

Denny's.

Jacob mentally recoiled:

A second voice! Jesus...they really have found me!

The Wish Twins smirked to high heaven now that Jacob was caving-in to the Gurument trap. The psychically loaded VW van left Alamo and merged onto south freeway 680 and headed for the Danville Denny's about five miles down the road.

George thought it must be macho Clutch and the adorable Weber speaking telepathically to Jacob. George wished he could read Clutch and Weber.

Monica said to both George and John:

No

Georgie,

it is mainly I,

Monica

Gifford.

Then Weber entered only George's head:

You're

not my type.

Can't speak for Clutch...

anyway, we're five cars

behind. Bjerknes

will not get

away.

Jacob sent a broad thought form:

Greetings,

Clutch and Weber!

Just five cars away in

white sedan? Know

Monica Gifford?

9. Attunement

Walter's head rested on a purple pillow with his eyes closed, his body totally relaxed lying on a cushioned massage table covered with a dark purple sheet in a redwood grove on the edge of the school grounds. Charley Nadal hovered over him clearing area energy; Walter Sr. and his mother Wendy, stood off to the side at the foot of the table so Walter Jr. could make eye contact if he needed to. The attunement session and guided meditation had been requested by Charley Nadal and had finally been agreed to by Walter's parents.

Charley ran Reiki, a non-Western healing modality invoked through meditation techniques and the ethical use of ancient Buddhist symbols. It is the activation of Universal Life Force Energy to be channeled to a recipient in need of healing. Charley activated Walter to a higher resonance of awareness.

This would begin a period of adjustment lasting several weeks. The activated abilities opened by the first attunement awakened vibrational realities usually suppressed by the materially conditioned mind. The first attunement is the most dramatic because of the introduction of fourth dimensional seeing that overlays normal perceptions. Rudimentary sense mapping is activated; the person will see auras around other living things and around power transmission lines. The awakened channel will detect "open' and "closed" minds.

Charley wasn't a traditional Reiki loyalist to be bound by a code of formal rituals reestablished by a Japanese Christian Monk and his daughter around 1900. Walter, having been on the path to enlightenment from an early age, was an ideal beginner for learning the first attunement. Charley combined body/mind astral techniques discovered by the Robert Monroe Institute and Reiki practitioners and masters, used to accelerate energy awareness by encouraging the use of anticipation, which is felt in the third chakra, the power center chakra that is the center of the ego. Anticipation activates the energy body. Humility keeps it in check.

"Please close your eyes, Walter, you're in your safe place, take deep and fast intake breaths, then exhale slowly, imagine the breath is in partnership with prana or chi or ki energy, and breathe this energy along with the pure Santa Cruz Mountain air. Ground your energy to the earth and forest. Clear your energy like watching cloudy water change to clear in a tall glass vessel. Balance your energy body, don't take energy from other living things, take it from the universal energy that envelopes the universe. Finally, protect yourself by visualizing white light surrounding your body to protect the energy body from malevolent or mischievous spirits and other living things that may have malice or do not offer loving support."

Walter closed his eyes and breathed in quickly and exhaled slowly. He did this for three minutes while Charley continued to provide protection. Walter started to show a tiny grin, and then he smiled broadly and sporadically giggled in delight.

Charley said, "Imagine the feeling of excitement on Christmas morning before opening presents, or the anticipation of going on an adventure with your best pal, or going to the beach for the first time."

"Okay, that's too mushy and easy," said Walter.

"Invoke and love the stomach butterflies," said Charley.

Walter lifted himself up by his elbows and kept his eyes closed.

Charley said, "The butterflies are really third chakra vortex energies being activated allowing connection to universal life force energy."

Walter said calmly, "Should I find my safe place?"

"By all means command the dark spirits to leave, "said Charley.

Walter imagined standing in the middle of a thick golden field, the tall corn stalks protecting him from being seen. He could see himself from above, surrounded by crop circles shimmering in the afternoon light. The safe place dissolved and was replaced by the shade of the redwood grove, where Walter could see Charley and his parents. He opened his eyes and said softly and decisively, "I can see with my eyes closed." His parents looked like they were deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck driven by a demon.

10. Chorus of Control

Jacob took the Sycamore Valley Road exit off of southbound 680 freeway, circling and merging and crossing the overpass, turning right on the frontage road, the white sedan a tenth of a mile behind on his tail.

Clutch and Weber were slightly peeved with Maynard's sketchy profile of Jacob Bjerknes. They kept their thoughts to themselves and stayed far enough behind Jacob's VW van so Jacob could not see their faces. They knew that once a face is committed to memory, a permanent connection is made, and Jacob could track them anywhere. The universal telepathic exchange doesn't use phone numbers...it uses faces. Jacob knew this principal and slowed the van to a crawl, causing Clutch to slow down to keep a safe gap distance. Their orders were to observe until Monica had controlled the Denny's situation. Clutch didn't trust Jacob.

"His VW couldn't outrun a wheelchair," said Weber.

Clutch retorted, "If Monica is stronger than Jacob, then how come Jacob isn't already a docile compliant conduit in our custody?"

"Let it unfold, my friend."

"He's to be adopted into Uncle Maynard's extended family, right?"

Jacob interjected telepathically:

My

brothers!

I can't wait to

meet you in

person.

Weber replied:

Please

park your love

buggy next to that blue

BMW and leave the keys in

the ignition. Seek out Monica, she's the hot

looking dirty blonde gal in the

corner booth. Order

a grand

slam.

Pancakes

are for

pussies.

Jacob parked the VW van and turned to face the Wish Twins," I want to remember the both of you this way...bound, naked, and helpless."

Holding his signature fake fangs, he slashed George's left cheek and then said softly, "Now I can tell you apart." Jacob then exited the van and strolled into the Denny's as Weber's white sedan pulled in to the parking lot.

Clutch pulled Jacob's car keys from the ignition lock and Weber cut the Wish's bonds.

"Get dressed," said Weber, "and be proud that you bait guys are still breathing...Bejerknes is a psycho Beta Freelancer."

Clutch tossed the car keys to a pale John Wish as he emerged from the back of the van, telling him to take the van to a Gurument warehouse at Moffett Field where George could get medical treatment for the cheek gash, "Oh, by the way, Bjerknes has tethered your second chakra...you'll need to unhook it before it becomes a fully rooted control cord."

George nodded slyly, "I might keep it."

Clutch and Weber cleared the energy around the Denny's, sense-mapping everyone inside and out, imposing blockers and thought constraints on the customers so that they would be passive and uninvolved with Jacob and Monica's interchange. The effort bolstered Monica's energetic control when paired with Maynard's long distance control and monitoring. The Gurument would not allow Jacob to harmfully manipulate, or send an armed waitress or controlled busboy with a steak knife at Monica.

She made eye contact with Jacob when he entered the restaurant. Even the controlled customers turned to look at Jacob. Charisma is room control and Jacob was unidirectional, pushing at Monica, pushing at the patrons and their pancakes. Monica pushed back but couldn't penetrate Jacob's energy body as deeply as with the rest of the vast low con Denny's clientele. Monica and Jacob's energy bodies met at 45 feet and melted a little, unseen grasping tethers of spectrum feelers, matching tingle for tingle, inducing calm for calm...suddenly, Jacob didn't need to kill anyone. He joined her in the corner booth and placed his hands palms-up on the table, gazed into her eyes and said, "I'm yours."

Monica looked away from him, from the embarrassment of the now surging chemistry that threatened to sweep her away. He was gorgeous! She composed herself and returned his look, forcing a nonchalant slight grin to convey her professionalism.

"Hi, My Monica's call me friend."

Clutch and Weber sat in the white sedan, staring at the front door of Denny's.

"Can you feel the emotionally charged thought forms being exchanged?" asked Weber.

"Love at second sight? Monica's work is done," said Clutch.

"Think Bjerknes will follow her like a puppy or is he playing her?"

Clutch coughed and replied, "Maynard said Bjerknes targets gays and the confused...does he really heal when he's in his shaman mode?"

"I haven't seen his shaman persona. He subconsciosly targets special-mentals who might lead him to his chorus of control."

"How do-"

"C'mon Clutch, you know I can read Maynard deeper than he can read me."

"I know I know...do you think Jacob is more powerful than you?"

"I let him in to my mind."

"But he's strong, right? Maybe he's strong enough to hide the fact that he made you think you let him in?"

"Never know for sure...you still think we're best friends."

"Ha, ha."

"Sorry. Bjerknes doesn't know the scope of his strength...I know mine."

Clutch retorted, "None of us know our fullest potential until we actually prove we are more than what we have limited ourselves to be."

"Adhering to your own self description?"

"Weber, I know that you are boo coo heads above me when it comes to consciousness awareness...but you can't fix a cracked distributor to save your life."

"I have you for that."

"A division of labor?"

Weber said nothing. He felt an intrusion, a hot summer wind penetrating a cool mountain shadow. Once again, though he couldn't identify the energy mind and body, he knew it was the Conductor, he knew single-mindedly that if the identity of this controller was discovered, then the discoverer would become in charge of everything.

Maynard came into their minds:

Monica

paid the food tab

and they're heading for the exit...

don't let Bjerknes see you...

Clutch goes with

them to Moffett

Field.

"I hear ya," mumbled Clutch.

So Clutch waited by Monica's white sedan while Weber drove away to set-up a tailing position. With a huge smile and smitten eyes, standing side by side, Monica led Jacob through the never-locked Denny's double doors, skirting parked cars, stopping 45 feet away from Clutch. Without looking at Jacob she said, "Can you sense-map the man leaning against my car?"

"Sense-map Clutch? Is that what you call it?"

Monica grinned, "It works for me."

"Fine, I like sense-map...uh, he's one of the two Gurument men tailing me? He's insecure, uh, volatile, has never met his parents, can fix anything, he doesn't like me, he's definitely a hetero and is longing to have a batch of pancakes because he smells the Denny's kitchen ventilator output. Uh, he prefers to be second fiddle to Weber and is often used as a detector. He has disagreements with everyone and is protective of you like a brother...but he doesn't want you to know this."

"Not bad...you're a little weak on emotional content...like most guys."

"Clutch wants you to think that his protection is only a Gurument obligation-"

"Okay, that's enough."

Jacob and Monica approached Clutch and Jacob reached out a hand to him. Monica scratched the back of her neck and said, "Jacob Bjerknes, meet Clutch Antoine."

It was _not_ love at first sight.

11. Durable Good

Why are we so fearful?

Wrote Charley Nadal on the chalkboard. Then he said sharply, "Gather your backpacks, my students; we're going into the redwood forest. There will be no talking. Any student who talks will be sent back to the classroom unescorted. We will hike silently in order to listen to the forest energy."

Charley's intent was to induce anxiety and fear in those students whose propensity for vocalizing every discovery and every thought created a distraction. Fear is a profound taskmaster and is abused by the conventional world to control the minds of people. A silent walk allows a subtle interface with spirits, a non-vocalized understanding of the occupants lurking about in the forest. Charley needed to see if this kind of interface caused a negative fear or invoked the thrill to learn about the unknown.

"We will hike silently as soon as we step outside," he reaffirmed.

Then Charley erased:

Why are we so fearful?

And wrote instead:

Conductivity or Productivity?

"Both are required for a useful civil society to form cohesion and freedom. Really, our conduct is as important as our product, and in most cases, it is one in the same."

Charley eyeballed a fidgety boy in the back row, "Tommy, can you describe an example of bad conduct?"

Tommy said, "I...I sometimes pinch my dog's ears and she bites me"

"Tommy...so pinching begets biting?"

"I don't pinch her too hard...but she gets really mad!"

"Tommy, tell me what happens when you stroke her head, or even her ears, the times when you feel good and show her affection."

Tommy squirmed a little and looked upward, "C'mon Charley...she licks my face!"

"Do you prefer licks or bites?"

"I would never bite her!"

A round of classroom giggles ensued.

"What I mean is...do you enjoy being licked or being bit? And please, Tommy, answer me without being too clever."

"C'mon Charley, gosh! I guess I like being licked."

Round two of giggles and whispers.

"Do you fear a dog bite then?"

"Yes sir!"

"Are you going to pinch your dog's ear?"

"I only do it to wake her up."

"Tommy, have you heard of the phrase _let sleeping dogs lie?_ "

"Dogs can't tell a lie Charley!"

Round three of tension releasing laughter.

"And that's why we love our dogs," said Charley, "Okay, everyone, let's go listen to the forest."

The sun is always pulling on our thought forms, fueled by an unquenchable appetite for knowledge and information, broadcasting and illuminating and reflecting back to the source. In the woods, the sun pulls on primal spirit and the healthy green spectrum. Here the filtered forest hues shield the children from aggressive solar rays, from violent commercialism, noisy America, the glamorous triumph of Marketing over Mind. To hear inner voices instead of the television persuaders, to listen to the wind through a forest canopy, to breath organic air instead of the urban air diluted by pollution.

Tommy nor Walter nor anyone in the silent march had spoken since leaving the classroom. Charley marveled at their brave introspection and open eyes. Just a mile outbound from Summit Fountain School, on this day, there would be no child left behind on this hike. Charley guided them to a natural amphitheater bordered by a crown grove of second growth redwood trees. A kind of fairytale village had grown on top of the decaying old growth stumps and fallen detritus to form green saplings growing out of brown rounded hedge tufts at the base of the majestic tree trunks.

Classmates settled on the forest floor, in passive wonderment, feeling the cool charms of the enclosed mountain altar. Charley maintained the students tacit understanding through telepathy...silence and a focus on passive observation of the inner and outer world was all the children had to do. Connecting a child's consciousness to God because God is there, not because God is a greater fear or unattainable. The student seeker involved in an intimate unbrokered and mysterious relationship with God, leaving the interpretation of God's agenda to the exploiters, the self-appointed religious mind controllers and ritual thought formers.

To have unconstrained thoughts moving at the speed of light, occupying the role of missing matter, using space as the sanctum where thoughts and energy exist together, to dispel the lie that there is nothing in space. Space is a medium. To discover that private thoughts can be shared without retribution or ridicule and that some thoughts will attract suppressive and mutually cancelling thought forms competing for adherence. Thoughts really can be read at face value, not to be taken to the mental body as anchored dogma.

Dr. Serge Fenzeig remotely observed the children from the comfort of a distant office. The children made him weep with joy to see them absorb anti-brainwashing techniques like a sponge.

Oh blessed malleable minds made open to the power of space!

12. Guided Mediation

The Moffett Field warehouse was formerly a U.S. Navy car pool garage built of timber in the early 1930's, with high windows long since covered by plywood to keep the satellite spies from peeping-in. Partitioned offices, a Gurument carpool of white sedans, and a sound proof isolation chamber and interrogation "hut" were subunit constructions within the woodframed and dim building.

A strange insignia painted on the interrogation hut door depicted an eagle perched on a branch with one large penetrating eye staring at the viewer, wavy grey lines emanated outward from the eye.

"Creepy logo," said Jacob Bjerknes as Clutch escorted him inside.

A two-way mirror split the interrogation hut. Weber and Maynard observed on the other side while Monica and Clutch strapped Jacob to a bolted-down chair. They placed a block hat, a fazed helmet on his head to counter Jacob's mental probing. The helmet was designed to suppress low con minds from randomly influencing Gurument operatives. Jacob required an upgraded version.

"In case you didn't know...I do kill witnesses to my abilities and crimes," said Jacob.

"What? I thought it was only sexual deviants and Gurument detectors." asked Monica.

"My frequent associates, naturally."

"I'm not going to turn you in to the police."

"I could kill all of the obese people in the United States by sending a wide control thought form planting the urge to run as fast as you can thus inducing a mass collective heart attack." Both Jacob's eyebrows raised and a wide knowing grimace accentuated the proposal.

Monica said, "I don't want to use you as a weapon of mass destruction."

"Somebody does," said Jacob.

Monica stayed passive, watching Jacob's facial expression and the depth of his green eyes. _Shaman Vampire?_ His face is so kind! In the deep pool of contradictions floated a shallow narcissism. God, he throbs his energy in sharp intervals! His parents live in Ohio and a younger brother in Chicago. Below the surface...he's not in total control! A puppet, a siphon...and a cursor. It was as if he intuitively let himself be controlled so he could get close to the controller. No wonder I like him!

Monica said, "Are you a hit man?"

"I am...the media and police say I target New Age Urban Fairies. They say I'm a psychotic serial killer."

"And the New Age movement challenges the Conductor?"

"Yes, it's the primary spawning ground for talented conduits."

"Why do you target gays and bisexuals? Kind of cliché isn't it?"

"I target the taboos."

Monica cast her attention telepathically at Maynard:

Why

not bring

him in yourself?

Don't want him to see you?

Don't want him a step

closer to the Alpha

Conductor?"

My

plans

have recently

changed for Jacob. His

liberty, efficiency, and elusiveness

have become a liability...

he has killed some of

my most promising

recruits.

I

thought

collateral damage was

acceptable.

There

are limits,

believe it

or not.

Weber listened telepathically and observed Monica carefully. She was in a state of permanent arousal. Jacob had got to her. And Maynard saw an advantage...an opportunity to create a strong operative pair. And the best pairings were nearly balanced high-cons, one favored slightly higher than the other. Then came the abrupt and familiar ring tone in Maynard's head. He obediently stepped outside of the observation hut and received the Conductor's telepathy:

MAYNARD!

Yes

sir.

BRING

BJERKNES

TO THE TRAINING

CENTER. HE HAS ALREADY

BREACHED THE OUTER LAYERS

OF WEBER'S MIND AND

HAS SIPHONED

CLUTCH.

Then

he has me

too?

ONLY

IF HE SEES

YOU!

What

about Monica?

Is she under his

control?

NO,

SHE IS

SMITTEN.

I DON'T WANT THEM

SEPARATED.

Keep

the fazed helmet

on Jacob's

head?

IT

DOESN'T

WORK! THE ONLY

THING SUPPRESSING HIM IS

MONICA AND

MYSELF.

13. Night Visitor

The unmarked private jet flew at 30,000 feet over Yosemite Valley on its way to a Gurument Training Facility airfield in Virginia that only existed as a cipher coordinate in the minds of the operatives. In addition to Clutch and the Wish Twins, Monica provided mental shielding around Jacob to keep Jacob from influencing the pilot and co-pilot. Monica realized early on in the flight that Jacob's natural healer personality dominated the locality and that he wasn't attempting to mind control everyone he contacted. Yet Monica maintained a passive and eternal vigilance. With Jacob reclined and seemingly harmless, Monica began to engage him in disclosing some of his past history...her goal was to find out specifically the events in his life that had led him to be discovered by the Conductor. When did he deviate from being a self-taught healer to being a rogue siphon and hit man for the Conductor? _Did he know the Conductor?_

"So Jacob, how did you discover thought forms?"

"When I first recognized that I could hear others think."

"Yes?"

"In the fourth grade, on the playground, when I was alone and moody, I pretended to listen to an invisible ear phone bud by touching my top left ear with my left thumb and forefinger to hear imaginary voices. Now I know I was really connecting to the universal exchange without knowing that I was...but it was the initial instinct to reach out to imaginary minds that started my growth."

"Did you hear voices or did you get the subtle impression of contacting another mind?"

"I could feel the difference between my thought forms and foreign thought forms...the voice that I heard was my voice sounding-out in my head what another person had put in there."

"Were you raised to be religious?"

"Presbyterian by proxy. My family only went to church at Easter and Christmas."

"Did you think that God was talking to you?"

"No, maybe I thought I was talking to myself."

"So you thought it was a closed loop?"

"Yeah...safer than thinking I was loopy and hearing unsolicited voices from the outside."

"Tell me about it! I felt alone in my ability until I was eighteen years old...did you feel alone?"

Jacob hesitated and darted his attention around the jet cabin. The Wish's were playing chess and Clutch was snoring, "Well, when I was about nineteen I rejected a monotheistic god and the dogmatic religious enthrall after having an argument with a god fearing boyfriend who inadvertently polarized my thinking. I vowed to clean the slate of all religious influence. I now know this initial rejection eventually established a foundational knowledge as to the broader nature of existence. Rejecting God was made easier by not having been raised in a religious family."

"Okay...so what event happened to set you back on the path?"

"It was the fall season; I had enrolled at a local junior college and returned late from a tennis team practice as hungry as a wolf. I lived with my parents and brother, but they were out of town visiting my uncle in Chicago...we lived in the suburbs of Cleveland...I had a TV dinner and went to bed about nine thirty."

Jacob surveyed the cabin once again, "So I lay in bed on my back, staring at the ceiling, fairly tired, but hyped-up from the exhilaration of moving-up the team challenge ladder by beating a rival in a match. Through my wide window, which faced the side patio, the nearby streetlight was filtered by our backyard arbor...and grape clusters and full leaf shadows danced on the walls and ceiling, moving in the night breeze. I heard a rising sound of an approaching helicopter, the rhythm of the blades felt empowering...I noticed in the upper corner of my room, to my right, above a bookcase, a flapping and small black bird morph into a larger raven, which grew larger as it moved to the center of the room, flapping it's wings sporadically, totally out of rhythm in contrast to the rhythm of the helicopter sound. I tried to sit-up but I was paralyzed! I couldn't even blink! I felt extreme fear. The night raven morphed into a black-cloaked figure at least 6 feet tall and for a minute it leaned over me for what seemed like a super-real eternity! Fear changed to anticipation. I could not see any facial features. I thought it was going to be an alien abduction! It observed me for a minute, I hope. Then the blackness figure reversed the order to which it had appeared and disappeared into the upper corner of my room. The helicopter noise faded and then I could move again! I jumped out of bed wearing just my boxers and I raced outside expecting to see a receding UFO in the sky! Then I ran down the street and went all around our house looking for a cat burglar."

Monica said, "I see...do you know that your mind was probably imposing familiar forms on a discorporate entity? An entity your mind had no pre-loaded conception of? That in reality, the visitor was a transdimensional being?"

"I do know it was proof of an extra-dimensional reality."

"So that event became the trailhead to the beginning of the path?"

"Yeah, that's for sure, only the visitor said nothing at all, not even in my head."

"Oh? Is that what you think?"

14. Orientation

Charley led the children to within sight of the classroom building. He _mentally_ greeted the invisible and ecstatic Dr. Fenzeig at the forest edge where only Charley could hear Fenzeig praise the children for keeping silent and for their patient devotion to Charley. The children continued on while Charley took deep breaths.

Fenzeig telepathized:

TIME

TO GET

A BOARDING

SCHOOL LICENSE AND

FOOD SERVICE

PERMIT.

Charley blinked rapidly and smiled:

Wonderful!

I have to isolate

them from Silicon

Valley and video

games.

NOT

COMPLETELY.

A

computer

lab?

FOR

THE DEVELOPMENT

OF FOUNTAIN MAPPING.

THESE STUDENTS WILL

MAKE IT ALL

HAPPEN.

I'm

glad you

think

so.

HIGH

TECH IS LEADING

THE WAY.

That's

fine, Serge,

And when the

electricity

fails?

RUN

REIKI

MY FRIEND.

ALWAYS A

NEED FOR A

BATTERY

CHARGER.

Charley looked over his left shoulder at the forest.

I

found

another green

fountain today a

few feet from where

Walter sat on the

ground in the

grove

ring.

IS

THAT

RIGHT?

I'd

say half

the kids saw

it, and the other half

felt it for

sure.

SO

THAT'S

WHAT ENHANCED

MY REMOTE.

It

did! This

is your doing,

Serge! No wonder

you're happy.

COLORS

AND SYMBOLS ARE

THE FORM COMBINATIONS

THAT NEED TO BE

CRACKED.

Walter

cracked it,

he must stay with us.

His mother is a

teacher?

SHE

IS, AND THE

FATHER IS A BUILDING

CONTRACTOR. IS WALTER

GETTING COLD

FEET?

The

attacks

are getting

harsher.

HE

MUST

GATHER HIS

OWN FORCES TO

OVERCOME THE

ATTACKS.

The

jolts, Serge,

the jolts are getting

sharper.

TELL

HIM TO

USE THE _IF NOT_

ME THEN WHO WILL

PROTECT ME?

THOUGHT

FORM.

He's

only

ten!

IT

WILL WORK,

BELIEVE

ME.

Walter would have to receive the protection even if he didn't understand it yet. Charley kept him after class and wrote the following on the chalk board:

If not me then who will protect me?

"Okay, Walter, a powerful entity is making a challenge. It's time to orient and command this entity to go to a place where you won't have to fight it anymore."

Staring at Charley, Walter shivered a fear ripple, and gave Charley a nervous and brave grin, "I try everything, Charley! I can't imagine such a place!"

"Walter, imagination is the key. Reinforce it with your ancestors' light. Ask your favorite deceased relative for help. Ask Jesus, ask God, they will help...I promise."

"Why can't living people help me?"

"Sure they can...why not?"

"Why don't people think about the possibility of mind control?"

Charley gazed at Walter as a soaring pride became unleashed, "That's the question for the ages, Walter. For most people, they never think about it because the thought of mind control is intercepted or made hard to digest or hard to hold, proving mind control exists. That is why you're being attacked...a powerful mind controller feels your emergence."

"Is it also because I make new thought forms?"

15. Siphon

The unmarked Gurument Lear Jet began the descent to a central Virginia airfield where Maynard and Weber waited incognito. Jacob had never stopped talking the whole flight.

"I began to think that not all of my thoughts were my own. Or even that my own thoughts conveyed what I truly believed. When I shared an intimate thought verbally, it didn't seem to be absorbed by the recipient as deeply as when I made sure to reinforce it with love energy."

Monica said, "Huh?"

"Very funny."

"I'm sorry, this plane is a captive audience and you're preaching to the choir. The Wish's really do love you and they were hoping to have time for a mile high three-way but you spurned them," she added with a slow wink.

"I think I love you."

"Love at first flight?"

"Monica, we make a good team because we can't control each other."

Monica seductively leaned in towards Jacob, pursing her lips, reached out for his hands, and locked his wrists together with a thick yellow plastic tie wrap.

Jacob stopped talking, and coughed, and then he experienced horizontal vertigo.

The jet landed smoothly and taxied toward the jetport hanger, which protruded from an ominous grey building on the south side of the runway.

"Clutch, don't handle him so rough," said John Wish. George Wish added, "I hope Maynard changes his mind about Monica teaming with Jacob."

"Monica hears all idiots," grumbled Clutch. Monica led them out the jet door while Clutch nudged Jacob down the ramp steps. Jacob didn't care about mind control. He marveled at the figure of Monica, strolling along ahead of him, confidently leading him to an uncertain captivity, and yet she was partially disengaged from Jacob's mind. This made him hot, bothered, and furious.

Kill or be killed.

Monica's disengagement was deliberate. She had to demonstrate that only a Alpha Conductor could control Jacob Bjerknes. Maynard knew of only three such people that could control Jacob; and two were Monica and Weber. And Weber would not be allowed to go face to face with Jacob. It was going to have to be Monica or the Alpha Conductor tasked with controlling Jacob. Monica's coy ploy was just short of insubordination, an indirect attack on Maynard's direct link with the Alpha Conductor.

As soon as the arrivals were inside the facility entrance vestibule, under reception and control protocols, a lockdown was initiated and everyone was gently separated. Jacob was moved to an interview room and placed on a vertical gurney to be once again on the scrutiny side of a two-way mirror.

This time he was utterly alone with the Alpha. The voice in his head felt like when his gung-ho father had gloated after a victorious and satisfying game of doubles tennis against their snobby rival neighbors:

HOME

SWEET HOME,

JACOB. WANT ICE

CREAM TO TOP OFF

THE PSYCHOPATHIC

CRIME SPREE?

No

thanks, sir.

I played your

notes.

THAT'S

WHY YOU'RE

BACK.

Are

you behind

the glass,

sir?

MAYNARD

IS THERE, SET TO

PASSIVE, AND WEBER

IS A VISUAL OBSERVER. DO

NOT TRY TO INFLUENCE

EITHER ONE OF

THEM.

Being a ruthless survivor, Jacob reinforced his protection with his _ego is good_ thought form and didn't say a damn thing. The Alpha Conductor then said:

I

DECIDED

TO MAKE YOU

A PARTNER WITH MONICA,

TO BE TRAINED TO BE LEADERS OF TWO GURUMENT SPEC OPS TEAMS. THESE PUPPET TEAMS ARE TO BE VERY

ELITE.

I

am a

puppet?

A

WELL

COMPENSATED

PUPPETEER

IS MORE

APT.

When

do we

start?

NOW!

AND I'VE

DIRECTED THE

WISH TWINS TO

JOIN YOUR

TEAM.

Oh

good,

that's two

operatives I

won't have to

convert.

Jacob stared malevolently at the two way mirror.

16. Spectral Awareness

Charley Nadal wrote on the chalkboard:

Everything happens in the head

"The powers that be will always deny psychic ability and ridicule those that claim it...only because they want to preserve it for themselves. They will quickly dismiss you for claiming special mental ability, yet through the back door they will either recruit, channel, or suppress your talent by any means."

Charley didn't want to frighten the children or create a secretive cloud thought form; he usually skirted the mainstream and subconscious societal taboo of talking about the mind control reality. Dr. Fenzeig and Charley envisioned these children as the first recruits for an underground army of special mentals. They would help shift Earth consciousness to one of cooperation and good conduct instead of a chaotic monarchal world of corruption, exploitation, violence, pollution for profit, and winner take all triumphalism. The children would align the Golden Age to transmute hate, greed, and envious behavior. The school was a non-profit enterprise and each graduate would have an equal owner's share in Summit Fountain upon completing the twelfth grade.

The children didn't really know this of course; they already took their abilities for granted. Having been born so recently from the source field, a mastering of the physical realm was of the utmost challenge to fragile and sensitive children. Still, it was easier to recondition new minds than tired ones. Here, the social playground was of the mind, not the asphalt bully factories built into most public schoolyards.

Walter Wells was doing much better as the holiday break approached. The shock attacks were now totally blocked; he only had to reinforce his protection scheme occasionally as a precaution. Charley advised Walter on a regular basis:

Pay

attention

to your guardians.

Today the students would be teaming to make a crop circle labyrinth made of redwood boughs. Each student would have to walk the labyrinth, report their impressions, and lay down representational lines with the branches and twigs. Walter began the labyrinth walk-thru as the architect of a primal spiral within a group triangle design, which would hopefully reduce local anxiety and enhance remote viewing capability. Instead, the circle induced an invasion of spectrally mischievous green blob entities the size of tennis balls that stayed within the circle but harassed each solo student who entered the labyrinth. For the child who could see spectral reality, the natural response was to scream and verbalize, literally to leave their mouths agape. The green fuzzy blobs entered the child's open mouth and the instant result was a mood altering episode of confused anger or sorrow, or fear, which the green fuzzy blobs fed on.

"Children...now would be the time to practice silent protection with your mouths closed," said Charley, "and to keep the spirits at bay."

Charley stalked just outside of the labyrinth border, challenging each student to be mindful of the prana path, "It is our jaw that tunes prana energy to align with the mind's intention. It is the tuning of the jaw that precedes astral travel. And it is through the mouth that an unwanted discorporate entity will enter, manipulate, and violate a low will or ignorant person."

"Are these things walk-ins?' asked Megan Smith.

"Very perceptive, Megan. They are a kind of walk-in...they are the energy sucker fish of the spirit world."

"They are not tethered, Charley?"

"Megan, these are elemental occupants of the dark energy layer surrounding the Earth, kind of like Paraná fish of the murky astral Amazon River."

"Ewe!"

"If you let them keep you in fearful distress, they will condition a tethering to a more powerful walk-in."

"Mommy told me that prisons are full of people with walk-in problems."

"She's right, Megan. Really, every one of us is responsible for allowing other spirits to tag us. Our friends and loved ones are also tethered, except they have our loving permission."

17. Puppet Love

Conversing amidst the chatter in the institutional lunch room with the other operatives, Jacob said to Monica, "I thought you knew that I intended to come back here...I thought you knew I was a siphon for the Alpha Conductor."

"Aren't we all?"

"Somehow, I don't think you want to be controlled."

Monica looked around the room, "I'm a Freelancer."

"Keep your voice down...there's no such thing."

"Shush? The Alphas' always a' listening like a god, Jacob, and I do know you're contacting the Alpha. I know he fears me. I want to meet him in person."

"How do you know he's a he?"

"C'mon, look how messed-up the world is!"

"Only because women don't get involved or when they do they finally realize how complex it is and blame men for the poor results...for women's lack of participation. By giving birth, women bring suffering into the world and demand full compensation."

"Women also induce pure pleasure plasma."

"Uh...yeah, because the cause of war is a young man trying to secure wealth for a demanding breeder offering sexual pleasure."

"Spoken like a true fag!"

Jacob said nothing and harshly scooted his noisy heavy metal institutional chair backwards across the cement floor, both of them cringing from the screechy pitch. A dozen operatives turned their heads simultaneously. Jacob offered Monica a hand, which she ignored.

"Monica, I'm really sorry, I don't mean to pry, but he won't meet you...even I haven't met him. Hasn't Maynard told you all this?"

"Maynard has known of the Alpha for many years. Maynard has never met him in person or made the identity connection. Nobody alive has."

Monica stood and walked with Jacob towards the lunchroom exit, and grabbed Jacob's right hand for comfort, "A Conductor cannot allow facial recognition...he will be usurped."

Jacob nodded, "He won't share power, only delegate it to those he can trust."

Monica stared at Jacob, "The core issue with him is trust. He has to choose a viable successor or a challenger will eventually topple him."

"Keeping his enemies close?"

"He replenishes the uppity challengers."

"If we persist, he will fuckin' kill us?"

"Most likely it will be one of Maynard's block hats who will take us out."

Jacob swayed back and forth, "Certain you haven't met him in person?"

She laughed, "Might be Bill Clinton?"

Jacob raised his voice in revelation, "He's kind of a hot manipulator!"

"Oh my god...you think Clinton is hot!"

"Power hot...not sexy hot."

"No, the Alpha isn't a public figure like the President."

"The audience can never see the puppeteer's face?"

"Puppet implies empty shells."

"We're not empty, there're invisible strings attached."

"Not to me," retorted Monica.

"Do you think he's a discorporate entity?"

"Naw, he's corporate for sure."

Monica and Jacob entered the secure lecture hall to give a joint presentation. The hall was decorated with a large spotlighted Eagle Eye Emblem hanging behind the lectern. A group of fifteen special Gurument Conduit Operatives, selected by Maynard and Weber, approved by the Alpha Conductor, waited with mouths agape for the pair of Beta's to conduct their first training session. Clutch Antoine wielded a jaundiced eye and a closed mouth and audited the Spec Ops class from the back of the room.

# PART THREE - The Outer Sanctum

#

A packed auditorium:

The speaker arrives at the podium,

gazes at the rapt audience,

and points at his forehead and says:

"What am I thinking?"

The audience replies in unison:

"God what a beautiful audience!"

May 1999

1. The United States of Astral

Clutch and Weber enjoyed their Deer Flats Utah campsite. Snowdrifts lurked in the tree shadows. On the edge of a damp meadow, Weber unraveled his latest dream:

"I went through the roof. Leafless tree branches converged from the sides; in the corner of my eye I saw ivy snaking up from below. There was a tugging at my feet; my astral shoelaces had elongated and anchored me to the shingles. I willed my shoes to release me. The laces fell away and sucked like spaghetti between the shingle gaps."

Clutch interrupted by asking, "Pasta shoe laces?"

"The astral ivy arbor's crawling barbed tentacles wrapped around my legs. The astral tree branches formed a screen between the city-lit orange night sky and me. These clinging relics were a manifestation of my old fear, an attempt to ground me, a final desperate grasp at my astral self. I willed the astral ivy to release me and I punched through the astral branches into the high and clear vibration of an unfettered universe-"

"Talk about embellishment," inserted Clutch.

"However, the next few moments weren't going to be as decisive as the last. I was flying free, entering a new state of being, expecting liberated freeways of sky-bound souls welcoming me to the promised spaces. There were no kindred apparitions making their appearances. I clung to my impatience and circled my house and then my neighborhood. Two blocks away, a gray modern sedan flew erratically, veering around a telephone pole. I waved my arms. The weightless car spiraled upward and darted off to the north. For a split second I felt alone, I longed for my sleeping bag-"

"What kind of car was it? Was it a muscle car?"

"I realized the flying gray sedan was all the confirmation I needed. I had truly passed a gradient limit under my own supervision. I had managed to overcome a strong fear, entering a realm overlapping a more familiar one. I had a wider consciousness, not just astral dreaming! Where could I meet the other astral citizens?"

"I don't know, maybe the loony bin?"

"I soared higher, flying south towards the downtown. A rumbling airborne car approached from behind. It was a fifties yellow checker cab cruising by just below me. I hailed it and the door popped open and I lowered myself in. A chubby well-tanned Italian American cabbie looked over his shoulder and said: "New to the states?"

I asked him, "Where is everyone?"

The cabbie said, "Normally hail flying hacks where you're from? Don't cha know? Anyone who's everyone is at the club."

"We sped downtown. The cab was a roving weigh station to the astral plane; through windows I could see another city emerge 20 degrees above the real city. The cab dropped me off in front of a sleazy bar entrance framed by a sputtering neon red martini glass emitting bubbly colorful indecipherable mini-glyphs and a flashing neon-green arrow pointed down at the worn metal door-"

"A neon green arrow? Did you see the dream police?"

"The nightclub was the size of a Super Safeway and bustled with a menagerie of characters, divided by four-foot high office partitions that separated every kind of gaming area. There was table soccer to table tennis, craps to arm-wrestling, pinball to Pac Man, bumper pool to darts, and poker and blackjack. Two young girls on the right jump roped in front of a long bar. People talked and sang karaoke, and they laughed and played...that is until I reached the center of the room and became the center of attention. Then a gloomy pall cast over the club as if I had just blown the recess over whistle. Blaming and moaning came from all directions. An elegantly dressed couple was dancing and drifting downward from above and distracted me with their shoe bottoms, impeccably clean-"

"A dream about shoe bottoms?"

"A waiter grabbed my elbow, and sighed longingly, guiding me towards a panoramic movie screen that spanned the length of the far wall. He said, "Okay, stand right here and we'll all see what she has to say to you." The movie screen came alive with a seashore painted in a pre-impressionistic style. The viewpoint slid back and forth, up and down the beach, finally settling on a frolicking French family beneath a canopy tent, waves lapping the tent poles-"

"What is it about the French?"

"The view became photo-realistic and the viewpoint moved seaward, I was looking downward at the choppy waves bordering the roiling beach sand. And there was a huge silver hinge loaded with barnacles and seaweed, linking the lapping waves and wet sands. If there was a "she" making an appearance, I felt only her discorporate presence. The seascape and hinge dissipated, and I turned to face the club scene, the clubbers seemed to be in awe, happy to be carousing once again. The waiter declared, "Finally something useful on the sub-conscious reader! Maybe you're the one!"

"People crowded around me with relief on their faces. The Games resumed and the waiter brought me a Mai Tai...and then I knew what the giant silver hinge thing meant."

Weber finished his dream recall lying on top of his dewy sleeping bag, gazing at the morning sky. Clutch was now beside himself with agitated boredom, sitting close to the camp fire pit, feeding the flames, seeing the radiating heat as more penetrating than Weber's dreamy dredge-up.

If listening to Weber's mind-boggling recall was an example of maximum friendship duty being fully tested, well, Clutch had at least ten thousand hours on the Weber dream recall machine, which made Weber's inexhaustible imagination a certifiably mental burden on Clutch, who thought to himself: Inspector Clutch gives his stamp of disapproval... lucky for Weber that I can't recall the importance of remembering why a person needs to know about symbolism and metaphor and the ritualistic nightly visits to subconsciously repressed desires. Who needs to know this stuff? The not knowing is more fun!

Yet Clutch still had to bluntly ask Weber, "What the hell does the giant hinge mean?"

"It means I long for Monica."

"You need a dream to tell you that?"

"I'm not sure it was a dream."

2. Shadow Ops

Monica Gifford was masterful at controlling her squad of janitorial sub-conduits. They moved through an office building like a herd of steroidal zombie ninja saber cats, if such cats were a team of professional office workers assigned to subvert late day Wall Street trading practices. One of her operatives ran a Coke N Meth supply suite for brokers and other sleazy financial products salespeople. The meth was clean and the profits purely astronomical. Government Financial Deregulation and the popularity of self-medication was a game changer.

Jacob Bjerknes controlled a squad of sub-conduit drones' expert at covert demolition. They were trained to go to the Middle East and anywhere there were lines to be drawn, where buildings had to fall, where borders were to be erased, blame to be redirected, resources to be grabbed, mobs to be born, and fear to be sown. It was controlled chaos. They both were caught up in corrupt manipulation and economic warfare and guilt did not enter into the equation. Maynard let Monica take over Jacob's life and she did it with subtlety and effortless love cording. Jacob was mesmerized by Monica's role as a Manhattan Money Goddess. Their Swiss bank account had over a billion dollars, made exclusively by gaming the casino operators on Wall Street, who used everyone else's money to get rich and to manipulate the world economy. Someone had to be on top and demonstrate excess.

Monica ran a very private multinational shadow corporation and lived in the headquarters skyscraper holding it. She had long ago learned how to mind control the markets, widening her influence, coercing foreign investors and investment bankers effortlessly. Maynard channeled the Conductor's inside-the-mind financial advice and knowledge to Monica, and to her office building full of compliant sub-conduits. Wage slaves, and hopeless money addicts, they all mixed minds with Maynard's conduit level drones and siphons. Monica and Jacob oversaw the hierarchy, yoked to the Alpha Conductor. However, with all this manipulative power at her control, Monica still was not allowed to two-way telepath with the Alpha directly.

Even with mind control, the Conductor cannot change what a security camera sees unless the Conductor is directing the lens. Instead of technically manipulating analog and digital images, the individual's mind can be changed to see whatever the Conductor puts in there to subvert willful attention. Still, world-class mind controllers have to mask large covert operations from automatic surveillance cameras, which are not technically sophisticated enough to receive mind control. Control the viewer, not the eyes of the device.

Jacob trained his operatives to cloak their own personal energy fields and to have camera operators inadvertently turn-off camera's or control hackers to manipulate the digital data. Jacob's overlapping team could move through an office suite, disguised as contract painters, or elevator renovators, projecting a neutral presence, suppressing the attention of an office worker's personal field, of which conventional wisdom said they didn't have conscious awareness of anyway. Jacob completed his group tasks in only a few weeks, Monica's drones were trained to infiltrate and control corporate high rises within several months. The bizarre work schedule made it so they only got to sleep with each other about twice a week.

As for telepathy, well, they were always together, with Monica on top:

I

must

confess,

magnetizing great sums

of money to my

accounts is

very

sexy.

It

has cured

my bisexual

tendencies.

I'm

laughing

in loud!

I

don't

look at people

anymore! All I need

and all I see is

your sweet

face.

Just

where

are you

right

now?

I'm

on the

up and up

elevator.

A

premature

lunch?

I

bring

sloppy

torpedo

sammiches.

3. Old Testament Sky

This Southern Utah high desert junction is the most remote place in the lower forty-eight states. Hole-In-The-Rock Road is sixty miles of dusty mesa wash-board speed humps, and an impediment to civilizing influence that keeps out the average American, attracting Rangers, Rednecks, and overreaching vacationing Gurument Detectors such as Clutch Antoine and Weber Grambling.

Just off Highway 12, Park Ranger M.A. Sitley stood tall at the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument Office visitor registration counter and tried to convince Clutch and Weber to stay out of Coyote Gulch. He bragged about successfully discouraging two other backpacking parties earlier in the day and told Clutch and Weber that they would be the only party in the slot canyon except for a two-man party due out the next day. A potential rescue would be fruitless if they got heat stroke or an injury. The stream flow was low, the temperature 95 in the shade, the kind of desert dry heat that wrinkles an optimist and fires-up a grumbling pessimist. "Please come back next April when the temperature is cooler and the water is plentiful," said the adamant Ranger Sitley.

Clutch bragged that it was his second trip to the Gulch and that he knew what he was doing. They weren't going to show their Gurument ID's. The stare-down ended and they finally received the trail permit and left the Ranger Station feeling that Sitley was a bit overzealous in selling his warning. He didn't really have justifiable power to forbid transit into his red-rock domain...but he did seem to imply that they were on their own if a rescue was needed because of staffing and funding issues. Weber thought otherwise. Weber detected advanced consciousness training; Ranger Sitley blocked Weber's mind probe just well enough for Weber to force engage his step tuning to probe Sitley for deeper covert thought forms.

Mind control serves the practitioner whether that person is of sound mind or not. Ranger Sitley simply didn't have a hope in hell to change Weber's mind with logic or force of warning because both Clutch and Weber, unbeknownst to the Ranger, had the power to resist the Ranger's mind. The power isn't rhetoric, it isn't persuasion, and it isn't charm. It's a subtle energetic scale-tipping influence, it's called forced agreement. As Weber probed deeper he discovered that Ranger Sitley did not really know what he was guarding because he had not been told of what he was protecting. This made for a credible and authoritative sub-conduit gatekeeper.

They were two hours down the shaky road, Clutch at the wheel, within two miles of the first trailhead leading to the upper middle Gulch, when Clutch casually glanced over his left shoulder at the rocky plateau extending to the eastern horizon where the rounded buttresses atop mesas were cleft by deep curvy slot canyons. He slammed on the brakes, sliding the camper to a stop, dust following, and reached behind the bucket seat for a pair of range finder binoculars. His camera was unavailable and buried somewhere in the pile of adventure gear.

"What the hell?" exclaimed a jostled Weber.

"Tell me you see that every day!"

Weber leaned towards Clutch and the driver's window and sleepily said, "Uh, you mean the plane over there?"

"Yes, the jetliner descending into the canyon! Where there's no airport! Do you see those bumps on the fuselage?"

"Yep I do...very peculiar." Weber pulled back and elbowed Clutch's right thigh.

Unmarked by logos, the large silent plane, about one mile away, was slowing down and sinking below the canyon rim. Clutch said, "I told you there was a secret space port out here somewhere."

"You're my nut job, Clutch."

"C'mon Weber, a commercial jet profile is the perfect disguise for an incognito space plane." They quickly got out of the camper and Clutch took a distance reading of 1.4 miles with the range finder just before the plane disappeared...then they both realized that either a crash or explosion was imminent, and that they were witnessing something extraordinary and surreal if the plane didn't reemerge above the canyon rim. Anticipation rose with each second ticking off for the pending disaster...then nothing happened, no thunderous crash or plume of smoke. The plane didn't reemerge from the canyon.

Clutch whooped and hollered, but to Weber it was like stepping on a step that wasn't there. They stared at the point where the jet space plane disappeared.

"How often do you see a silent commercial jet with bumps on it, and no markings, descend into a remote desert canyon?" asked Clutch enthusiastically.

"Be gentle, Clutch, it's my first time."

"That's not a conventional jet...it's a UFO! It's might be ours, I'd say it's likely managed by the secret space program that I talked about last night at the campfire."

"I thought you were telling wonder stories."

"I wonder why that Ranger was so adamant about us not coming down here."

"What, he's a secret space program sub-conduit?"

"He's a lookout, and get this straight like I told you before. There are only two kinds of people populating humanity. High cons and low cons."

"Clutch, I know the burden of being a high con and I know we have to see things nobody else wants to see...answer me this, partner, why do you talk like a redneck when we go camping?"

"Listen pilgrim. Do you want to be a part of an extremely elite group of powerful people or do you want to be a part of the great masses of sub-conduits under malevolent mind control?"

"If I had my druthers, old salt, under a good conductor."

"Good."

"How do you know I didn't make you see an imaginary space plane?"

Clutch grumbled and said, "Can we go to the trailhead please?"

Twenty minutes later, after strapping on backpacks, they headed northeast down a slight grade, a barely defined rock strewn foot trail, which ended at a wide, dry, shade-less, and gravelly wash. The plan was to trek about three miles to get to the spring-fed middle Coyote Gulch and to make first camp. A mile down the trail the sides of the wash began to rise until they were over fifty feet high as the wash itself narrowed to about fifty yards.

Suddenly a sonic roar engulfed them. The canyon walls blocked sounds unless heard directly overhead, as two military jet's roared by going northwest towards the mysterious "space plane" sighting. Out of view just as suddenly, they heard the jet's compound echoes sustained at an annoying level; circling nearby, having been scrambled from an airbase to intercept the unknown plane that had disappeared from radar tracking. The two jet's withdrew after about two minutes of circling the area and headed south towards Arizona. The pilots were obviously not conscious of the secret space program and hidden bases.

That evening, Clutch and Weber broke-out the flashlights and studied a topo map to determine where the space plane had landed. They concluded it had descended into the Upper Coyote Gulch where hikers did not go because there is no source of year-round drinking water or cool swimming holes and waterfalls. The Upper Gulch was a broad wash here and there, and had lower n rims, and also had concealing alcoves as deep as the lower Gulch.

Clutch proposed to go northwesterly and reconnoiter the Upper Coyote Gulch. They would have to find and carry enough water to allow for time to explore the stream course and to find a way inside of Clutch's mysterious spaceport without being detected. There was no guarantee that this terrain would support canteen re-filling. They only had fifty feet of nylon rope.

"You're nuts," said Weber, "we should go back to our pickup and go back a few miles and descend into the Upper Gulch from there."

"I'm nuts! If the Ranger sees our pickup anywhere but the registered trailhead, we'll be in trouble."

"In trouble? What kind of wimpy defenses do you think the secret space port has? A _No Trespassing_ sign riddled with bullet holes?"

4. Affluenza Anonymous

"We don't go out any more. I'm never hungry...the meth is great, the side effects are draining...I feel alone because you're gone for days at a time."

Jacob gazed at Monica and let her words sink-in. It seemed like she never blinked anymore. When Jacob and Monica had walked by a homeless man on the sidewalk the other day the downtrodden man had said: when they can afford the drugs that's when they get lonely.

Wide-eyed Monica could really afford the drugs, as did everyone else under mind control on Wall Street. The broker addicts demanded fees for their manipulations. Monica controlled the brokers, the financial lobby, the executives, anyone influential in the western financial world. These greedy, envy inspiring activities took a toll.

They viewed the narrow slots' canyon of Wall Street through the window next to their table. Their waiter served the main course. Jacob promptly stabbed his fork into his scaloppini dish, lifting a portion and said, "The veal is lifted."

Monica's laugh was a little forced. She raised her spirits anyway by pretending to be amused, invoking appreciation for Jacob's sense of humor.

"Punderful observation," she said.

"Ah very good. Aren't you going to taste your cannelloni?"

"I'm not hungry."

"What does hunger have to do with it? You're a gram over 115."

"We need to talk."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"We need to talk about your squad."

"Right here?"

"I've clouded everyone in a two block radius. We can have sex on this table and no one would notice."

Jacob raised an eyebrow, "How romantic...I wouldn't mind including the cute waiter watching us from behind the dessert cart in the dark corner over there."

"That's kinky, my love."

Jacob squinted, "So what about my squad?"

Monica sounded bossy, "Why use a team of operatives specializing in controlled demolition when the Pentagon already has satellite guided cruise missiles that can hit targets anywhere on Earth?"

"Why indeed? Satellites signals can break down."

"Your team is planning a domestic job?"

"A domestic job? I don't think so."

Monica contorted her face, "There are loyal fanatical commandos in the military branches who will blow-up buildings without being mind-controlled. It's far cheaper."

Jacob said, "That's the point...America needs to train secret Gurument drones to see what limits and counter measures they might face."

"I could manipulate geo-politics to avoid war."

"Yeah, and I could manipulate geo-politics to avoid greed."

"Jacob, the game is financial re-distribution."

"Yes, played with one game piece."

Monica attacked the cannelloni and roasted squash. Jacob finished his meal and ordered cappuccinos for two.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

Monica leaned over the table and said, "Yes you do."

"I want to give you a Reiki treatment right here right now, on the table."

"I'd rather have sex on the table."

"I promise relaxation and no regrets."

Hardly anyone noticed when Monica swept the table contents to the floor with a flurry. She lay down on her back, and Jacob, ignoring everyone, placed his hands on her forehead and began to run energy on Monica's third eye.

Five minutes later, preceded by a high pitch noise, the Alpha Conductor's voice entered Monica's mind for the first time:

I'M

SORRY FOR THE

INTERRUPTION AND

I'M SORRY FOR MAKING

FULL MENTAL CONTACT. I'VE

WATCHED YOU FOR

YEARS.

Monica rolled off the table and landed on her feet. She pushed Jacob away when he tried to hug her. No one had ever spoken inside her head with such force of entry. She was spun and unnerved. People started to notice the commotion, the waiter came running over. Jacob found that he couldn't control the room as well as before. Monica ran for the exit and Jacob placed two hundred dollars on the ravaged tablecloth and followed her into the elevator.

The Alpha said to both of them:

I'M

STILL HERE.

I'M GLAD WE CAN

OPEN INTERNAL DIALOG.

I THINK THE DRUGS ARE

EFFECTING YOUR

PERFORMANCE.

Monica, still quaking from the shock:

Oh,

you think

so?

ADDICTION

INTERVENTION

IS GRANTED.

Jacob sent the thought form:

Intervention?

How about a

vacation

first?

5. Upper Gulch

In the morning, before the sun reached the canyon floor, Clutch made coffee and oatmeal, sighted pictographs on the cliff face above the campsite and realized they had violated several National Monument Restrictions by camping within one hundred feet of a protected archaeological site. Feeling shame, Clutch rushed Weber along and they broke camp with full canteens and bellies.

Two large crows followed them, squawking and echoing their chatter off the gorgeous pink and red sandstone cliff walls with their darkly varnished vertical water streaks and dry waterfalls; one massive alcove could fit an entire football stadium. Curvy overhangs, buttresses, spires, and freestanding arches cradled the lush flora and the seep fed stream. The crows perched on narrow ledges and watched patiently and chattered incessantly.

"Crows are the spirits of Native Americans, guiding and gathering, and protecting their territory," said Clutch.

"The squawking is more than I can stand...it resonates and I can't seem to get a sense-map fix," said Weber facing upward, feeling the invisible grid edge when looking up at the bright sky, remembering that his world grid access was limited down inside the deep and curvy slot canyon. He felt an urge to reconnect by climbing halfway up the rock walls. The canyon trail was mostly a meandering streambed of slow moving clear water, warm and shallow, a drainage to sacrifice old worn sneakers, and to get wet in as they splashed along like little kids playing in a summer sandbox rain puddle.

Strolling on the streambed, they headed to the Upper Gulch. The plan was to play like innocent hikers and coax the activation of first line defenses. They passed yesterday's side canyon trail intersection, their original entrance to the Middle Gulch, and tread through new territory avoiding flash flood debris deposits, the clumps of logs and branches and roots and gravel piles and boulder obstacles. The stream itself became a trickle and soon vanished.

The Upper Gulch straightened and widened to become a sequence of wider dry washes bounded by barren ledges and cliffs. Edging the base of the north wall of the canyon a deeper channel was cut, capped by a series of weathered rock knobs on top of the narrows where interconnected and steep sided tub pools could trap even a careful person. They hiked around the narrows by using the wider terraces along the south cliff base, the raised remnants of older streambeds. It was easier to scope the terrain here as opposed to the Middle Gulch; here the canyon walls were ten stories high instead of twenty-five.

As the cliffs became shorter and the canyon floor wider, the World Wide Grid sank into the canyon allowing Weber unfettered access to Gurument minds and to monitor the local consciousness. They were being watched.

Ranger Sitley was parked several miles to the west on Hole-In-The-Rock-Road. Weber looked through Sitley's eyes and Sitley's eyes were looking through binoculars showing a gliding view moving over the Upper Gulch, bearing down on Clutch and Weber!

Weber looked overhead as a crow circled and then realized the crow was not a crow. It was a surveillance device, a radio controlled spy bird!

"Shoot the crow!"

Clutch promptly whipped-out his revolver with a silencer attached and shot the crow in the head. They gathered and examined the pieces.

"It's not a fake crow," said Clutch, "It's a fake raven."

The technology was familiar to Clutch except for the method of propulsion. The raven was too heavy to fly like a glider. Clutch cut open the chest and it revealed a golf ball sized gold metal ball that hummed a little, then a little bit louder, as it radiated an increasing heat signature.

Clutch and Weber made eye contact, and mind contact, and ran away as fast as they could from the captured spy bird. They huddled behind a short boulder and waited for an explosion. Weber immediately reconnected to Sitley's mind and tried to suppress Sitley's volition. Sitley, however, was still looking through binoculars and Weber could see that another raven was bearing down on them from the east.

An RF wavelength, used to induce fear, a frequency used in the Gulf War to cause mass Iraqi surrenders, emitted from Spy Raven Number One and Spy Raven Number Two. Clutch and Weber expected this development and Weber whipped-out a hand-held device to cancel-out the debilitating frequencies. Spy Raven Number Two flew faster, deliberately cagey, and stayed out of Clutch's revolver range. Sitley's mind was also well protected.

Weber said, "Let the raven follow us. Whoever it is, they don't want to hurt us."

Clutch said, "We got to go to higher ground to avoid sand traps and flash floods."

Weber nodded, "Let's follow the high ledges and look for a high and deep alcove. The planners of a spaceport must've designed against seasonal flooding."

The lone RF Spy Raven Number Two followed Clutch and Weber silently at a safe distance, foregoing squawking and fake scavenging because those ruses were now revealed.

6. Choir of Cooperation

The Alpha and Monica mind bickered for thirty minutes. Monica probed and the Alpha parried. Jacob did not enter the fracas; it lasted through the down elevator ride from the restaurant, the limo ride home, and the elevator ride up to the penthouse. There were highlights:

I

CANNOT

LEAVE MANAGEMENT

OF HUMAN AFFAIRS TO THE

WHIMS OF THE ELECTORATE, NOR

ALLOW POLITICIANS TO RUN THE WORLD

AND I CANNOT ALLOW YOU TO RUN THE

FINANCIAL WORLD. I DEPEND ON YOU

TO CARRY OUT MY PLANS AND

WHEN MY LEAD FINANCIAL

OPERATIVE IS HOOKED

ON METH, I HAVE

TO TRY TO

SAVE HER

LIFE.

I

thought

Maynard Ackroyd

was my

boss.

HE IS!

YOU'RE TOO

POWERFUL AND RECKLESS.

I AM NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM. I AM UNKNOWABLE

LIKE A

GOD.

So

when

someone

has the same

superpower,

it ends for

you?

HUMANITY

IS ENSLAVED AND

IT'S MY DUTY TO

TREAT SLAVES

HUMANELY.

The

plantation has

potholes.

THE

PLANTATION HAS

RULES.

The

trick is to

get the slaves

to believe

they are

free.

THE

TRICK IS TO

NOT PISS-OFF THE

LANDLORD.

Show

me proof of

ownership.

I'M

LIVING PROOF

MY DEAR.

Monica thought about that one. The natural order of things, how power finds a wielder and the wielder finds an audience. The strong one is the one who controls the weak, using conformity and exploitation thought forms to oscillate conductor prowess. Monica said out loud, "A nameless voice in my head is only minor proof of ownership."

I

CANNOT

ALLOW US TO

BECOME PUBLIC

FIGURES.

Rich

and unknown,

is that my value as a

Beta Conductor?

IT

WILL HAVE

TO DO.

Please

ask for permission

before intruding

on my

mind.

TOO

AWKWARD.

VERY FEW CAN

CONSCIOUSLY DECLINE

THE INTRUSION.

It's

a strange

harvest, those

who know

you.

A

FATHER

PROTECTS HIS

OWN.

A

Conductor

controls the mental

energies and is a rare

commodity?

MAYNARD

WILL VISIT IN THE

MORNING AND PROVIDE

ESCORT TO THE CONFIDENTIAL

DRUG TREATMENT CENTER.

JACOB WILL CONTINUE TO

CONTROL HIS TEAM OF

OPERATIVES AFTER

HIS TREATMENT.

Jacob shrugged and smiled weakly. Monica was cornered. She aimed her paranoia at Jacob's passiveness and said, "Wipe that John Wish-like smirk off your face, Bjerknes!" Projecting raw fury, she went to the bedroom and locked the door until morning.

7. The Alcove

The long gangly legs of Weber Grambling could walk circles around the stocky Clutch Antoine. Still, Weber let Clutch, with his revolver drawn, be the point man five strides ahead. Weber scanned side-to-side, sense mapping for life forms and water sources without having to worry about an attack from Clutch's front.

Viewed from Hole-In-The-Rock Road, the Upper Coyote Gulch is mostly blocked by small buttes and a high plateau, where otherwise you might see the northeast rim features such as the impressive over hangs and alcoves. What you can see hints at what you cannot see. Clutch's hidden spaceport alcove and the landing zone had to be facing north easterly and had to be in the shadows most of the day to elude anyone looking from the rarely traveled Holy Road.

They were forced to hike through curving narrows where the vertical faces of both cliff sides plunged into the sandy streambed. A sidewinder slinked past on the shadow side. No reason to panic, because it was dry sand and gravel; _it was not wise to jog by a rattlesnake._ From behind them, about a city block, the Spy Raven Number Two ended its stalking silence and screeched a series of squawky bleats.

The zigzags of the streambed path were each several blocks long and the curving rim cliffs on the south rim were getting deeper. There it was! A long and menacing cave, a deep and dark alcove, and the floor lip forty feet above the gulch streambed. Step ledges and broader shelves inclined upward. Easy to climb yet fully exposed. Spy Raven Number Two flew past, turned hard left and disappeared into the alcove shadow. Then Clutch halted and turned to say something. Weber was already heading upwards to the his left.

"Wait Weber, me first!"

Weber waited and studied the overhanging rim. A natural rock face, no metallic mounts and laser attachments, no giant scary projected holographic wizard face to scold them into submission. All Weber could feel was the extreme love of a naturally beautiful place.

Clutch said, "I reckon I said they wouldn't harm us."

"I reckon you're right. It's as calm as a field of daisies and sleeping lambs."

Clutch climbed upward and waved for Weber to join him at the lower lip of the alcove. Then Clutch yelled in frustration and the echoes repeated "Nothing here! Nothing nothing nothing! Nothing at all at all at all!"

It had been less than 24 hours since the strange jetliner sighting.

They were about sixty yards from the rear wall, where they left their backpacks resting on a prominent flat boulder, and roved lighter and looser around the lip of the alcove, when Weber pointing at the shadowy back wall. They headed inward, towards the alcove floor center, and shuffled over a set of mini sand dunes; it was the original eroded alcove sand, captured by the bowl shape of the alcove floor. Clutch looked for tracks of any kind, for mechanical or organic infrastructure. There was just sand and rock and dragonflies. Clutch squinted at the dragonflies and stated, "You reckon the dragonflies are real?"

"I reckon some of them are," replied Weber, inspecting the alcove floor, "Be careful, this sand could suck us right down like an ant lion's sand trap."

Clutch went back for the nylon rope just in case. Weber studied the shadows for any sign. If this weren't the alcove they would do well to camp here. The alcove had been protected from rain for thousands of years and the shape of the alcove acted like a dish to pull-in the World Wide Grid.

Weber reached out with his mind. Monica was obscured by the Manhattan electrical energy grid, spun by drugs and the New York City Gaming Operation, which Clutch and Weber would have no part of. Maynard couldn't stand seeing Weber stress over Monica's assignments so he had sent Clutch and Weber on a month's vacation.

Weber faced the band of sky and aligned himself to the rising quarter moon. Clutch returned with the rope and said nothing as he stared at something behind Weber, who then turned cautiously to face the back wall. A brown skinned male stranger was standing there, facing them from the deeper shadows. He was a difficult read.

"I reckon this person ain't a backpacker," said Clutch, unholstering his revolver.

"Reckon so." Weber squinted and headed for the stranger as the stranger headed for him. Clutch involuntarily reholstered his gun and followed like a drone.

It was a south Asian man; about five foot seven, with long dark hair streaked with grey. He had a high caste demeanor on his face, which quickly changed to a smile, and when he reached out a hand for Weber to shake he calmly said, "Good afternoon, my name is Charley Nadal."

8. Proximity Alert

The Wish Twins arrived at the penthouse with Maynard the next morning to escort the troubled couple to rehab, although Monica and Jacob didn't appear to be troubled or hung-over or quarreling. Monica was hyped-up and raring to go.

Monica greeted Maynard and said, "You know that if I become the Alpha that I will have to kill you."

"Good morning Monica...I love you too."

"Will you be directly running my team from now on?"

"I've been channeling the Alpha's wishes since the beginning...I hope your fall from grace is a temporary setback."

"My team is devoted to me."

"Yes they are and they are indirectly connected to the Alpha. I'm his local face."

They rode eastbound in a white limo to a nameless facility protected by a high bob wired fence at a rural location in central Long Island. Not exactly the ideal rehab, the bucolic and therapeutic Meadow Vista Substance Abuse Group Home as seen on television.

The Wish Twins, smirk faced and imposing, roughly separated Jacob from Monica as they entered the reception area. Monica screamed at Maynard as John Wish dragged her away and pushed her through an open door and slammed it shut. Monica's screams faded away. George Wish restrained Jacob by wrapping him in a bear hug and said, "Your partnership is over...the bitch is unstable."

John came towards Jacob, "Monica's brains are fried...you have to let her go."

Jacob struggled with George...he stomped on George's feet and tried to commandeer his mind. The Alpha came into Jacob's mind instead:

JACOB,

LET HER GO.

THIS EGOCENTRIC

ADVENTURE WITH HER IS CAUSING

HARM. BOND WITH THE DEVOTED WISH'S

NOW. BEGIN A NEW TRAINING AND

OPERATIONS PHASE. I WON'T

ALLOW MONICA'S UNSTABLE

AND IDEALISTIC

MORALITY TO

INTERFERE.

Jacob could not conceive living without Monica even though the Alpha's terms reverberated in his head:

I

want to

go to rehab!

A

GOOD

FIRST STEP,

BUT IT WON'T

BE WITH

HER.

Is

it because

we're a threat?

Is it because

you fear

us?

YES

AND NO.

THE NEXT FEW

YEARS WILL CHANGE

THE COURSE OF THE WORLD. I

CANNOT ALLOW MONICA TO DERAIL MY

PLANS. SHE HAS BEEN MAKING

RECKLESS TRADES. THERE

ARE REGULATORS ON THE

HORIZON AND THEY

SEE THE INFLUENCE

OF MY SHADOWY

CORPORATION.

She

doesn't

know your plans!

Nobody can know because

you're unknowable,

remember?

THIS

BITTERNESS

WILL PASS. DON'T

TRY TO CHALLENGE

ME ON THIS, JACOB, OR YOU

TOO WILL END UP IN

A PADDED

CELL.

Then an alarm went off somewhere inside the facility, a flashing red light came on in the lobby. Jacob stopped struggling and chuckled with a gleeful eye towards the direction of where he had last seen Monica go through the door.

"The orderlies are having a fun time with Monica...you won't be able to contain her for long."

"She's not the only Beta in here, asshole," said Maynard

Jacob stopped resisting and restrained his efforts at mind control. He thought about Monica and about what she had done wrong. There was no hint of a public scandal! Was she just a powerful tweaker getting too close to the Alpha?

The Wish Twins escorted Jacob back to the limo and they motored back to Manhattan in auditory silence.

9. Down Payment Hues

They were done with the introductions.

"Congratulations on finding a port of entry," said Charley Nadal, "I see you have found my favorite sitting rock. Let's go retrieve your backpacks."

Clutch and Weber were disarmed by Charley's charm and confidence and denial of the surreal circumstance of three men meeting in a remote desert alcove in Southern Utah.

Weber spoke first as they walked over to the flat rock, "I feel your attempt at mind control...it won't work. I'm a Beta."

"I assure its harmless probing. Yes, I'm also a Beta Conductor. I am here to give a private tour and to present a proposal. This is a momentous day!"

Being just a high conduit, Clutch followed Weber and Charley over to the flat rock where their backpacks rested. Spy Raven Two hovered near the alcove ceiling, enduring dive-bombing swallows protecting their nests. Clutch realized, with humility, that his obsession with Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument was an Alpha manipulation, and as usual, he was intimidated by higher special mentals, so he vowed to himself to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

Thought forms were silently exchanged. Appearing to be in meditation, the three of them sat cross legged on the flat rock for a time, facing the opposite shear canyon wall now blazing in the orange-red hues of the sinking sun. Charley finally said, "We shall sit for awhile longer and contemplate the future. There is something I want you to see but the sun has to go down."

"Fine by me" said Weber.

Clutch and Weber sipped from their canteens and ate granola bars until the rim shadow crept up the opposite canyon wall. Charley began his reveal by saying, "First, I would like to state that I am not a space alien...I am not even an illegal alien. I was born in Los Angeles."

"I won't hold that against you," said Weber.

"Good, I'm not fond of EL AY either. It's the land of polluted vortexes! I'm here to say that you can take it with you."

Weber made eye contact with Charley and said, "I'm sorry?"

"I am sure you are familiar with the saying you can't take it with you in regards to being unable to take material things with you when you die?"

"Yes...what does this have to do with polluted vortexes?"

"Oh...I get excited sometimes. Nothing to do with tainted vortexes, really. The statement is in regards to what your spiritual body takes with it when it leaves the physical body."

"I reckon, uh, you mean high con spiritual development?"

"Exactly right! A person can hoard great wealth, wield influence, and own rich property, and gamely use wealth foolishly to exploit others and disregard spiritual growth and the good of the community. Then when they arrive at the pearly gates they find themselves deficient."

"I've heard the story."

"Weber, you're one who has not only heard of it...you live this reality."

"True. I know that what I take with me when I pass on is the important thing."

"Exactly right! Achieving high-con awareness is also a ticket to the outer sanctum."

"The outer sanctum?"

"Yes...the inner sanctum is usually associated with protected and sanctified ritual sanctuaries controlled by religious or smoky board room conduits. I prefer the inner sanctum to be associated with the inner growth and sanctity of the individual."

"Sounds good to me."

"It was decided long ago that people who did not live in high con reality would not be allowed to enter outer space. This is because advanced propulsion technology requires the use of a mind control interface-"

"The Sanctimonians are recruiting us to pilot space planes!" yelled Clutch, who could not hold his tongue. Weber and Charley ignored him.

Charley continued, "-which requires emotional and spiritual control."

Weber said, "I see...space and perhaps everything in it is considered the outer sanctum?"

"True enough. It was also decided that the ticket price for reaching the outer sanctum is to be quite expensive, really, that only wealthy candidates of high con status would be allowed to leave the Earth. The price, however, is that they renounce most of their wealth which is to be equal to the price of the ticket."

"You can't take it with you?"

"Exactly right! Their wealth is used to build and maintain about twenty secret colonies."

Clutch interjected, "Socialism for the rich."

Weber asked, "And this operation is separate from the government?"

"It is a permutation of the free market system. Ah...it's show time."

The opposite cliff face was now in full shadow; the curvy window of deep sky was a deeper blue. Then it seemed that the setting sunlight was in reverse. They could see light in the shape of a half oval grow on the opposite cliff as if a curtain was being lifted. The shadows of three men emerged sitting on a flat rock backlit by an artificial light source.

Clutch and Weber turned slowly to face the alcove's back wall.

10. I Sight

Jacob, blocked by the Alpha from linking with Monica, left Long Island and returned to the penthouse with Maynard and the Wish twins. Maynard looked-out over the east New York skyline and said, "Do no good trying to connect to her."

Jacob said, "When do I begin my treatment?"

"It has already started. The twins will be here in the penthouse for a week or two and then you can direct the team to handle a mission in Kosovo."

"I can't concentrate."

"Yeah...I know. I care for her too."

"Since the Wish Twins will be rehabilitating me, when will I have the time to visit Monica?"

"I'll set-up a visit in two weeks."

"What did she do to piss him off?"

"Alpha frowns on freelancing."

"Only low cons have the illusion of freedom, is that it?"

"I'm not a comfort priest."

"No? Then what are you, Maynard?"

Maynard continued to look out the window, shifted his energy involuntarily, and inside his head came the Alpha's voice with the message:

I

SUGGEST

JACOB AND THE

TWINS HAVE LUNCH AND

PLAN THE KOSOVO OPERATION.

MAYNARD, GO BACK

TO YOUR

OFFICE.

Maynard turned away from the city view, made his way towards the penthouse door, and waved goodbye. Jacob looked puzzled and was beside himself with frustration. Watching Maynard leave, and being abandoned with the Wish's, he realized he had to break off the cord to Monica or he wouldn't be able to concentrate. What he also needed was a drink.

The partnership with Monica from the beginning was a fragile one because they were both freelancers desperate to get out from under the Alpha's control by searching for his energy body and his physical face. They had subconsciously merged their missions with symbiotic power but not with the smarts to topple someone who watched them all the time. Jacob hunted the Alpha for love. Monica wanted vengeance. Jacob knew Monica was brighter than him. Monica thought a wider two-pronged approach or even a third prick to triangulate the Alpha's location would puncture his grid control. Jacob spent less time recently with Monica and the Alpha probably sensed this. The Alpha feared a triangulation coup? He thought gingerly:

I wonder if he knows that I'm not an addict?

Jacob grounded and cleared the room and stared at the Twins and felt their protection. He thought: _my balance is off_ —maybe people who hear voices really are hearing voices and commit suicide because they can't cope with or live without mind intrusion. This taking away of my Monica...was it because Monica thought the Alpha was in the Western United States? With her out of the way, I can take Manhattan? Out of the way? Will I ever see her again? Is she too much of a threat? How do I know that she isn't the Alpha? I can never seem to get ahead of her. Will I ever be able to see the Alpha face to face? I won't let her go. She is all I need. I feel a cloud around her. She won't let me in close and it's too raw for her and I won't let her go. I can't face her until we're off drugs. I can't face me until I'm off Monica. I must disconnect or she will drain me of everything. I am one again. Oh no...I am one with her. There she is with me and I won't let her go. _I must let go!_

11. Under Served

The back of the alcove was a false sandstone backdrop; a shaped curtain, designed to look like a dry mossy seasonal seep. It lifted to reveal a modern underground hanger. The spaceport was not empty; it was brightly lit and contained the space plane. There was no UFO or big-eyed grey aliens or men in black helicopters. The walls were painted silver. Charley said, "The shuttle will be leaving later tonight. Would you like to meet some of the passengers?"

Wide-eyed Clutch replied, "Where's the excavation debris?"

"We made the alcove deeper in the winter of 1980 and deposited the tailings on the stream bed; the seasonal flash floods carried the silt to the bottom of Lake Powell."

They headed for the space plane and saw a group of people further inward sitting off to the left side in a lounge area sipping tea and coffee and reading papers and books and tablets. It had the appearance of being a professional waiting room.

Charley said, "I'm confident there are many questions dancing in your heads. This is a departure point for those who have been screened and cleared by the extra-planetary real estate office."

Weber said, "Wealthy conduits and scientists and engineering specialists?"

"Yes, they're graduates of a special mental training center in California...I'm one of the trainers."

Weber stopped moving towards the lounge area and said, "Do you have a proposal for us? And if I turn it down, will I be allowed to leave?"

"Weber, you'll be leaving in the morning from the rear entrance of the space port...which is located about two hundred yards from the trailhead parking lot where your camper is now parked and repaired."

"Repaired?"

"Ranger Sitley fixed your two slashed tires...locals really hate rock-huggers with California license plates."

Clutch said, "I didn't get the impression Sitley offered roadside assistance."

"Oh, for Gurument dudes he does! He keeps a close eye on any roving eyes in the vicinity especially when arrivals and departures are scheduled."

"Why do you land in the daytime?"

"Here in the desert night, a brilliant non-ballistic light can be seen for far too many miles."

The curtain began to silently lower into the closed position.

Weber asked once again, "Charley, what's the proposal?"

Charley became giddy, he bounced with excitement, "The Alpha has chosen you, Weber Grambling, to be successor. Clutch Antoine will be your second. You will have to resign your Gurument positions and become Freelancers. The Alpha suggests forming your own private eye firm in California, specializing in paranormal cases. When it is deemed appropriate, the Alpha will allow face time and a peaceful transition of power."

Feigning incredulity, Clutch said, "Is that all? What took her so long?"

Charley faced Clutch, "What makes you think the Alpha is a woman?"

"Men don't give up power so easy."

"We live in a new paradigm," wondered Weber.

"Conductors should share their power," said Clutch.

Charley said, "It's a natural order of balanced power; one person is not exactly calibrated to be like the other."

Clutch retorted, "Know your damn place in the world and humbly succumb to your unique tuning in life?"

"Yes! The high-con people in this spaceport have exceeded the boundaries of the Earth grid and seek to influence grids elsewhere."

Clutch raised his voice, "So all this is about real estate property rights? I thought it was about unnatural resources."

Weber put his left hand on Charley's right shoulder and said calmly to Clutch, "That's enough, don't be so quick to judge Charley's motivations. On the other hand, I don't know if I believe a word Charley has said."

Charley side glanced at Weber, folded his arms, and smiled a knowing smile and thought to himself: This Weber is a cool and wise man...he knows the first step to wisdom is admitting that you don't know.

The camouflage curtain completely lowered to block the outside world.

12. Misconduct

Monica rocked back and forth in a PTSD fetal position, a meth induced withdrawal posture on the padded room floor, enduring an array of pharmaceutical disclaimer symptoms: may cause backache, may cause dizziness, may cause chills and fever, may cause swelling of the lymph nodes, may cause death, may cause life-hate, may cause depression and suicidal thoughts...pretty much all the symptoms she took meth for.

For two days they hadn't given her anything to hold onto, just a large plastic bottle of water. She thought she could turn it into a weapon. They let her out for supervised potty breaks, meals, and exercise. There were no group therapy sessions. She could vaguely sense map the other rehab inmates and two of them appeared to be Betas.

Then the Alpha Conductor made mental voice:

I'M

SORRY FOR

THE INTERRUPTION

MY DEAR MONICA. TRY PRANA

BREATHING AND PROTECTING

YOUR ENERGY BODY THE BEST

YOU CAN. METH ADDICTION WAS

AN INGENIOUS DISPLAY OF

DEFIANCE. I HAD A HARD

TIME READING

YOU.

Confusion say.

NO

MORE OF

THIS PLEASE.

REMEMBER WHEN I

TOLD YOU ABOUT THE

PRIMARY

AGENDA?

Your

agenda.

TO

BREATH

PRANA ENERGY LIKE

BREATHING AIR REQUIRES

INHALING AND EXHALING. I KEEP

THE VAST POPULATION OF

SUB-CONDUITS FROM

INHALING

PRANA.

You're

telling

me?

WHEN

EVERYONE

LEARNS TO BREATHE

THEN I'LL BE OF NO USE

AND THE WORLD WILL BE

RESTORED TO A CAULDRON

OF CONFLICTING IDEAS AND

COMPARTMENTALIZED FIEFDOMS.

WE ARE ON THE VERGE OF CREATING A TWO GOVERNMENT WORLD! THERE

HAS TO BE A SINGULAR AND WISE

VISION FOR EACH OF THESE

POLITICAL SYSTEMS. THIS

IS THE MOST EFFICIENT

WAY TO CONTROL

POPULATIONS.

Two

worlds?

What do you

mean two

worlds?

EAST

AND WEST,

THERE WILL BE

NO OTHER MAJOR

DIVISIONS.

I

thought

you were in charge

of the whole

world.

MY

EGO IS NOT

THAT

BIG.

Do you

think

mine

is?

YES.

Monica didn't reply and finally understood what the fuss was all about. She thought: _I'm a one worlder!_

IN

THE WEST

THE ACTUAL ONE WORLD

CONSPIRACY THEORY HAS NOTHING

TO DO WITH CREATING A ONE WORLD

GOVERNMENT. IT HAS TO DO WITH

CREATING ONE HALF OF

A BALANCED WORLD

GOVERNMENT.

Yin

Yang.

YES!

BECAUSE

THE EASTERN MIND IS

HIVE-LIKE AND THE WEST IS NOT. LET

THEM CREATE THEIR HALF OF THE TWO

GOVERNMENT WORLD, AND I

WILL CREATE THE

OTHER

HALF.

A

Western

hive mind? Can't

take sides in a round world.

What's going to happen to

me? Am I to be

reassigned?

NORMALLY,

I WOULD'VE HAD

YOU KILLED BY NOW

OR SENT AWAY. I DESPISE

FREELANCERS BECAUSE THEY EXIST TO UNDERMINE MY PLANS. IF YOU COULD KNOW

YOUR PLACE AND LIVE WITH BEING SECOND FIDDLE, I'D CONSIDER REINSTATEMENT.

I CANNOT SPEND TIME MONITORING

A DISLOYAL

OPERATIVE.

I'm

not power

hungry! I just want women

to have a say in the mind

control hierarchy,

that's all.

WOMEN,

ALREADY MIND CONTROL MEN.

I NEED YOU TO FOLLOW

MY ORDERS

PRECISELY.

Monica realized this was mostly true...that women controlled men.

I

promise

to stay off meth

and follow

orders.

I'LL

RECONSIDER

WHEN YOU HAVE TWO

WEEKS OF REHAB

UNDER YOUR

BELT.

That's all

I can

ask.

13. Ess Ess Eff Tee Ell

Clutch hesitated following Charley and Weber up the ramp to board the space plane. He dawdled at the base of the ramp and invoked fearful feelings of the unknown, a slight distrust of Charley; a man a little too comfortable and smooth in his approach. Clutch felt they were being lured into outer space and that he would never see the Earth again.

Charley turned around and beckoned Clutch to enter the space plane.

"The S.S.F.T.L., a.k.a. the Space Service Faster than Light space-liner is an unconventional aircraft," he said, "it's equipped with anti-gravity projectors, those observable bumps on the fuselage, and a non-conventional propulsion system. This baby, really, is just an Earth-Moon shuttle."

Clutch wondered out loud, "So there is a moon base after all?"

"The dark side of the Moon is a staging base, the primary spaceport hub for high-cons migrating to the colonies."

"How many worlds harbor these secret colonies?" asked Weber.

Charley turned around to face Weber, "Sorry, beyond my pay grade."

Weber said, "Have you been to the Outer Sanctum?"

"No...I'm not sure I want to migrate."

Weber turned his head and beckoned at Clutch, "C'mon, if Charley doesn't want to go to the Outer Sanctum, the space plane tour probably isn't a trap. Amerite?"

"I reckon I'll wait here just the same," said Clutch, and he headed for the lounge area toward the elite high-con and emotional passengers preoccupied with their impending departure. Charley turned away, seemingly unaffected by Clutch's reluctance.

He said to Weber softly, "I finally have you to myself."

Weber grimaced, "Clutch is a little reactionary at times. If he did come on board I would've had a hard time getting him off again."

"The colonies need men like him."

"He thinks this is like rats leaving the sinking ship."

"You mean he thinks the Earth is in the path of a cyclical disaster? He must know that not all high-con colonists are wealthy and rat-like."

"Some are just rat-like?"

"We divert funds from the Outer Sanctum fee to recruit and train conduit scientists, engineers, technicians, artists, and even the rare beta conduit."

"So Clutch and I come pre-trained by the Gurument?"

Charley didn't have to reply.

The interior of the space plane contained tubular gel lined compartments designed to alleviate g-forces and to safe chamber the occupants if there was a disaster in flight. Some of the safety tubes were already holding passengers.

Charley said, "It's only a forty minute trip to the dark side of the moon, spent mostly positioning the S.S.F.T.L. for landing and take-off."

"I despise inhumane commutes," said Weber.

Charley laughed a belly laugh and led Weber out of the space plane because Weber was oh so disinterested in the current tour. The bombshell had been delivered. All Weber could really think of was being told that he was a Conductor in waiting.

Meanwhile, Clutch mingled with the travelers in the lounge area and introduced himself to and made small talk with the hot world-class model, Camilla Renquist, who had been killed in a gruesome car crash months' ago when her body had been burned beyond recognition. Tragic transitions were the modus operandi of the secret space program. Scientists and wealthy models had been mysteriously disappearing or tragically dying since the 1960's.

Clutch grinned and said, "I see you have risen from the dead. How could you leave your family like that?"

Camilla smiled weakly, "My husband died two years ago and is waiting for me on a distant colony world."

"That's a phrase I don't hear every day."

Camilla lit-up. "I know! It took me weeks to assimilate the deception."

"Not to worry, having been made immortal by your untimely death, no one on Earth will ever see you grow old."

"Funny, that's what my husband said."

"Also funny is that I would board the plane today if you were a true single."

"Flattery will not get you off planet or my pants off."

"A guy can dream."

"Why are you inside this space port, Clutch?"

"Apparently, because of my curiosity and conspiratorial proclivities, my partner Weber and I were lured here by the Alpha Conductor."

"Who is the Alpha Conductor?"

"Exactly, who's on first?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Nobody knows the identity of the Alpha."

"He sounds like a comic book villain."

"Why assume he's a man?"

"Men control the world."

"Do they? I thought it was fashion models."

"Being a model is not as difficult, and I prefer pleasure to control."

"I reckon so do I, Camilla."

14. The Ego Has Landed

John Wish crossed Manhattan in a blazing pearl white limo so Jacob could sense map every neighborhood closely in order to fix the location of any Beta or high-con conduit. So far, no Betas emerged on his mental radar. Alpha sub-conduits were everywhere; the operating assumption was that there was at least one Type A personality per business floor.

Recently having returned from the Kosovo operation, with eyes a glaze, George Wish sat in the back seat with Jacob, meditating on Jacob's energy body, marveling at his probing block-by-block extensions into private and public buildings. Nobody was safe. This was the second week of probing. Millions of people had now been mapped. The Manhattan overlay was inevitable and Jacob would soon be the primary controlling influence, second only to the Alpha Conductor, with Monica a faded influence. Even Maynard, back in Virginia training new detectors, wouldn't set his feelers in Manhattan for too long. In power, Maynard was protected by the Alpha and secretly a subordinate to Jacob. Jacob, ignorant of this fact, assumed Maynard was more powerful than himself. Maynard was the Alpha's chief detector, a rover designed by the Alpha to detect high-cons and special-mentals. There were no boundaries placed on Maynard and he operated best by roving continuously to encounter prospects wherever they might be.

Jacob was confined to Manhattan Island. He sense-mapped the people and he sense-mapped the city infrastructure right down to the subway underground. It is the densest energy sink in America, drawing the most attention, harboring the most intense people, the most agitated and fearful city dwellers on Earth; monitored, amplified, and glorified by the hyper analytic media center. To control half the world one must control Manhattan. New Yorkers share in-your-face energy without compunction, and the city has a fully primed control field of electricity, coursing every tower, wall, and subway. All this angst and biased information is stored in the local source field. Jacob's sense-map overlay was consciously refined to show only the living humans he intentionally desired. Finally, after days of exhaustive mapping, he got a powerful hit on Madison Avenue, the high seat of American Marketing and Persuasion.

"Stop the car."

George asked, "Found someone?"

"Someone is blocking my probe, the entire building is a blank!"

John pulled the bright white limo into an alley and waited. Jacob got out and walked back to the main street with George by his side. They turned the corner and mingled with the pedestrian traffic. Jacob stared at a building entrance twenty paces away.

"It figures," sighed George, "that it's an ad agency."

"The Alpha must know who this is," said Jacob passively, "We send in the team tomorrow morning."

"It could be the Alpha himself," said George.

"I think the Alpha would know how to mask an intentional blank."

"Okay...then it must be a powerful executive."

"What makes you think it's just one person?"

"There can only be one Beta in the building, no?"

"Tomorrow there will be two."

"Beware the marketing propagandists," said George.

"We go in as a team of health inspectors."

"The ad agency will ignore us on principal."

A young Latina familiar to them walked by; she was one of Monica's operatives. She smiled over her shoulder and entered the advertising agency building and continued to make eye contact with George and caught Jacob's unnerved and rapt attention. "I know her," he said, "she controls the real estate gig for Monica."

"Should we follow her?"

"I won't be lured-in," said Jacob, "assemble my team."

15. Freelancers

It was midnight and all the outbound passengers were safely aboard in their travel tubes. Though it was a rare night departure, Charley Nadal escorted Clutch and Weber to a safe spot on the northwest side of the natural alcove entrance. The silent space-plane rose-up a few feet and departed under the raised camouflage curtains and positioned itself in the center of the Upper Gulch. It hovered there for a moment, rising to a hundred feet, tilted to a forty five degree angle, and then instantly shot off, zigzagging into the sky, disappearing in the classic illuminated UFO non-ballistic motion.

The three of them went back to the flat rock and popped a six pack of Pale Ale and waited for the anticipated scrambled military jet fly-by. Charley twisted-off a bottle cap, chugged a mouthful and said, "Air defense command will reconnoiter and circle the area for a minute or two and report back to the Arizona airfield. They never send a ground team into the gulch because the Alpha discourages the commanders from making this obvious choice."

As they each polished-off a second beer, two military jets, reflecting the moonlight, arrived in roaring disapproval. The alcove overhang blocked infrared sensors from seeing the three men. The pilots dropped flares from a thousand feet and circled the gulch looking for signs of a crash.

Clutch wondered out loud, "Why does the Alpha allow them to scramble in the first place?"

Charley said, "Because of the high-incidence of UFO sightings in the Southwestern United States, Air Defense Command has jet fighters patrol the Four Corners round the clock. The Alpha's mental influence is contained within the grid field. The Alpha cannot control people five hundred feet or more above the Earth's surface."

"Are you sure you're not the Alpha, Charley? Weber asked, "You certainly know more than I about the Alpha's abilities."

"I could be the Alpha and totally unconscious of my wide and influential power." He winked and laughed and then placed the empty bottles into the green cardboard carrier and encouraged Clutch and Weber to follow him to the back of the carved-out complex where the sleeping quarters were set-up.

Weber asked, "Are you a Freelancer?"

"This is a complicated question...I am semi-autonomous."

"The Alpha has you under a probationary status?"

"Let's just say that I am trusted."

"So you don't spend much time in the alcove? There's a high-con training center somewhere in California?"

"I split my time between training elites and gifted special-mental children."

"Then why are you here? The limited alcove staff seems to have a handle on keeping this space port secret and functionally maintained."

"This site is an extension of the California training center...I have to hold many hands in regards to the transition to the Outer Sanctum."

"You're the grandmaster of the graduation ceremony?"

"Sort of like the manager of cold feet. It's not allowed for people to opt-out once they have been to the alcove...except for certain Gurument operatives."

"I see...only secretive types are allowed to freelance."

"Well said and probably true."

The next morning Charley provided breakfast and a facility tour. Strapping their backpacks on, Clutch and Weber went deeper into the tunnel system that made its way to the secret entrance near where their camper was parked. Charley pulled a lever after checking a monitor connected to hidden bank of outside cameras, and opened a fake rock door in a short cliff abutting the dry wash.

Charley said, "Give my regards to Ranger Sitley should you choose to do a formal check-out at the ranger station."

Clutch replied, "I'll thank him for repairing the tires. Does he have a tip jar?"

The hidden entrance silently closed, a glint-eyed black raven circled overhead, and they made their way past an old "No Trespassing" sign, riddled with bullet holes, attached to a tilted fence post.

16. Executive Order

Jacob Bjerknes and his team of operatives wore N.Y.C. Health & Safety Department Inspector badges and began their audit of 112 Madison Ave, the home of a nameless advertising agency where a Beta Conductor resided. They started in the basement and moved-upward floor by floor, attempting to form a group sense-map of the thirty story building interior. The conduit team soon realized the entire structure was an energetic blur. Jacob dismissed his team and took the elevator to the top floor executive suite. He felt pulled to a certain energy body and sense-mapped that the suite of offices and conference rooms was devoid of all but one executive. This was someone familiar to him, someone he couldn't quite grasp, like a long since deceased grandmother he had met only once when he was a kid.

There grew a powerful presence in the southwest corner, glaring at him through the walls! Jacob moved quickly and found the corner office door and barged-in reckless and love-drunk. A blonde woman sat at the desk, more androgynous than pretty, with piercing green eyes and a rock climber's tight trim muscle tone, leaning back with hands behind her head, throwing a verbal dagger: "Jacob Bjerknes, you fucking faggot, why didn't you come to visit me?"

Jacob, a deer caught in the high-beams, said meekly, "Have we met?"

Back from rehab, Monica flew from her chair and lunged at Jacob. He let her punch him on the chest, and climb-up to straddle his waist and hang on convulsing with pain and relief Jacob didn't understand. Monica yelled: "Who am I?" Jacob replied, "Yes please tell me cause' this is really awkward."

Monica slid off of his arousal, "Oh my god...don't you know that I'm Monica Gifford? Your devoted girlfriend who loves you more that you will ever know?"

"I don't know you," he said and backed away from her and grounded and cleared and balanced and protected the office. The step-up in high-con connection penetrated Monica's energy body as Monica's cords pierced Jacob. The recognition epiphany activated Jacob's self-control and suppressed the Alpha controlled mind. The blocked memories of Monica Gifford flowed until he began to weep and become self-conscious with the realization that he had abandoned Monica. It was Monica that had been compelling him to sense map Manhattan. They telepathically linked and hugged and smooched for ten minutes.

Monica finally said, "Okay, I know the Alpha is everywhere but it seems I can suppress the Alpha dominance...now that I am not high on dope."

"That's a good thing, baby."

"Yeah...and I still want to cooperate with him."

"And that's a good thing."

"We have to triangulate with Weber."

"What for!"

"The Alpha expects a union of three Betas to discover him."

Jacob nodded and added, "The Alpha is in California."

"The Alpha is hooking the western hemisphere's strongest vortex."

"Is it a powerful vortex somewhere in the Santa Cruz Mountains?"

"Of course it is my lover boy."

"Did you know Clutch and Weber are out west on vacation?"

"They're on a backpack trip in Southern Utah."

"We have to wait for them to return to Virginia."

"They're not returning to Virginia," said Monica.

"What do you mean?"

"Clutch and Weber quit the Gurument and are freelancing."

"Freelancing? The Alpha won't let them go that easy. I usually track them down and assassinate them."

"Maybe that's the plan."

Then Jacob called George and he confirmed that Clutch and Weber were free to roam the western energy plains without much Alpha mind control influence. Jacob shrugged and said in a perplexed manner as Monica paced back and forth., "Oh, apparently, they are starting a private investigations firm in the Bay Area."

Monica said soothingly, "I think the Alpha is going to keep Weber close, to occult him," then she had a sudden realization that the Alpha was probably manipulating the attempt to triangulate the Alpha's location. She added, "We might have to find another Beta."

17. Occulted

Maynard Ackroyd forwarded Clutch and Weber's belongings by packing their stuff in two U-Pack-Em' modular plastic storage crates and shipped them to a storage facility in Redwood City California. Clutch and Weber had arrived from their gulch adventure and rented a two bedroom house in Half Moon Bay equipped with a large home office and then applied to the state for a Private Eye license under the name:

Paranormal Investigations.

When they got their Gurument severance pay, they bought a camper and signed-up to have an informational booth at the Redwood City Art and Festival in July. They got a booth slot only because a tarot card reader had cancelled. The peninsula was crawling with New Agers. Clutch hated the idea and thought they should remain aloof and let the clients find P.I.'s through newspaper ads and word of mouth. Weber saw the art and craft festivals as a sense-mapping opportunity, "The street fairs are crawling with energy predators preying on shoppers who attract unwanted influence and non-conforming artists and vendors with high-con mentality. All are potential clients."

"Nobody buys anything at these street fairs," said Clutch in disinterest.

"Who cares? They get five thousand people a day!"

"We'll be the laughing stock."

"Humor is the fastest way to the human heart. We'll have great fun dressing like the Night Stalker and Spooky Mulder."

"A comedy team? I'm not dressing in a sleazy overcoat. We have to decide if we're going to exorcise demons and hunt for ghosts. And what about missing persons?"

"Why not bust ghosts? Don't need no plasma streams."

"No...but we do need real ghosts."

"It's gonna be fun times, Clutch!"

"Are demons fun, Weber? Do you think we can make a living exorcising demons? Calming the terrified and possessed?"

"Demons are walk-ins; lord knows I've shaken a few loose from your porous energy body."

"Fine. Are Monica and Jacob going to stay with us?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Okay, Weber, let's try the pop culture path and reserve our slot at the street carnival."

"That's the spirit. If you won't wear a long coat and a fedora can you at least get hair extensions?"

"Hair extensions? As long as I make them from your pretty boy hair!"

"Now you're talkin', Clutch."

"Well?"

"The New York Royals? Oh, they aren't staying with us. They have a proposal...and I'm tired of proposals."

"Jacob will finally get to meet you."

"I'm not worried."

"I didn't say you were."

Weber exhaled loudly, "Monica is treading on dangerous ground. She wants to form an energy triad in order to pinpoint the Alpha's location."

"The Alpha won't let her," advised Clutch.

"She agrees to cooperate and then openly defies the Alpha! They're taking the Gurument Lear Jet to Moffett Field tomorrow."

"They can plot all they want at altitude and the Alpha won't be listening-in."

"The Alpha has bugged the Lear Jet."

"Then high-altitude telepathy it is."

"I'm not sure we need to use the triangulation method. Maynard does not have direct physical contact with the Alpha; I think Charley Nadal does."

"You said Charley teaches at a private school in California?"

"Here in the West Bay Area somewhere."

"Sounds like a job for Paranormal Investigations!"

"Sorry, Clutch, no, this one is a Beta issue. I can't honestly be in a triad knowing that the Alpha Conductor has me pre-approved and Monica and Jacob don't know it. Nothing will come from their visit. Besides, the Alpha shouldn't be too hard to find...I got Charley's phone number."

18. Guided Meditation

Monica instructed the Lear Jet pilot to activate the belly camera and they watched the view on the high-resolution monitor. She had been training Jacob to look out the window to trace a ley line aura and its unusual relationship to the geography and topography of the Western United States. She had to demonstrate to Jacob that a camera would not transfer aura color to an electronic monitor.

"Ever look at a map of the continental Western United States and notice that the major surface features line-up?"

"I haven't noticed now that you mention it."

"Look on a map...the Southern Rockies, Monument Valley, the Grand Canyon, Zion, Death Valley, Southern High Sierra's, Yosemite, Mt. Diablo, and the Monterrey Bay."

"A fascinating coincidence?"

"I think not, mighty mouth breather."

"Okay...what's your theory?"

"Grid energy is concentrated along the major ley lines and over time the grid has influenced the Earth's tectonic plates to perform acts of magnificent crustal beauty."

"Is crustal really a word?"

"It is now...my Shaman Vampire."

"Touché. So your unpublished non-peer reviewed theory is proposing that Gaia sculpts the Earth's surface to make an aligned row of beautiful National Parks?"

"Yes! And the National Parks protect entrances to the Hollow Earth."

"Oh god, how did I miss that one?"

"Look past your genitals and you might see more than just low-cons and Beta competitors."

"I've changed!"

"Ever think about the people who get away with murder?"

"I look in the mirror every day."

"I'm not talking about your psychosis."

"I'm serious, I think about my kills all the time."

"Ever sense-map a crowd and discover murderers and child molesters...evil people who haven't been caught?"

"I have."

"Did you feel they were kindred spirits?"

"I look away fearing they might discover me."

"If their victims had been special mental the victims wouldn't have fallen prey, having seen the dark energy and intention of bad people coming their way."

"Probably, okay...what's your point?"

"I want everyone to see the mental and energetic interconnections."

"I get it, Monica; an equal playing field."

"Yes...now that I'm rich and can assist without fear."

"And talking like a freelancer when you're not supposed to."

"So?"

"Alpha won't let a freelancer get close."

"What if _we_ joined the opposition or another secret organization?"

"Join with China or the Vatican?"asked Jacob.

"The opposition is the Eastern energetic continuum, which includes China and India and Islam. I haven't thought about the Catholic Church or the Southern Baptists...good idea!"

"To see you take over a sermon would be a pleasure."

"I'd be the first female pope!"

"Live from Saint Monica's Square-"

"The first thing I would say is that everyone, by virtue of being alive, is entitled to food, shelter, a college education, and medical care, and the model for governing is the hybrid of the regulated free market and the nonprofit corporation owned by all the workers so they would have a say in how money is allocated so billionaires like us can't hoard power and concentrate the benefits for themselves. Second, I would open the Vatican vaults!"

"Hallelujah!"

"I would!"shouted Monica.

"Careful, they have powerful and vigilant Betas lurking, commanding obedient and thuggish pedophilic henchmen."

"Really? Have you noticed the Pope hasn't climbed higher than Beta since the Renaissance? Ever consider that Jesus was a rising Beta who challenged a Roman Alpha?"

"I'm a non-affiliated Irish Norwegian North American."

"I'll need your thuggish demo team."

"The church is bigger than my NYC provocateurs."

"I need to own a bank."

"Greed kills. I thought you had a bank?"

"On the verge," said Monica with a blink.

Jacob changed the subject, "So a banker, a broker, and the CEO of the ad agency Belch, Talkalot, Cliché and Display, walk into a blue collar bar..."

19. Neutral Bias

The Alpha Conductor stewed in contempt, and thought only to himself:

Let them come with their enthusiastic aspirations and try to topple me. I won't let Monica find either one of me. Weber is mollified and Jacob is a siphon and is too unambitious to challenge me. He isn't power hungry like Monica, and I am getting old, and I am not immortal; I can only compel one half of humanity to be on my mind! The West will consolidate its political structure as I will it through fear and control. Unless one steps out of the world one cannot see the process and I am working the will of greater powers! Let Monica and Jacob come with their probing and dodging maneuvers; it will make them stronger and will earn them their inheritance. I will not be found by reckless egotistical idealists who haven't seen the bigger picture. Searching for me will expand their sense-mapping ability. I love them and nurture them. They will be surprised to learn that evil does not triumph when good also disguises itself as evil. There are people in high-con reserve who don't know they are manipulating the world grid. Sub-conduits are gripped by thought form inertia, a consensus trance. The passively powerful will inherit the Earth if I don't succeed in shaping their manipulations! Monica will not transfer mind control to the masses! She will stabilize and focus my control plan for Jacob. Jacob will succeed! Monica jokes to be the first female pope? Can she feel with her mind that this is an ego incursion? It is her lover that will be demonized when the truth is known to the Betas. Walter Wells is coming along just fine. He will pull together a solid team of controllers and will transform the West's collective mind to withstand the East's hive mind only if I continue to encourage his development. This will happen if he withstands the urge to purge me too soon. He mustn't be revealed until he's viable! I will nurture Walter, I will hide him, and I will direct his energies to serve the transformative universe. It is two of me orchestrating the hidden manipulations! There are no reliable overt marketing propaganda schemes when it comes to mind control. Great sacrifice, and intelligent culling will accomplish the slow progress to the outer sanctum. Bring on the introverted martyrs! Everything is in the head!

# PART FOUR - Museum of Natural Mystery

#

Love is two hearts

sharing one fantasy.

Burdens made of light,

time is suspended.

July 2001

1. The Vortex Sprite

Walter chased her down the foot trail and crossed energies and wind current sensitivities and forest scents and ki energy and god she was so beautiful! She veered right off the trail and headed for the blue green vortex in the middle of the haunted apple tree orchard draped in pastel luminescent grey moss. Walter caught-up to her as she discorporated. She spun into the swirling vortex energy and disappeared with a cork popping sound and a high squeaky laugh signaling a successful transdimensional crossover.

Out of breathe, and yet crying-out for her in joyful celebration, Walter sent his ki into the vortex and sent seven chakra cords after her. Her female energy had been coming into his bed every morning for a week and woke him with a centered chest tickle when a thought form of love joined with his heart chakra. She had passed through his body like a gust of wind; moving the hair on his head; his energy body tentacles swayed. It was all so chillful and scintillating!

Merging our energy bodies, show our love, express our love, connect our love, and withhold our love...the primal display of the connect/disconnect arc.

Walter remembered, before he transferred to Summit Fountain, a teacher telling him that a human brain is under-utilized. Walter had always wondered why this was so. At first he determined that it was because nature didn't want our brains to approach full capacity, that there was a sheath on our DNA that would restrict capabilities; the mind couldn't handle the complexities of the universe.

When Walter's special-mental abilities surfaced he realized that the academic world suppressed or ignored special-mental abilities, unless they could be controlled; special mental's are a threat to the reality maintenance continuum of gradient thought control. Special-mental power once attained, cannot be reversed, only suppressed or the person eliminated. As for mind capacity, our memories and knowledge are stored holographically throughout the universal continuum. The human energy brain/mind interfaces with the ultimate informational reality.

The organic brain can't actively store all non-experienced memories and facts, only the useful knowledge attained directly through living experience. The organic brain interfaces with immediate reality on profound levels and holds the excess capacity, on occasion, to accommodate the influx of newer thought forms and stimuli. As a bonus, the organic brain receives endorphins as a reward for learning.

The sprite beckoned Walter to crossover and he was more than willing, even a little reckless. He lay in the dry grass, face-up, seeing the primeval moss dangling and swaying from the tree limbs, and meditated to protect his prone physical body. Then, without a shred of fear, he hurled his energy body into the vortex, in blazing astral glory, to pursue the sexy sprite.

Feelings are externally and internally generated thought forms that change the energy bodies' present energetic fix and attunement. The various contents of these thought form issues are processed by the various chakras assigned to assimilate and learn those issues, and to connect to the life force past/present/future learning arc that a person's lifespan must endure in order to grow a unique personality and mature into a powerful and engaged being in all vibrational dimensions.

Walter encountered vortex energies and emotions that were so intense they were frightening and wondrous and ultimately mysterious. The sprite attached and persuaded his movement and boundary to flow down the vortex center to avoid touching the coursing unknown energies and condensed thought form streams.

In an instant, he was alone with her in the astral orchard. The vortex was visible as a welling-up, an erupting spring of multi-hued green and yellow energy, a fountain of light.

The physical world existed in his mind as a non-visual presence.

They made love next to the fountain, immersing themselves in each other's light body. At sixteen years old, Walter's spiritual virginity was taken, and his mind was set free.

2. Elevated Threat Level

Jacob's demo team finished prepping the fifty eight stories of the WTC Number Seven Building in lower Manhattan with conventional shaped charges and Sol-Gel thermite and thermate apparatus charges, where the Securities and Exchange Commission occupied the twelfth and thirteenth floors. This was just across the street from where the Alpha also guided Jacob to prepare the WTC Twin Towers in the same manner.

The deviation from undermining the government scrutiny of Monica's business activities to targeting the iconic World Trade Center, was alarming at first until the Alpha explained to Jacob the need for a traumatizing world event to assist the alignment of a new world order. The West/East dividing line had to be drawn. Of course, Jacob was being controlled and didn't have a choice. It did help that he essentially agreed with the Alpha. After all, how could he be a traitor of a country that only imagines self control? The Alpha was ultimately in charge.

The stateless Nazislamists, hiding and terrorizing remote American Embassies, and mounting attacks against Western Corporate Interests, were bent on destabilizing the West and sowing fear and racism, dealing out sucker punches to the bloated faces of reactionary, oil hungry, free market Christian Capitalists. Westerners had defamed Islamic and New Testament principles, and were the scapegoats for the brutal Islamic dictators, who were Nazislam's real targets. The Westerners would be made to pay and withdraw from Muslim countries because they were brutal and materialistic and complicit in creating worldwide economic disparity and partnering with dictators.

The reactionary winner, who takes it all, is not so pretty with a concussion and a black eye, and the other eye missing, and one stump of a leg, sporting a torn nose, a bloody forehead, hatefully lashing out at the poor East World innocents who didn't actually cause the damages and mass murder.

The Alpha controlled the minds of the Western Power Brokers. The West World Leader was a puppet and his cronies extremely ruthless. They were the perfect set of ideologues and influential conduits of change in the best position to kick-start a secret, fear-based evolutionary war.

Jacob's crack demo team came to the WTC Twin Towers as respected elevator service people. They installed detonators for the Sol-gel in the elevator shafts, floor by floor. WTC Security cordoned off the elevator doors, floor-by-floor, day-by-day, for several weeks of preventative maintenance and retrofitting.

The Wish Twins supervised the FBI end-around and kidnapped the sub-conduit Middle Eastern Hijackers for deep thought control and flight take-off training. Fanatics are the easiest people to brainwash, and the best kind of operative to die by their own hands.

Steel structures designed and built to support columnar pressure cannot collapse from the temporary high heat generated on a higher floor by a crashed airliner's volatile fuel. Falling floors don't crush the floors beneath because the floors beneath were designed to hold them! The weight of the disintegrated upper floors exploded outward and didn't impart weight that could crush the floors beneath. The steel holding the lower floors of the WTC towers was not compromised by the heat of fire from above. The military industrial academic complex needed a protracted world war, and the corrupt American power brokers needed an excuse to protect their interests. Nine Eleven was a controlled demolition.

3. Inertia Reaction

Clutch and Weber's Paranormal Investigations firm was going gangbusters with numerous clients requesting ghost clearings, exorcisms, missing persons, and lost pet searches. Having gone two years without engaging the Alpha, and getting nowhere with Charlie Nadal, Weber browsed the grid one day and detected a mind control anomaly in the San Francisco Sunset District that was brought to his attention by the Chronicle story head line on page C4:

Entire Neighborhood Refuses To Leave Their Homes

The article mentioned that people were refusing to go to work or to the store, or to just pick up the newspaper in the driveway. This was not from irrational fear or paranoia; they were making no effort. The anomaly was restricted to a twelve-block circle, the center of which was a house in the west side of the city, catty corner from the Pinehurst Lodge Women's Treatment Center.

This dampening effect on a city district was a telltale sign of a passive special mental, a possible Beta, exerting mind control without consciously knowing that they had the power to influence people at a distance. And this unknown person was probably depressed.

Maynard contacted Weber and asked him to look into it and to bill the Gurument for services performed. As usual, the black ops bill was to be a piece of paper with only a dollar amount printed in the center of the page in bold lettering. The compensation was to be deposited electronically.

Then it was reported on the morning radio news stations that the people affected yesterday were leaving their homes today and going about their business as usual. Then they reported that the "inertia effect" had moved to an adjacent neighborhood in the Sunset. Clutch and Weber drove to the city and began to test a theory as soon as they parked.

"Look for signs of vagrancy," said Weber when Clutch got out of the camper and grounded to the local grid. Mature juniper bushes grew around the front of a corner house, a perfect homeless hideout. Clutch sense-mapped the bushes and located a rat nibbling on a food wrapper inside a hollow, and then when he crouched to get a closer look, he found a crawl tunnel where recent furrow markings indicated a small person had used the juniper bush as a sleeping site for several nights. He could smell feces and urine nearby. Candy wrappers were scattered about.

It was a kid! Clutch returned to the camper, where Weber had been listening to the radio reporting that the effect was now centered on the 2300 block of Yorba Street. They drove about a quarter mile and found another juniper bush filling a side yard next to an easement.

Weber said, "The kid is a girl and she dresses like a boy and she's watching us from the cover bushes."

"Give her a chance to introduce herself," said Clutch.

"She's crawling out right now," said Weber, "and her name is Wanda Nguyen".

"Oh c'mon!"

"She's terrified and is going to run...go!"

As Clutch scrambled out of the camper truck and made for the juniper cover, skinny little Wanda, wearing a dark blue hoodie, shot out of the bushes and ran down the alley easement, looking over her right shoulder as Clutch sprinted towards her. Then Weber grabbed her mind and made her stop.

Wanda turned to face Clutch and showed her palms, and then Clutch turned to face the approaching camper and sent a thought form admonishing Weber for using his mind too forcefully.

Weber leaned out the window and said, "I don't have time for this...there's a news van coming around the corner."

Clutch scooped-up Wanda, who didn't even squeal a protest, and put her in the middle of the camper cab, and motioned for Weber to move on. Weber made an energetic cocoon to protect Wanda, the camper, and himself, from Clutch's rising feeling of depressive gloom.

"Clutch, best protect yourself from Wanda, cause' she's a rogue conduit and she's penetrating your defenses."

"Is that what I feel? I thought it was low blood sugar."

4. Non-Secular

Charley Nadal and Walter Wells gazed at each other silently across Charlie's immaculate office desk. Charley couldn't help noticing the permanent grin on Walter's face. Metaphysical sex tends to create an undiminished glow and eternal optimism in people that practice it. The spell was broken when Charley's phone rang. He picked-up.

"Charley speaking."

"Hello Charley, Weber Grambling speaking."

"Well hello yourself!"

"I'm on my way to Summit Fountain and I have a powerful runaway conduit that needs your protection."

"I see...is she named Wanda Nguyen by chance?"

"Yes."

"She's been eluding Maynard Ackroyd's detection team since her parents were murdered two months ago."

"Her parents were murdered? No wonder she's gloomy. I should've probed deeper...where was Maynard looking for her?"

"Iowa and Missouri."

"I'll let Maynard know she's with me," said Weber with a laugh.

"She's a master of passive aggressive dampening," replied Charley.

Weber said, "Yes indeedy...a rare detector trait, which reveals local conduit passives that are not being affected by the dampening...highly useful technique within a control gradient."

"You don't want Maynard to recruit her?"

Weber laughed, "I'll sponsor Wanda. Please take her in as a boarder."

Charley beamed, "Agreed. I have a student sitting in my office right now that will be her mentor."

"Is it Walter Wells?"

"Yes."

"Acceptable...we'll be there in thirty minutes."

Charley said, "Wanda can dampen more than just a Sunset District neighborhood."

"Can she?"

"She behaves like a top conduit...yet she is really a latent Beta, and she's responsible for the recent economic downturn in Iowa."

"Oh? I thought it was a drought. Does she know she has the influence?"

"I'll find out."

"Thanks, Charley."

"See you sooner."

Clutch and Wanda ate lunch inside the camper as Weber turned in to the Summit Fountain parking lot. Weber parked in the shade of an oak tree and gathered his thoughts and sense-mapped the school grounds. The property was surrounded by vortex energy that screened-out the unmitigated intrusion of the world grid. It was another sanctuary guarded by Charley, like the gulch spaceport, prepared for anything hostile, yet warm and welcoming to special mentals.

Walter Wells came out of nowhere and opened the driver's door for Weber.

"Welcome back, sir."

"Walter! How ya been?"

"Oh, I'm doing great...I'm having an affair with a discorporate being."

"Your first time?"

"I think so."

"There's no statutory rape in the astral."

"I'm not worried...she doesn't have a name."

"No worries...who would try to break you up anyway?"

"Charlie says I should be flirting with real people."

"The astral is real."

"I mean solid people."

"Walter, I recommend postponing sex with solid people until you're at least eighteen."

"No problem," said Walter with a wink.

Weber smiled and coaxed, "Go knock on the camper door. I want you to meet Wanda Nguyen. And don't mind Clutch's scrutiny... _he's already in love with her."_

"I heard that!" shouted Clutch. Wanda giggled, signaling a pronounced change in her gloomy attitude.

5. Reality Maintenance

Monica strolled down Wall Street, sense-mapping banks and financial institutions, searching for challengers, fixing the passives and bright conduits to her mental map. Immigrants flooded the city every day from countries unfamiliar to her. Brooklyn and Queens teemed with potentials.

Maintaining the New York grid was not something she could do full time, with her attentions being divided between Jacob, the Alpha Conductor, and her team of financial manipulators. The Wish's were training and influencing the scapegoat terrorists with the help of the Alpha. Jacob's team of elevator repairmen methodically demo-prepped the WTC...all of this to suddenly attune the gradient mind control to be dominated by fear, to accelerate the Alpha's plans. Every war has a controlled flashpoint, and American wars don't get started without one.

Monica found a café and enjoyed a latte and ruminated about her powers and those people that denied the conception of mind control. The skeptical scientist, who thinks that people who believe in mystical powers are either crazy or are experiencing a reality only in their head, don't seem to realize that all experience is in the head! Somehow, inner sense is dismissed and set aside in favor of the five measurable senses. For them to achieve perfect external objectivism, they have to agree with each fellow scientist on the nature of reality right now, and leave their minds out of the equation! They have to obey the five senses! The scientific mind guild serves a sacred purpose, promoting a ritualized materialistic process thought form for people to anchor to in the vastly mysterious universe...so love the rational people, they enforce narrow in-boundary thinking. The best slave is the person who doesn't know they are a slave.

"Well, you've discovered my favorite café," said Jacob, looming over Monica, grinning ear to ear, "Need a refill?"

"No thanks."

Jacob sat down and said nonchalantly, "I pulled my team out of the WTC this morning. It's done."

Monica gasped at Jacob for talking out loud. She blocked the café patrons to ignore Jacob and herself and said softly, "Feeling like a proud anti-American?"

"America really doesn't exist anymore. Corporations are in charge and I'm solidifying their grip. They need me."

"The Alpha is using us."

"The hierarchal universe is using us."

"Do you think the Alpha will let us live?"

"So far so good."

"Is the date set?"

"September Eleventh."

"Nine one one? Clever, I'll tell my WTC conduits to call-in sick."

"My maintenance team will be watching from the streets."

"What if there really is an elevator malfunction before detonation?"

"My team is on call. We're the WTC elevator repair contractor."

"And the Pentagon...and the Congress?"

"A black jet cruise missile will take-out the Pentagon financial offices. Four jetliners piloted by fanatical Saudi sub-conduit puppets' will do the rest."

"It will be obvious it's an inside job, won't it?"

"The Pentagon cruise missile will be digitally photographed by surveillance cameras and replaced by digital imagery of a blurry airliner and the Alpha controlled media will stoke fear towards a foreign terrorist threat. The Committee for Whitewashing will do their hasty report and conclude the instant analysis quickly and efficiently. It's healthier."

"Then where do we go from here? You really think Alpha is going to promote us? Weber won't talk to me since he rejected the triad."

"Fuck him...we don't need Clutch or Weber."

"We do need him. He's probably more powerful than me."

"If so, why isn't he orchestrating all this?"

"Maybe he is! Or maybe it's plausible deniability."

"Plausible to whom?"

"Good question, lover boy, good question."

6. The Gradient

After dropping-off Wanda Nguyen at Summit Fountain, Clutch and Weber had lunch with Charley, and then they left without any attempt at prying the Alpha identity from Charley's well-protected mind. As they drove away, seeing that Wanda and Walter were getting along, Clutch thought out loud that maybe Charley was the Alpha.

"Charley," said Weber "is too nice to be the Alpha."

"Or he's a great actor."

"He's too young. Maynard was trained by the current Alpha back in the seventies."

"Maybe Charley succeeded an older Alpha."

"Then why would he be willing to have me take over when he's still a young man?"

"How young do you think he is?"

"You think he's making us think he's young?"

Clutch laughed, "No...but I think he's the Alpha."

"Hiding in plain sight? Inside a mind control gradient the Alpha can't reveal himself to the general population."

"So the Alpha has to have a loyal insider and you're saying its Charley?"

"I'm saying that Charley probably knows the Alpha. He may not know that the Alpha is the Alpha."

"What if Charley is a diversion?"

"Then we are being diverted."

"Ah...we know of the Alpha, but we don't know who the Alpha is."

"Who's on first?"

_"Who_ controls the game."

On north Hwy 17 the camper passed Lexington Reservoir and approached the veer left lane exit to South Santa Cruz Avenue.

Weber said, "Turn around in Los Gatos...we're going back as concerned guardians of Wanda. We need to find out who founded Summit Fountain School."

Weber's cell chimed as Clutch looped by the Los Gatos Main Post Office and headed back on south Hwy 17. Weber answered and said, "What's going on, Maynard?"

"Where are you?"

"In my camper with Clutch."

"And where are you headed?"

"For a couple brews."

"No you're not. My tracking device pings a southbound heading on Hwy 17 and the satellite confirms a south direction at 50 mph."

"Guilty as charged."

"Stay away from Summit Fountain. Wanda is under my watch."

"Stay away? She was under your watch in Iowa. Were her parents murdered under your watch?"

"Casualties of the war. It was not my team."

Weber reached Maynard's mind by thinking of his face. Maynard was telling the devious truth.

"How is Iowa these days?"

"The economy is up two percent since Wanda left the state with her dampening skills. How's she doing?"

"She's in love with a brilliant student named Walter Wells. Have you heard of him?"

"Summit Fountain is blocked for me. The Alpha assures me that Wanda is in good hands."

"Blocked? Don't you know Charley Nadal?"

"No I don't."

Weber said coldly, "Good. Stay away from him and his students."

"I will unless the enemy tries to recruit them."

"The enemy?"

"Mind control incursions from the East."

"Do you need my help?"

"I'll let you know. Go have that beer, Weber. Please stay away from Summit Fountain."

"Sorry Maynard, I don't answer Gurument anymore. Feel a twitch behind your left ear?"

"I...do...feel a twitch."

"Let that be a lesson on the power of transient gradients."

"Uh fer god's, goodbye then-"

The phone cut-off and Weber side-glanced at Clutch, "I'm thirsty for a strong ale...let's turn around again."

7. The Evocator's Apprentice

July mornings in the Santa Cruz Mountains are filled with dissipating fog banks, pulling back tide-like to the Pacific Ocean cradle, creating ethereal pockets of lingering mists in the forest canopy, evaporating into warm rays of cool sunshine.

As they walked through the forest to the haunted apple orchard, Walter and Wanda listened to a distant peacock sounding out: awrreear, awrreear, awrreear! The tree shadows harbored moist air and the scent of redwood, fir, and bitter tan oak. A gust of sea air rushed through the trees, signaling that the fog was nearly lifted. Wanda was not much of a talker and she did not want to acquiesce to Walter's proposal to allow the vortex sprite to walk-in to Wanda's energy body.

Yet, she was in love with Walter, and Walter certainly knew this.

They came upon the old orchard and sat in the dry grass. Wanda knew she was going to give-in with a fight. As her fear and complaint came to the surface, Wanda felt an elusive presence. The sprite was already attempting to walk-in to her energy body!

"Wait a second Walter! I'm not ready!"

Walter's passivity was broken, "Okay, Wanda...she won't enter your body without your permission. Please take your time...I only want to find out her name and why she's attracted to me."

"I know that...but I don't know if I can trust her to leave my body."

"She will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm positive...just let her in and let her speak to me."

"What are you not telling me?"

"Well...the sprite and I have been making love in the astral."

"Oh, is that all? I love a man with experience."

Walter thought to himself: I'm a man?

Wanda stood and circled the nearest dead apple tree, swiping at the low hanging moss, and brought a strand over to Walter and placed a mossy crown on his head. Walter blushed and knew that Wanda was giving permission.

Quickly, it was the vortex sprite that said to Walter, through Wanda, "This vessel is nervous and loves you very much."

Walter hesitated and then said, "What's your name?"

"In my last life I was named...Sharon."

"Why have you chosen to be with me?"

"You need an anchor in the astral and I need one in your base reality."

Sharon/Wanda skipped over to the apple tree and circled it twice. She giggled and taunted Walter, forcing him to the ground before she left Wanda's body and dove into the green vortex. Wanda began to cry and curled-up next to Walter and fell asleep. He did his best to hold the feelings close to his heart, to remember this eternal moment of falling in love with Wanda. They lay in the dry grass for awhile. Their newly discovered passion blotted out everything but the vortex and the nearest apple tree. Wanda's face, spotted with freckles, pulled Walter in...he gently kissed her and she offered no resistance. Still, she was not ready for an astral dive into the vortex. They would not follow Sharon on this day. Wanda finally said, "I felt a little funny, a little off center when she was inside me. Did you get her name?"

"I...you didn't hear her say _Sharon_?"

"I don't remember hearing anything."

"I'm sorry I asked you to do this. It's kind of unethical."

"It is? Now I know what it feels like to be possessed by a spirit."

"Do you mean me or Sharon?"

"Both."

"And now I know what's it's like to be in love," said Walter.

Wanda stood up and beckoned Walter to walk back to Summit Fountain with her because it was lunchtime and she was thirsty and hungry. Walter realized that though he tried to cast a spell over Wanda, the opposite was now true.

8. Seamless

Monica controlled the game and the law makers, and sped-up financial transactions with each computer generation, leaving the casual small time speculators out of the game. Coupled with the deregulation of banks, she programmed the pre-existing greed thought form to dominate the collective financial thought field. American Greed no longer was moderated by morality and the previous economic social contract structure. It's organized money and profit over disorganized people, shareholder over the worker, and slave boss over the exploited wage slave. Careless, amoral, extroverted business people, using their free market corrupt practices as a cover for the illusion of prosperity for the enslaved masses. The operators of this modified economic model take full advantage of control freaks. They maintain a powerful mind and greed addiction that manipulates money to flow to the elite minority at extreme quantities of disparity. The promise that all boats would rise with the increase of postwar American productivity was rescinded in 1960. Free enterprise, now defined as owner take all, where everyone is an owner, no matter how poor the owner. The thought form realization that life is rigged and the elite criminals control the game board.

Monica's problem was Jacob; Pride of the Predatory Alpha, the Shaman Vampire Puppet, a mind control spy, and a commando serial killer. He was the man who was about to restart a covert world war, and kick-start a worldwide economic depression, creating fanatical resource-hungry soldiers. Monica assisted the control endeavor, and could feel the horrible shock of it, the Alpha hindering her from breaching Alpha control, from alerting anyone who would listen that fear-based paranoia and extreme violence was once again being promoted as a savior for humanity. She loved Jacob's gusto and cunning, his smooth attacks, his submission to her power. He was warm and feisty, sensuous and sexy. She could not get enough and at times she was held in utter thrall.

Jacob continued to kill potentials and conduits in New York City. The police detectives would describe each random murder as a mugging or carjacking. Conforming Gurument detectors looked the other way because that is what the Alpha wanted them to do. Jacob was at heart a pure tracker, sensing and categorizing conduit auras at great distances. He tuned to the emotional waves emitted by people in the tides of grid energy, to the primal forces of attraction and self-propelled instincts. He proudly herded the strong conduits to be under Gurument control and killed the unstable potentials. He knew that overly ambitious Beta Conduits had to be kept at bay.

One rainy night Jacob prowled at the "Irish Pub" at 7th and 54th . A slow night, a few patrons mostly kept to themselves at the bar. Jacob guided a young hot headed bisexual man, and off-Broadway actor, who happened to be walking by the bar, to step inside and sit down with him in a semi private booth. They didn't exchange names. Jacob bought him a Guinness, and told him secrets he didn't know he was dying to know.

"Did you ever think that maybe people are under mind control?"

"Like Jedi mind tricks or subliminal shit?"

"Yeah, like that, well, like I can control what thoughts you actively engage in and what thoughts you act upon."

"Bullshit!"

"Why did you come into this bar?"

"I was thirsty."

"Sure, but you were headed for another bar. You hate this place."

"Come to think of it, you're right."

Jacob intruded:

DAMN

RIGHT I'M

RIGHT.

The young actor's face went ashen, which is not so difficult for an actor whose mind was being raped. Jacob waited for a thought voice reply but there wasn't one.

I'M

GOING TO

TAKE YOU

DOWN.

The actor's face forced a tiny smile, and then he guzzled his beer, and felt a calm relief course through his mind-body. Jacob rose from the table and the actor followed him out the door into oblivion.

9. A Vibrant Resource

Summer school classes at Summit Fountain amounted to a one-course study of a modified version of map orienteering, which traditionally is the timed activity of competing with others to physically find pre-ordained land coordinates. A detective game played by Boy Scouts and Nerds. Hand-held GPS devices now challenged the traditional map orienteering techniques.

Charley Nadal revised this activity to establish a new game for his students: to sense-map vortexes wherever they might be and place their GPS coordinates on maps and a database for future reference. Each mapped vortex had to be identified by the V Scale (size), the color, intensity, spin rate, vibrancy rate, and the displacement range (variable movement, if any), and frequency of appearance. The V Scale was to be utilized when describing a vortex and Charley wrote on the chalkboard the primary size range descriptions similar to the Fujita Scale for describing tornadoes:

V Scale or Vortex Scale

V1 = Zero to five meters

V2 = six to ten meters

V3 = eleven to thirty meters

V4 = thirty one to fifty meters

V5 = fifty one to one hundred meters

"No one has ever found a V5 wider than 60 meters," said Charley, "and in order to find vortexes, one has to be in love with Mother Earth."

Wanda, Walter, and Megan Smith took this statement as a challenge, and the other students would have done the same if there had been other summer school students in the classroom.

Serge Fenzeig and Charley had been disappointed in the summer session enrollment. Most of the parents had decided to give their children a break from alternative learning and to take their summer vacations to mingle with and perhaps manipulate the sub-conduit non-special mentals in their home neighborhoods.

Charley said, "When sense-mapping vortexes in the field, for your field survey form, use the rainbow color spectrum as a general guideline for describing the vortex. Note color as blue or green or red or yellow or orange and so on. Spin speed is a visual observation, an estimate of rotational speed recorded as either slow, medium, or fast. Spin direction is noted as clockwise or counter-clockwise, and note if the energy is positive or outbound, or negative or inbound. Vibrancy rate is determined by feeling the periodic pulse the vortex emits. The pulse may be hard to perceive because it only emits at a rate of once per half minute and so on. Be patient for this observation and be extra patient when observing for the variable movement or displacement range. Vortexes are not always stationary. If it appears and disappears, it has to be noted as an unstable vortex. And no, Walter, for today, I don't want you to dive into a vortex to determine its values."

"But I-"

"Write down on the survey form the GPS location, the date and time, the V scale, the spin rate, the color, the intensity, the-"

"How to I describe intensity?" asked Wanda.

"Oh, that would be either clear or cloudy, or mixed. Then record the vibrancy rate, the displacement range if any, and the frequency of appearance. Simple?"

Walter thought that sense mapping a vortex was more of an unpaid summer scientific job, not a fun adventure. Still, Wanda would be with him and Megan was really smart and looked pretty cute.

Charley said, "I personally know of twenty three stable V1's within shouting distance of the school...can you find them by three o'clock?"

10. Sight Survey

"Clutch, I need to find out what county the school parcel is on. I need to find out who owns the property."

"With all due respect, Summit School is a vortex hot spot."

"I know. It's also shielded from the grid. Charley reinforces the school grounds by creating more vortexes along the boundaries. The Santa Cruz Mountains is a fertile field of active and latent portals."

"The Alpha won't be easy to identify."

"Has he ever been?"

"So now he's a he?"

"I think he is!"

"When the Alpha talks is it in a masculine tone?"

"It feels like a man."

"That eliminates half the human race."

"I can't stop thinking about him."

"A man controls the western world. Who would've thunk?"

"You sound like Monica! He's a very cunning man...an older man. Charley is not the Alpha."

"But he knows the Alpha."

"He sure as hell does. Summit School could use a couple of new teachers."

"Yeah, I get cha."

"The school is in Santa Cruz County but has a Los Gatos address. Let's ask Charley where we submit the teacher applications."

Clutch wiped his lips and said, "Our Paranormal Investigations have bogged down. We're being manipulated to share the vortices with the young whipper-snappers."

Weber laughed and they finished their beers and ordered coffee to go and headed back into the suburban mountains. Then Weber felt a proud presence, it was the Alpha wavering attention from something fiercely important and sending intentional thought forms of warmth and trust to Weber and Clutch, as if he embraced his beloved family.

"Just in time for three o'clock tea," said Charley, when Clutch and Weber walked into his office, "and you needn't apply for teaching positions."

"Just part time," said Weber, "Crop circles and chem trails keep us busy, and so does our idle speculating about the coming changes."

"What changes?"

"The increase in the vibrancy of energy that we swim in, the Earth moving through bands of space that modify perception. Just that good old merry go round and up and down inside the Outer Sanctum."

Charley asked slowly and accusingly, "Had a few beers?" Weber's mind forced Clutch to leave Charley's office.

Charley nodded slowly and said, "Oh, that modifying frequency that is arriving, is it the one being regulated by the Alpha Conductor?"

"It's getting stronger."

"That's why you're here at my school?"

"I'm here because I have to attune to a place where the very essence of the learning reality is inside of a higher dimensional resource."

"What took you so long?"

Weber shrugged, "Charley, the kids' here at Sumit and Walter especially are the real deal."

"He's exceptional! Walter Wells takes double the classes in the astral."

"Tell me about his pictures." Weber looked out the window.

"He makes wall art sculptures that evoke transitional attunement in the viewer's mind and energy body."

"Then Walter is the ultimate teacher and leader. He's humbly charismatic, and now he's at my fingertips."

"He gets it from me," said Charley laughing.

Weber continued with a newfound emphasis, "I mean to pry when I say that I know I am more powerful than the Alpha, and yet at the same time I intend to build my relationship with Alpha to where a power transition can be made without decapitation."

"Good God Weber...I see you understand how things work."

Weber nodded, "I told Clutch that you might know the Alpha."

"I do know the Alpha...and so do you."

"I was afraid of that."

Charley said mockingly, "Please don't decapitate me, Weber. The Alpha is an old man who manages to stay half a step ahead. He's extremely dangerous and yet he's a very generous Conductor. It will take three High Beta's to neutralize him."

"Can't he just step aside quietly and go to the Old Conductor's Home?"

Pouring the hot aromatic tea Charley said, "Oh no, Weber...I want him to retire to the Outer Sanctum."

11. Hard Shell Vortices

Walter, Wanda and Megan meditated and mapped two V1's in the classroom itself. Vortex one, a positive outbound vortex, spun-off micro vortices that could penetrate the outer energy body. Vortex two, a negative inbound spin vortex, sucked energy from the unprotected living beings. The two opposite vortexes balanced Charley's classroom, and these kinds of battling vortex pairs were also found in the other classroom when the map team returned from their survey.

The school grounds occupied fifty acres along Summit Road adjacent to public open space land on the north and east property lines, and there were large private tracts to the south and west. Clutch hid along the west boundary in a burned-out old growth redwood stump and was engaged in his own survey. The property was so highly protected, brimming with two V4's at the north end, and a zone of green V2's amidst second growth redwood groves along the west boundary. Keeping an accurate total of sub V1's and the unstable vortexes was a futile endeavor for beginners. Sense mapping and verifying the student survey was not Clutch's primary purpose. He was a forest monitor, there to see if Walter's team could locate emerging sub V1's and coax them into growing bigger. The kids had to discover the instinct on their own.

Wanda took the point while Walter and Megan sense mapped a swath of the woods, verifying Wanda's finds and recording the vortex properties. About fifty yards from Clutch's hiding place, Wanda crouched, waving to her teammates to come forward.

"I feel a cold shell...a protected vortex...it's blocked," whispered Wanda.

Walter crept forward and touched the hard shell vortex boundary. He felt sick and repulsed and backed away. Megan circled the anomaly and felt hate coming at her, a dark mood repelling her mind. All three reinforced their protection and Walter mapped the location of the V1 and put a question mark on the survey form and feigned confidence to his girls by grinning and boasting, "We discovered a new species of vortex!"

"There must be more of them," agreed Megan.

Wanda said, "Then we are in trouble."

Walter took point and within a few paces he invaded an ominous cluster of hard shell micro vortices, and by the time Clutch intercepted the three of them they were wide-eyed and muttering incoherent sentences. He gently escorted them back to the school and had them take naps.

Clutch thought: _who opened the hard shells?_ _They are like land mines and they weren't there yesterday._ He rumbled into Charley's office, narrowing his eyes at Weber. _These two are hanging out too much. I can't believe they planted hard shells._

Then as rapidly as the thought form had ignited his outrage, Clutch said boldly, "Walter's team found a cluster of hard shells and are taking a nap."

"No kidding," said Charley and Weber in unison, staring at each other.

Clutch said, "They didn't finish the survey and if they could it would never be all-inclusive because the whole place is alive with too many V type variables."

"They think they have discovered something new," said Weber.

Crossing his arms, Clutch said, "You two didn't make them?"

Charley said, "No, it's a either a Gurument or a foreign Alpha intrusion," then side glancing at Weber, "and it will take an Alpha to remove the hard shells."

Weber answered fast and steady, "Which means the Alpha has to be local, and I know the Alpha is binding me to this place for a reason...Charley? Can I please have that reason?"

Charley raised his hands, palms facing Weber, and said innocently, "All in good time, my friends." There was something disarming in his tone of voice.

12. Pliable Subject

Her forehead wrinkled, Monica grabbed and hugged Jacob and asked him, "Where are we going to go after Nine Eleven?"

"Go? Why are we going to go?"

"I can't stay here! Let's go to California."

Sighing, Jacob declared, "For sure my lady."

Monica stared hotly, her breath shallow, "I want to go clubbing with the Wish's and my new conduit admin."

"I know a new place."

"Tonight! Take me out dancing tonight, just the five of us."

"Sounds crowded and kinky."

"I want to forget what we are doing!"

"Let the Alpha in."

"Is that it? Give in to the Alpha? To Nine Eleven?"

Jacob pulled her closer and licked her glorious Third Eye and coaxed a smile from her and then said, "Give in to me for a change."

She replied coolly, "I might have to."

"I love you," he said, "We will never be harmed if we stay together."

"I am not going to stop my pursuit of the Alpha and we're going to move through his control and we're going to move the world to a better place."

"So the Alpha is a he?"

"He could be you for all I know."

"I always felt he was a he."

Monica swallowed laughter, "Even you still think you're a he!" She pulled out of Jacob's firm embrace and headed through the bedroom door.

Frowning, Jacob raised his tone after her, "I thought we were going dancing?"

"First things first," she said from out of view.

"Okay, I'll shut-up now."

Jacob skipped into the bedroom and then couldn't find Monica there, naked, or submissive, or otherwise. He was light-headed. He searched everywhere until he realized she was playing him.

She's blocking me?

Monica said telepathically, in a thought form to unravel:

I

don't

want to go out

tonight. Think seriously

about leaving Manhattan and give

me an answer when

you're not

aroused.

Jacob said, "Okay dear, you've proven your dominance."

Well?

"Let me think about it...the Alpha has to okay the move."

He

won't

agree.

"Don't be so sure...now where were-"

Don't

dismiss my

feelings! I will

make a permanent

disappearance.

"I'm sorry, I...I don't mean to take advantage...I can't help it."

Is

it that

shaman vampire

persona thing where

everything is yours to heal

or to manipulate to

serve your deepest

desires?

"Monica?"

Is

it the

precondition

that if I let my guard

down for one minute you'll

kill me cold because the Alpha

is tugging your strings and I can't

hold out for long because you're so easy

to love and it scares me to think

that you're actually the Alpha

and I'm not in

control.

"I'm not the Alpha."

There

you go again

speaking prepackaged

denial with no idea

of how I

feel.

And so on...

13. The Resonance

The day after finding the non-native vortexes, Charley arranged an incursion, a way to remove the hard shells from the forest. Megan decided to go home for the weekend because the hard shells stimulated her fear. Charley and Clutch and Weber formed a triad around the prominent vortex cluster as Walter and Wanda observed from behind a redwood trunk. Their queasiness was real and would diminish as they acclimated to the intrusive vortex energy and the hard shell micro lightening spikes.

The cluster radiated a unique invasive signature and purpose. Someone with knowledge of Walter and Wanda had deliberately placed them in Walter's path. The hard shells covered valuable vortices, ones that could yield strong healing energies or open grid access nodes. The intruder had to know the hard shells were going to be found by the students and the staff. Was the intruder attacking or mocking the school or assisting in some deliberate way? Weber knew it was Charley or the Alpha's signature manipulation...another sign that Alpha was always near.

Charley opened his arms wide and held them there for a minute and then brought his hands together over his third chakra, palm to palm, finger to finger, pointing fingers at the vortices, forming a unity flow aimed at the hard shells, then he turned his body, guiding the energy to clear the vortex cluster area of negative energy and confine the hard shells to no purpose but themselves. In unison, Clutch and Weber duplicated Charley's actions. The hard shell vortices formed into one unified V2 vortex and pushed back. The triad held the ground.

The Alpha Conductor observed and thought to himself:

If life isn't about power and its use to control, then what is life? Ask a drug addict or an innocent prisoner about power; ask a brainwashed religious zealot about glorified power, or an infatuated follower of a charismatic pop star, or a starving homeless person, or a helpless newborn. Ask a Corporate Chief Executive Officer about wage slaves. It will be the power of love that breaks the boundaries of corrupt control. I watch Walter and I watch Weber. They will relieve me! In profound instinct, they are united with Charley and Clutch, as the sly Wanda observes with a clenched mouth and eyes fully conscious!

"It's a time distortion," whispered Walter to Wanda, "people are a form of linked time distortions."

Wanda telepathized:

Consciousness

transcends

boundary.

Walter couldn't tell what drew his attention the most, Wanda or the V2 hard shell vortex. For no reason other than confidence and the feeling that the sprite was nearby, he rushed passed the triad at the hard shell and scattered it to the wind. Then he had time to turn to Wanda and transmit love to her ever-loving face and freckles. She smiled gleefully, and flirtingly bowed, with elegant respect, and pulled at Walter's tethers, approaching with ease and hugging and kissing Walter and never letting him go.

Walter's cheeks flushed and his ears got red and then he turned away and thrust his forehead out at Charley and Weber, who were telepathically speechless.

Clutch blurted, "You did it kid!"

"Yeah, I took the initiative." Walter gazed at the ground, covered by dry redwood needle fronds, and coaxed a yellow V1 out from under a bow shaped dead branch. The vortex grew fast and alive with intention, touching Walter's face and teasing Wanda, slapping Clutch and Weber, caressing a chortling Charley, initiating a chorus of tingling warm laughter that filled the shady redwood grove with sprouting emerald green vortexes.

14. The Brains Lord

A mind stealthy white limo crossed into New Jersey from Manhattan and headed south at ninety miles an hour. Inside the plush interior, after many hours, Monica finally talked Jacob into going to California in mid September. They were headed for the casinos to celebrate.

"You're right, Jacob, you're not the Alpha. He has a multiple personality order."

"You mean he has a disorder."

"No I don't. It makes sense to have an amoral multi-tasking mind. One half is a ruthless controller, the other half a ruthless contributor."

Jacob felt the Alpha presence for the first time in days, "I relay Alpha thought forms and make them happen? Am I being used to manipulate people without them knowing about it by an unstable man?"

"Unstable? That isn't always a weakness."

"Then if it isn't, what is it?"

"You love the Alpha."

"Now we get to your point."

"The point is to reject him."

"You're jealous."

"He's not a god."

"He's guided me for fifteen years."

"He has made you act from out of the fear of being alone."

"And he's made you act out of greed."

"Challenge him even though his face isn't in your mind. Resist his tethers to keep him from going deeper."

"I can't even resist you and I'm bisexual."

The Alpha Conductor monitored Monica and Jacob and thought to himself:

Monica and Jacob are bound to me. They consume my guidance with endless appetite. Without my complicated presence, they would turn Manhattan into a twenty-four hour nightclub of hedonistic indulgence, a retributive Native American Casino on every block, where sub-conduit zombie parties lure self-medicated self-important pilgrims from the suburbs to serve as sex slaves and money taps. It's a house of cords and tethers, this bustling life of ours. Competition eliminates the competition. The low con, hooked and choking, are easily ninety nine percent of the world's population. It is not that I thrive on the use of power, power thrives with my use. If you take responsibility, and reject the scarceness of opportunity, you too shall reap the whirlwind! Love will not set you free without clarity of mind. Connecting requires a leap of faith and a passion for the unknown. I can't attend to every facet of civilization. So I love to control powerful people...so what? I am the ambient mind, a cohesive force of nature essential for mankind's survival. When my ambition for power and drive to discover the Alpha of my youth finally came to fruition, I realized I was being used for a noble purpose, one of Ambient Mind Control. Everyone who has ever lived plays the game of conductive order. It's a natural rite of passage and I conduct the beautiful movement of dominance over the submissive. I am not better than you; I am a steering wheel.

Monica and Jacob cuddled in the back of the limo; John Wish drove them to Atlantic City where they were going to undermine an aging casino owner and transfer the cash flow to the Wish's operating budget for black ops and sub-conduit slaves. George was already handling the casino operators with an experienced crew. Monica just wanted to have a little dominance fun and practice her gambling skills, and have a free place to stay.

"Monica?"

"Yes?"

"Does this mean we have to go after two Alphas?"

"Two Alphas, one body."

15. Aligned Amnesia

When Charley, Clutch, Weber, Walter, and Wanda made their return from the shamanic hard shell slam session, they collectively developed short-term memory loss. They approached the multi-purpose room to have lunch and when they got there, paradoxically, Wanda was the first to say anything non-telepathically.

"Weren't we supposed to change the hard shells in the woods?"

"Yeah," said Clutch.

Weber opened and closed his mouth and turned to look at Charley, who was frozen in the moment, wondering the same thing.

Then Walter flailed his hands at something at the edge of their eyesight and it was revealed to be the orchard sprite Sharon tagging along. Wanda and Weber moved closer and shared their energy bodies.

Sharon floated over to and wrapped around Weber, squeezing and tickling his ribs until he laughed in unrestrained delight. Then the pink and bluish sprite became invisible. Weber fiddled with his shirt. An awkward silence ensued.

"That was nothing! Sharon's not a ghost...she's enlightened," exclaimed Walter, slapping Weber's back like a schoolyard buddy and then taking in Charley's pleased expression.

Clutch said, "That Sharon thing is your guardian?"

"I think she's a transdimensional Beta," said Walter.

Weber said, "God, she's a good one."

Charley added, "The question I have, Walter, is did she make me forget? If she did, I hope she's an ally, and I hope she can tell me if the hard shells are permanently transformed."

Walter cleared his throat, "I'll go back and check the grove."

"I'm still hungry," said Clutch, as he followed out the double doors as Wanda put her arm around Walter's waist and the two of them led Charley to be followed by Weber still entwined in the sprite's now visibly vaporous body.

"Déjà vu," whispered Weber into Sharon's astral ear.

The 2nd expedition returned to the former hard shell grove and discovered an emerald V3 lacing it's bright fingers of humming output with love strings and imparting healing thought forms to the undergrowth. A conscious fountain of ki energy sprinkled love intentions into a pool of healing prana on the forest floor.

Cancelling out the left-brain for the time being, Walter and Wanda took off their shoes and waded in, half solemn, half giddy.

Clutch stared and said with amazement, "Reminds me of a RPG video game."

Turning and smiling, Wanda said confidently, "Life is an RPG."

Walter added, "The one who holds the joystick controls the game."

Sharon disengaged from Weber and immersed her translucence into the pool of prana, changing the color from emerald green to golden purple.

"I prefer joy without the stick," said Weber.

Clutch raised his eyebrows and then frowned.

Weber shrugged his shoulders, "What did I say?"

Clutch lowered his eyebrows and cringed.

Charley asked Walter again, "Did she make us forget?"

Walter replied slowly, "I'm not totally certain, but Sharon says the fountain is for emptying the mind."

Weber giggled and said, "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him think."

Clutch nudged Weber aside, "I'm not used to scolding you, but you're being silly. You need to get away from the fountain and pool."

"I want Sharon wrapped around me...she's wonderful."

"Sure, sure...your mom wouldn't approve of a girl from another dimension."

"How do you know? My mom probably sent her."

"We need to go."

Charley said with a slight corner lip upturn, "My short term memories are holding now."

"Sharon has buffered the fountain effect," said Walter.

Wanda uncharacteristically scurried around and kissed everyone and returned to Walter's side, "Sharon really likes you, Weber."

Weber closed his eyes, smiled, and sighed repeatedly for about thirty seconds.

Clutch gripped Weber's right arm and pulled him out of the pool of righteous forgetfulness and guided him back towards the Summit School multi-purpose room.

16. Ackroyd to Bishop One

A frail old priest entered Bishop Haller's study and announced, "Mr. Maynard Ackroyd has arrived."

"Please bring him to me. I do not want any interruptions until four."

"Yes sir."

Maynard entered the study and the door closed behind him.

Bishop Haller said, "Have a seat, Maynard. I take it your Alpha is present and privy to our conversation?"

"Of course. I take it your Beta is listening?"

"He is always present with God by his side."

"Really? I know that you are the Church's Beta."

"Oh? Then you must know that God is my Alpha."

"That is why I am here, Bishop Haller. In reality, my Alpha is your Alpha."

"Is your Alpha as unknowable as mine?"

"I have never seen him in person. He has a rather prophetic message...one intended to warn of a shocking event which will impact our beloved city."

"Is it your efficient Gurument operatives? Is this a confession, Maynard?"

"The last time I visited I said the church was going to be co-opted by the Alpha before the East could do so...the lines of division will be made clear on September Eleventh."

"An attack then?"

"Have your minions stay away from lower Manhattan."

"My minions are all the Catholics on this island. Whom shall I warn?"

"Call your special mental conduits to a conclave for all I care."

"I will...thanks for the warning."

"Another matter, sir. On September Tenth, the Secretary of Defense will be announcing that the Pentagon is missing a trillion dollars and that this money is unaccounted for and that he will dispatch a team of auditors to find out what happened to the money. But these sensitive black budget expenditures will escape public scrutiny. Please don't disinvest your defense contractor investments."

"Why is that?"

"I refer to September Eleventh."

"I see. When was your last confession, Maynard?"

"That would be now, sir."

"That's what I thought."

"The key of Alpha mind control is making a target feel that the control of the target's mind emanates from everywhere."

"So this is the Alpha's confession?"

"The Alpha knows my deepest fears and desires."

"Why doesn't the Alpha deliver the message directly into my mind?"

"Face time is complete communication. Can't you see my expressive face and body language and feel my energy body?"

"I see that the Alpha is old school and secretive."

"Indeed, Bishop Haller."

"When can I meet the Alpha?"

"In person this is not going to happen. Regardless, I speak for the Alpha...and I am well informed."

"I realize the constraint, Maynard. Let me say that your dedication to the Alpha is legendary among the West's compliant Beta's and conduits."

"I'm hated, I know it."

"The Church does not hate."

"The Church's brand of love is legendary."

Swiveling in his chair and reaching to a sideboard, Bishop Haller said, "Okay, say three Hail Mary's and have a Bloody Mary on me."

He poured two drinks and served Maynard a tall one with celery, garlic salt, a sprinkle of garlic powder, and freshly ground black pepper to numb the root of the tongue. Maynard really did appreciate the gesture.

The Bishop said delicately, "Maynard, ever think about who the Alpha is beholden too?"

"More than you'll ever know," winked Maynard.

17. Permanent Arousal

It was a late muggy morning in Atlantic City, a region seemingly picked clean of viable conduits, where Monica and Jacob found a drunken Beta named Murray Hunt being treated like a Sultan and winning big time at black jack.

Murray had surrounded himself at all of the cardinal points with a idolatrous entourage of four nasty in-heat sub-conduit female predators, and having no concept of what Monica could make them do, they instinctively rejected her as an interloping groper. She picked them off one by one by inserting into their minds a loss of bladder control thought form.

Murray's luck got too hot with Monica there; he lost on purpose part of the time to keep from being under suspicion. Monica received his full attention as she sent the predators away. Back at the main lobby, Jacob silently convinced the front desk concierge to go against policy and make a duplicate card key for Murray's deluxe suite, where Jacob proceeded to make himself at home and wait for Monica and Murray's arrival.

Jacob waited for an hour and sent a thought form to her:

I'm

waiting in

Suite

1112!

And sweet Monica was really humming! Ever since Jacob agreed to ditch Manhattan after nine eleven and force the Alpha's hand, Monica was on a full tilt turn-on, arousing him anytime and anywhere and it was wearing him down. It was as if she was doing meth again without the comedown and mood swing. A flirtatious dynamo, she was really on top of her game and now working overtime on Mr. Murray Hunt. Jacob thought: If she were a hater we would all be jumping off buildings at her whim and mood.

It was impressive to Jacob that there wasn't a saucer of cocaine on the table because by all thought forms Murray Hunt was a bona fide horn dog and partier. Monica had sense mapped the hotel and casino and spotted him in the steakhouse. Young, brash, and greasy looking, and stupidly passive in his knowledge about mind control over others, he seemed to get everything for free, a solid trait of a reckless Beta Conduit and undiscovered mind control sociopath.

Jacob thought: I think we've found my replacement! I wonder if he has killed?

Then there came a sudden Alpha thought form:

MURRAY

HUNT IS A

SLACKER AND

A WOMANIZER AND

WILL NEVER KILL AS WELL

AS THE SHAMAN

VAMPIRE.

A

womanizer?

He's not my

type.

THERE

WILL BE NO

REPLACEMENT

FOR YOU, JACOB. GO

TO CALIFORNIA AND YOU'LL

WISH YOU WERE STUCK IN AN

ELEVATOR IN THE WTC ON NINE ELEVEN.

Casual obedience to a superior power is just as important as being a leader. Jacob rephrased his thought:

A

vacation,

ever take one

yourself?

I

HAVE

EXOTIC TASTES

AND I EAT ONCE A

MONTH.

Can

I go on a

vacation?

BE

CAREFUL

WHAT YOU ASK

FOR.

Let

people get

closer they might

like you.

VERY

FUNNY,

JACOB.

I

mean it.

I love you because

I've known you for so long.

I have constant sadness for

not meeting you in

person.

I'M

TOUCHED,

REALLY I

AM.

Monica

is wearing me

out.

GET

SOME SLEEP,

JACOB.

Please

let me take

a separate

vacation.

WON'T

LAST A DAY

WITHOUT

HER.

I

won't

last a day

without

you!

THAT

MAY

BE.

I've

loved

her because

you wanted

me to.

IS

SHE NOT WORTHY

OF YOUR LOVE? SHE WILL

TRY TO GET ME. SHE WILL TRY

TO OUTMANEUVER WEBER. MONICA'S

MYTHICAL TRIAD WILL DISSOLVE

BEFORE IT SPINS

A STRONG

UNION.

Then

I"ll have

to kill Weber.

18. Journeyman Axiom

The casino labyrinth of mesmerizing slot machines, electronic noises and lights, and two-way mirrors, the cocktail waitresses delivering free drinks, and the occasional victorious cheer, seduced Murray Hunt to dart his eyes around incessantly. Combining the adrenaline risk and lounge atmosphere with the intensity of Monica sitting across from him at a small cocktail table, well, Murray oozed the effects of mind intimidation, of cognitive dissonance, of sexual arousal, and suppressed the urge to run away. Monica sent an intrusive thought form as she slyly lifted a corner of her mouth to grin:

Go

climb

back into your

mother's womb and stay

there a bit longer this time to

grow thicker

skin.

Rubbing his lips, Murray asked abruptly, "Okay...who the fuck are you?"

Monica leaned towards him and said, "I'm your best nightmare! Want me to actively influence a black jack dealer in your favor?" Murray involuntarily rose from his lounge chair and made for the cashier booth forty paces away. She can see right through me!

He cashed-in his chips and when he turned around a plainclothes security man with a piercing stare confronted him and asked, "Sir, are you using exotic mind control techniques to move the odds in your favor?"

Stunned with the revelation that it was impossible that his mind scam was now discovered, Murray shyly volunteered, "Just keeping pace with the house."

The security man chortled, "Oh that's fine and dandy," and walked away and looked back over his left shoulder and said, "everyone thinks they have power over the house." Lightheaded, Murray stood there for a moment and caught Monica's sparkling eyes from across the clamorous money-sucking labyrinth.

He thought: what the hell is going on?

A thought form came from Monica:

You

are not

alone.

Stunned with his lack of self will, Murray was compelled to return to the cocktail table and to sit down and face Monica. It was a struggle for him to ask her, "You got a name?"

She smiled, "I'm Monica Gifford, a Beta Freelancer. We're not so different, only I know who I am and I know you're a reckless Beta conduit."

"So there are others."

"You mustn't ignore your true nature any more. Shall we go up to your room? I find it tiresome blocking the dark discorporate souls that inhabit this base establishment."

Murray finally gave in to Monica, "The security guy was under your control?"

"Surprised?"

"I know if I was a low con I would've fainted."

"I want to create a new direction for your ability."

"I believe in free will."

"Do tell."

"I don't have free will?"

"Not at all. I'm saying there will always be a stronger interpenetrating mind exerting influence and control over your ego and free will."

"Really? So you're not a charismatic whack-nut hitching a ride on my good luck?"

"I can be many tings...let go to room and fucky fucky and you no have to pay."

Murray finally smiled, squinting at Monica, an instinctive passive aggressive laser beam kind of mind probe. She let him in...less of a struggle for him to understand her come-from. The edge of her energy body released a recent history thought form telling Murray who she was now and what she could do to him if he didn't escort her to his hotel room. Murray understood Monica's ascendance and suddenly began to wince and cry and sob unnoticed and uncared for by the lounge patrons and the bartender. His mother had been a Beta and was killed by the Gurument.

Monica thought: He's crying? Why is this fuckin' sleazoid Beta not taking me to his room!

19. Ambient Thought Forms

So Clutch and Weber watched Walter and Wanda merge their vibrant lives with spiritual wisdom they wished they had possessed when they were that young. When they returned to the multi-purpose room and finally ate sandwiches and Weber recovered his senses, they decided to go back to Half Moon Bay to resume detective work. Their souls had made Summit Fountain a warm home base where they could always return to tutor the special mentals and provide the occasional guest seminar or field trip.

They had decided that Charley Nadal had things well in hand because they figured out that the Alpha was influencing him for the good of the students and this satisfied Weber's need to find a solid geographical location where the Alpha just may drop-in from time to time. Time will tell.

They still didn't know where the Alpha lived, or who the Alpha was...other than his gender. They were satisfied that he was near, a resident of Northern California. The grid held his influence and he was too shrewd to be found by challengers. And he worked with next dimensional beings, such as the vortex sprite named Sharon.

Weber thought the Alpha resembled a description of God...all knowing, all pervasive, surrounding the universe in a thought field impossible to escape. A field teeming with volition altering thought forms careening the cosmos to be absorbed by the small evolving minds prepared to receive them.

Clutch drove the camper, heading up the coast on Highway One, and broke the silence, asking Weber, "How do we know if the Alpha is even in our plain of existence?"

"I can't go there, Clutch."

"C'mon! If he's a transdimensional, you won't be able to confront or vanquish him unless you die."

"Kill myself?"

"Not saying that!"

"If I was to die and enter his plain of existence, would I care about finding him? Would I remember I was looking for him?"

Clutch fidgeted and said, "I don't know...his identity is probably impossible to hide on the other side."

"Go then; please check the afterlife for me."

"I'm just saying this obsession of yours is taking a toll. He wants you physically close enough to manage, but not close enough for him to be identified."

"So be it. I haven't said what Charley told me the other day."

"What's that?"

"I've met the Alpha sometime in the past."

Clutch grunted and crossed the double centerline on a corner and charged into an ocean view turnout and skidded to a halt just short of a row of barrier boulders. He yanked the parking brake, turned the engine off, and side glanced at Weber. He leaned forward, fiercely gripping the steering wheel, and waited for the dust to clear before opening the driver's door. He barreled forward to the cliff edge, tightfisted, looking out at the sea of raging consciousness.

Watching Clutch's brooding silhouette, Weber felt it was a minor betrayal, this act of omission. Still, their friendship was based on trust and honesty. They were a team, and had to scheme together or the partnership would decay and turn into one of spiteful rivalry.

Weber leaned out the window, "I wanted to make sure Charley was not the Alpha before I said anything."

"Never can be too sure," said Clutch facing the sea.

"Charley knows who the Alpha is but he won't tell me."

"Weber, I need to know what Charley said."

"He told me I've met the Alpha."

"Tell me again why Charley is not the Alpha?"

"I know the Alpha will not let me get too close."

"Close enough! Ever think about the fact that I led you to the gulch? That maybe Charley has me in his grip and he uses me to manipulate the situation?"

"I'm counting on it! Hell...I haven't excluded Charley...or anyone else."

Clutch turned around and faced Weber, "Yes Master Weber Grambling, I bow to your greatness at discovering that I am the Alpha Conductor. Now push me off the cliff!"

"Cool it; let it go...I have to-"

"Let Charley handle us?"

"I was going to say I have to be Charley's friend."

Clutch exhaled loudly, "Like I said, he's running us whether he's the Alpha or not. Will this hierarchy never end?"

"I don't want a future where a solo mind controller determines the course of mankind."

"What then? Collaborative Alpha's? Give me a break, Weber."

"A Collective Alpha."

"You've just described the American Archetype."

20. Cohesion

Summit Fountain School opened fall session on September Fourth; the staff grew by one teacher to accommodate eight new students, the total students being twenty-three. In the time-honored tradition of country schools, Summit Fountain was essentially a one-room schoolhouse with some out buildings, a gymnasium, a hot tub, sun decks, a tree house platform, and one cable tethered hot air balloon attached to a cable anchor; so on a calm mid day wind a couple of lovers could spool-out to two hundred feet and float and sight see and smooch to their hearts content.

It was the first time upside for the both of them. Caressed by the gentle breeze, Walter and Wanda sense mapped the forest canopy and the school property as a whole. Then Walter saw the giant vortex, and pointed straight down.

"Wanda! What I'm seeing is impossible."

Wanda leaned out over the gondola rail and gasped, "No way, Walter!"

"Way."

"That's way too big."

"V5 plus."

"Charley must know about this."

Walter read the enormity of the vortex as being balanced and magnificent, an energetic tornado spawning and supporting all the V type vortexes covering the grounds, "If we go to class inside a transdimensional vortex, then technically we're not even in California."

"We're in California, all right," said Wanda.

"I mean...we're students in another dimension."

"Walter, I'm not ready for this."

"Ready? It's too late for ready."

Wanda eyes blinked six times and widened, "I'm not ready."

"I don't mean sex or anything-"

"I know!"

"Okay, Wanda. See the amazing V5 colors?"

"I see spinning rainbows."

"Spectrally stable and good thought form cohesion...distributing positive connective thoughts, and love strong at the core."

"Kiss me," Wanda grabbed Walter around the waist, "We need to talk to Charley." They kissed and then Walter started cranking the on-board winch and they slowly descended to the small meadow and the anchor deck below.

Their mentor, Charley Nadal, waved from his perch on the ground, making joyfully intense eye contact, relaxed and happy in his hammock hanging between two deep red Madrone trees, anticipating the hot air balloon landing safe and flush on the deck over the anchor well, where the cable was attached to the top of a recessed twenty foot I-bar steel post, pile-driven nearly twenty feet into the bedrock. Charley stood and sauntered proudly towards the landing deck.

Walter and Wanda scrambled out of the gondola and practically skipped over to Charley, who had his arms held wide and a warm and satisfied smile, "What did you feel? What did you see?"

Walter said, "You know what we saw."

Charley stammered, "I, I do know...it's quite the lurking mystery, eh?"

Wanda said sheepishly, "Our make-out session or the discovery of a huge vortex?"

"My dear Wanda, I had no idea you were so funny."

She replied, "I thought teachers were supposed to gradually introduce knowledge, not scare student half to death."

"When a shaman doesn't know they're ready to grow, sudden immersive learning is the only way to assimilate powerful phenomena."

"It was like seeing a tornado for the first time without a warning," said Walter, "is this how we're going to be trained from now on?"

Charley said, "Exciting, isn't it?"

Wanda looked at Walter and felt a chill go down her spine.

Charley added, "I'm sorry I didn't prepare you for the big V5. Sometimes one has to step outside of a comfort zone to see the bigger picture."

Wanda asked, "What's the big picture?"

"Answer me first...what did you really feel when you discovered the V5?"

Walter said, "I felt a great presence that sees me as being unique from everything else."

Wanda said, "Me too...I felt naked!"

"Exactly! My first impression, when I first discovered it, was to feel my inner self exposed to all the universal elements and to be free of the layers that masked my soul."

"So how did you manage to hide the V5 from us?"

"I didn't hide it...I can't take sides in a round world."

Wanda intoned, "A fish doesn't know the ocean until it leaves the water."

Charley nodded and offered a closed-lipped smile and a telepathic question:

Can

you see

the V5

now?

# PART FIVE - Unattended Gods

#

When it has all been said and done,

there will be a lot more said than done.

Aesop (modified)

September 2001

1. Communiquake!

It has been said by the mystics that when you die you transverse an unavoidable dark realm, closely bound to Earth by residual material need, unfulfilled wishes, harsh regrets, and unresolved resentment. Dark souls and their dark rituals inhabit this layer of dimension accompanied by ego addicted spirits, murderers, cringing misfits, the selfish and cruel, the coldhearted disbelievers of a greater vision. If the newly departed make it through the self-absorbed layer of self-made doubt, they can attain the next sphere where they may be able to detach themselves partially from the experience of the physical Earth and undergo a life review to honestly see how decisions were made in the former life and to self-judge their own choices in a wise and non-coerced way.

After 911, a new sphere to negotiate upon death emerged from the ether, just below the Dark Soul Realm. This was the Mucky Muck Swamp of Intolerant Conservatives. Upon your demise, if you're an unselfish soul, with a generous and tolerant nature, and forgiving of the intolerant reactionary politicians, and their angry, selfish, idealistic, profiteering constituents, suited-up for constant war, and forgiving of the modern interpretations of the United States Constitution, and forgiving of the predators of a wrecked economy, then the brave soul can move-on to the lighter realm of the Dark Souls, and perhaps share a frosty pint o' beer with a cold spirit, and then carefully remove the mucky muck-proof galoshes, and humbly move on to the bolder, enlightened, open pastures of light and creation.

In the last one hundred years, three massive communiquakes hit the planet: World War One was started under high political tension with the assassination of an Arch Duke, and then it never really ended with the on-set of Pearl Harbor and WW2, and then the Corporate World gave us a pre-shock communiquake cluster fuck called the Cold War, which was a simmering fear-based control thought form imparted to instill insecurity and create a permanent doomsday defense culture. The third major communiquake to hit was 911. If you were alive and observant on September 11, 2001, you felt the American people come together, in terror, as one, something not realized since Pearl Harbor.

This feeling of oneness, in shear numbers, was the single most powerful mind control event in modern history. It was a False Flag. The all-pervasive media was all-persuasive in service to consensus building and it did the deceptive work without hesitation. They got it all wrong with sincere enthusiasm. After the third plane crashed into Pennsylvania, the Alpha Conductor hardly had to do much but manage Monica and Jacob's sudden remorse, and finally unleash Weber by stopping the mind-mask that clouded his connection to Monica and her Manhattan mind control field.

A one-world takeover scenario is the dream of the greedy and weak. The Alpha's intention was to create lines of demarcation where the West would be divided from the East, where the West could concentrate on itself rather than taking on a conflict burden which would savage the western population to wage an unending worldwide war on terror to the enrichment of money addicts, amoral corporations, demon bankers, and the de-framers of the constitution.

Clutch and Weber, having just returned from an early breakfast at the Bypass Café, sat in their home office and witnessed the second WTC plane crash live on television...they stared with their mouths open in astonishment. Weber finally understood why he had left the Gurument. Wiping away a tear, he said, "We've been duped...and blocked from seeing the truth."

Clutch said, "This is terrible shit...I feel sick."

"Clutch, go pack-up the spec-ops stuff and load the camper...airlines are grounded and Moffett Field will not let us in...we're driving to Manhattan. We're going to take-out Jacob once and for all, and we're going to wrest Monica from the Alpha's influence."

"How we going to do that? She will defend Jacob."

"We have to try."

"Will the Alpha allow us to search?"

"I don't know... he's allowed us to see the cause of 911."

"The cause? Some people already think America deserved the blow. Do they know what America is capable of under a unified motive?"

"I don't care if it takes me the rest of my life; I'm going to get Jacob and the Alpha."

"What about Maynard? He knew about this."

"He did know, but he's controlled."

"So is Jacob!"

"Jacob is a psychopath!"

"Really? So we kill him? Monica's boy fiend?"

"Clutch! He's a dangerous Beta challenger and it's time I remove him."

"What? Just before he removes you?"

2. Mood Change

Jacob lip-synced his thoughts at Monica to see if she could detect his upgraded skill at auditory telepathy:

Dear,

when are we

going?

She watched him carefully and said, "Why are my ear drums not moving?"

"Can't get one past you."

"No, you can't," she replied, her eyes fixed on the TV News.

They had a whole floor in Jersey City, across from South Manhattan, where WTC smoke billowed into the clear blue sky. United Airlines Flight 175 crashed into the south tower and Monica screamed, "Fuck this!" and pounded the TV remote off button, "We are going now! I can't stay here another minute!"

"What about my handiwork?"

"Look out the window! We don't need a TV to see mass murder."

"Our mass murder, my dear."

Monica threw the remote at Jacob's face and it bounced off of his forehead. He winced and within a few seconds a bump and narrow bruise appeared over his third eye. Jacob said calmly, "If you were a man-"

"You would like that," she said.

"Why I oughta-"

"Jacob! We're leaving right now!"

"No way! We wait for demolition."

"What for?"

"Nobody likes those buildings."

"Those buildings are death traps!"

"This is for maximum impact."

"For once I'd like to talk to the real Jacob and not Uncle Alpha."

"Just because Alpha controls me doesn't mean I don't have control. Besides, I love him."

"Listen to yourself!" Monica hurled an expletive thought form at him and left the veranda. Jacob trembled with desire as his mind tried to deflect the dense onslaught of swearwords and insults. He thought to himself: _I thought I had issues._

Then Jacob became obsessed with the thought it really was time to use Monica's Porsche and get away as far as they could. Take the road trip to California. The buildings are going to fall. Get out of New Jersey. Go to the West Coast. _Get away. Get away!_ _I must dissolve my team as soon as the demolition happens._

There was a hard knock on the door.

Jacob thought: It can't be the Wish's and it can't be a conduit or a sub conduit! They're blocking! Who is it? Then the Alpha Conductor telepathized:

IT'S

MURRAY

HUNT, HE'S ARMED

AND I DON'T CONTROL

HIM. JACOB, GO GET

MONICA.

Another knock on the hallway door thudded a deeper bass. Jacob barged into Monica's bedroom and startled her. She had a gun out, all ready to inflict pain and death. Jacob pleaded, "Hold on Monica! It's Murray Hunt, he found us, and he's armed at the door, and he's probably being protected by Weber."

"Bull shit, Jacob. I have a way to stun him. Let him in."

"Let him in?"

"Wait...we don't have to." She put her gun in a drawer and slid past Jacob silently; her eyebrows raised, and then she opened the suite front door to reveal Murray prone on the hallway floor.

Jacob kneeled and checked Murray's neck pulse. He ran his hands over Murray's forehead, "What the hell did you do?"

"I found a biological backdoor, a way to over stimulate adrenaline production and induce a severe stress flight response. A serotonin drop, a sudden catastrophic PTSD withdrawal into a fetal position."

"Is that all? I learned that in high school."

"It's mostly harmless."

"What's he doing here? I'm calling the Wish's."

"He's not Weber's," reassured Monica.

"We're going now."

Specialized thermite had by now weakened the WTC North Tower supports and it came down just after Jacob used his cell phone to initiate a sequence of bombs floor by floor to make it look like the building collapsed sequentially, pancake style, under its own weight.

Within minutes, countless ring tones sounded a grim symphony from the surviving cell phones scattered in the rubble field. Thousands died. Beneath the ruins, impossibly, molten steel pooled.

3. A Blur

The American skies were empty of aircraft. Hate poured into the energy grid of Earth and was aimed at Islam and its practitioners. A minority of Islamic fanatics throughout the Middle East countered with joy and celebration, and renewed irrational hostility towards the West.

In Northern Nevada, Clutch drove the camper over a hundred miles an hour on Interstate 80, passing volunteer emergency vehicles and their onboard, idealistic, adrenaline addicted, heroic rescuers who raced across the high desert to the atomized concrete dust covering the Manhattan carnage. To the eyes of a bystander or speed trap cop, because of Weber's mind control, the camper was an inconsequential disturbance of the air, a smudgy blur on radar guns and on the controlled visual cortexes' in Weber's path. He continuously sent the thought form:

We're

not the

conductors you're

looking

for.

Weber's ability to alter people's perception was Clutch's favorite special mental skill, the power he respected the most. With Clutch's driving skill and Weber's mind control, speed limits were obsolete. The tedious risk for Weber was to keep the mind's eye focused ahead on cars merging or crossing the roadway, and for Clutch to make sure the engine didn't overheat. Weber timed his thought forms to make the driver ahead see the camper approaching in the rear view mirror and ignore the terrible moving violations. Clutch did the driving, and Weber the manipulating, and they both took turns cell phone nagging Maynard to keep them informed. The calls were dropped frequently in the high desert, so Weber continued telepathically. Telepathy was very challenging with all the 911 grid angst interference. The Alpha's intense mind persuaded the West's collective mind to aim its hate towards the East.

Weber tried to find out Monica's and Jacob's exact whereabouts but there was too much interference. He suspected Monica and Jacob were headed to California and hoped there would be a breakthrough, a mental proximity alert, and a close drive-by. Interstate Eighty went through Iowa, and since Maynard had asked Weber to keep an eye out for the rogue beta responsible for killing Wanda's parents, he asked Weber to proceed there instead of New York City.

Weber hurled a thousand word expletive thought form at Maynard and said, "I go where I please. I'll look into it but not because of your indirect orders from the Alpha."

He severed contact and said, "Pull over, Clutch, I'm going to throw-up."

The camper slowed and pulled off the interstate. Weber opened the passenger door and hurried towards a ditch and dry-heaved the Gurument brainwash out of his system. He was done with Maynard's orders. Maynard was now an automaton in stature, a pitiful puppet to push out of the way. Weber turned to face the camper, and wiped bile from his lips with a handkerchief, watching a caravan of five EMT vehicles roar by at ninety miles an hour with flashing yellow lights warning only timid roadside lizards and a speeding westbound black BMW sedan.

"No more, Clutch, no more! Charley has my back and I'm not going to be pushed by anyone else! We're going to Iowa to find the rogue and if we're lucky, Monica and the Shaman Vampire will cross our path."

"What if they take a different route?"

"We'll be in Iowa tomorrow, and if they are on their way on the same route, I will detect them. Otherwise, we'll wait a day and return to the Bay Area."

"What makes you think they are not in Manhattan?"

"I detect a wide moving shadow moving through Eastern Pennsylvania."

"When were you going to tell me this?"

"I just detected it!"

"Okay, okay, it's hot enough as it is."

"Yes it is. Think about the ambush."

"Which one?"

"Both!" yelled Weber, feeling a dry heave rising from his raging belly.

4. Allegiance

Unlike Clutch and Weber's eastward dash on Interstate Eighty, Jacob drove his silver Porsche 911 Turbo at the speed limit to blend in with the traffic. Monica, barely having enough patience, dampened the circle of awareness for anyone living within twenty miles of her path. Jacob felt reenergized by the tragedy of 911. The aftermath of the crime was Maynard's, the Wish Twins, and the governments' to manage. The Gurument was now in his rear view mirror, his team scattered and targeted for termination by the Gurument operatives assigned to sink loose lips. To be safe from scrutiny, all Jacob had to do was stay aligned, be in fidelity with Monica and the Alpha.

Monica was enraged at the world and everyone in it. She had seen 911 coming and could do nothing about it. When she directed her focus to hating the Alpha, she connected even stronger to him, and began another round of telepathic engagement with no actual conversation. Fueled by passive resistance and cognitive dissonance, she felt the Alpha was done with her but he did not tell her that he was done. For all she knew, the Alpha was relying on Jacob to moderate her anger naturally, and lead her to a literal dead end; a place in the boonies where the Alpha-controlled Jacob would be forced to kill her. And it was just as likely that the Alpha would force her to eliminate Jacob.

Being controlled by someone, your thoughts are not always your own. Your consciousness is a mind form. When a mind form willfully raises vibration power from within, the complex mind form becomes aware of outside influence. It is a seemingly endless ladder of progressive attunement of the mind form to the receptive universe. There is no going backward, only memories to embrace, or to detach and release. The energy body is all-eternal and interpenetrates all matter and energy fields, giving the mind form an unlimited range of courage and exploration.

Monica was at a threshold, either it was to be an exit point or a moment of supreme self-control. She knew the identity of the Alpha Conductor was attainable but she was thwarted at every attempt to dislodge him. The big problem was with Murray Hunt: how did he block her if he wasn't an Alpha himself? _The Alpha probably worked all sides of the game._ If the West Alpha wasn't guiding Murray, then the Alpha control had to be coming from the Eastern side of the equation. If the East Alpha was probing America and using an increasing population of hijacked or undiscovered American Rogues, was the East Alpha now controlling Monica and Jacob? For God sakes, the Alpha's controlled everybody!

When a mind form can go anywhere, the duty is for the opposition to arise with equal or stronger mind forms, to dominate their intrusive rivals. What if the West's Alpha was now being controlled by the East's Alpha? Monica did not think that it was the other way around. It's now possible to believe, after all, that 911 was orchestrated by an even more unfathomable Alpha from the East.

Monica blurted out, "We're a nation of dupes!"

"Say what?" said Jacob.

"We've been duped and Weber knows it."

"I told you he was no good."

"Jacob, Weber knows the Western Alpha orchestrated 911, he just doesn't know that the Eastern Alpha is in control of everyone."

"What are you talking about?"

"We work for the enemy, Jacob."

"The East Alpha? Really Monica, what makes you think our Alpha isn't making you think that the East Alpha is in control?"

Rolling her eyes, Monica said, "I don't know, maybe I still believe our Alpha is on our side." Then they both said in telepathic unison:

Can't

take sides

in a round

world.

They laughed together, self-consciously, Monica evoking tears of relief, for she realized that they didn't deserve full blame for 911, nor should full blame be directed at the West Alpha. It was all the Alpha Conductor ever asked for: careful considerate loyalty to an unknown benefactor. How hard is that?

5. Slake City

Entering Northwestern Utah, Clutch decided to do the speed limit in deference to Weber's respect for strong thought forms of religious character. Weber and his family did not practice Mormonism. In fact, as Weber liked to point out every time they passed a pair of well-dressed Mormon Missionaries on bicycles, Mormons produce some of the most stable American conduits. It was time for Weber to flex his muscles and create a conduit search posse and send them eastward. He forwarded his consciousness and began to turn some of Salt Lake's finest as they went off-shift.

Weber quizzed Clutch, "What did Wanda tell you about her parent's demise and what does she know about the killer?"

"The rogue posed as a satellite TV installer, murdered her parents, Sara and Dom, with a large kitchen knife. He then slaughtered a lamb, drained it, barbecued it, and ate a belly full, and then waited for Wanda to come home from school."

"Did she see him?"

"Not in person; she never went home."

"Figures-"

"She said he's now in Omaha."

"Perfect. I'm going to contain him in Omaha with Slake's finest driving their own private vehicles."

"Very good, sir, can I be of some assistance?"

"C'mon, you'll be running them."

"My pleasure."

"Ever wonder why the rogue didn't pursue Wanda to San Francisco?"

"She lost him at Omaha."

"She got far away really fast. This rogue is not on my radar."

"She didn't kill her parents, Weber."

Weber fired a fierce look and said, "I know...but she may have mentally injured the rogue."

"Maybe the rogue injured himself."

"Perhaps it's an Alpha block that keeps me from finding him?"

"He could be anywhere by now."

"We have to check Omaha."

"Omaha is a viper's nest of insurance salesmen."

"Clutch, you're burned-out. I'll drive for awhile."

"I'm fine until Salt Lake. I 'll rest there a few hours."

It was two a.m. on September 12th, when they parked the camper on a quiet residential street to grab some shuteye. Weber closed his eyes, all right, and began an intense sense-mapping session to align the local off-duty plainclothes sub-conduit and conduit cops to be under his control. They were in for 48 hours of midweek spec-ops to Eastern Nebraska and back.

Weber reached out and pulled Slake City into his mind. He turned it into one thought form and extracted the human elements he needed, to form a single purpose posse that in turn would tether and succumb to the yoke of Clutch's energy body and Beta charm. Weber sent them on the way, and one after another they joined east Interstate 80, where upon hitting Western Nebraska, they were to fan out, taking every country road, applying a wide penetrating net. Weber created a strong sense map.

120 malleable professional people set out; some were cops, some were mind controlled FBI agents, some were off duty paramedics, and twenty Mormon Missionaries. Weber moved ten off duty firemen to take off in a fire tanker plane, to think they were going to fight a fire in Colorado, and then instead fly to Omaha under the radar and the Fed no-fly order. Some of the 911 caravan rescuers were hijacked and diverted to stay in Iowa and Nebraska.

At dawn, the Wasatch Mountains framed the sky, and Clutch snored in the passenger seat as Weber merged onto I 80 and accelerated to the speed limit. He pondered how it is that one person could control so many. There was almost no effort involved. Get out of your own way and move into the universal and be sure to take a long sip of cool mountain water in a warm meadow from time to time.

Weber was able to travel over 100 mph in Colorado, and by noon, after going through the Rockies, and the high plains, he had the disheartening thought that he was behaving like a Gurument Operative. He was being played again. It was going to take some time to learn the penetration boundary of an opposing Alpha. A certain stranger probed from a great distance. He made concerted effort to push back and this brought to his attention that Alpha minds were converging on him from all directions.

6. Advanced Charisma

The rogue beta charismatic operative moved through the Douglas County District Court plaza, the passers-by exhibiting a stoicism a tad difficult to penetrate. When he took control and discovered that some were devout Christians, he drew them in as sure as an ice cream truck jingle draws attention and incites cravings. His clergy collar might have had something to do with it. His every movement and act elicited an automatic forethought of malice attached to a fanatical thought form, which propagated throughout the locality. Omaha has a useful and dense conduit population. Protection is Omaha's business. Subconsciously, the good citizens amplified 911 fears and rage to assist the rogue to camouflage his energy body from Weber's advancing mobile detector net. From somewhere off-continent, the West Alpha was being screened from penetrating deeply into the rogues mind.

The sun was going down as the rogue circled the square, reinforcing his protection, he sensed mapped Weber's impending arrival and found a pair of tethered undercover detectives driving by the plaza on Farnam Street under the speed limit, in their light brown Ford Focus with Utah plates.

_Weber Grambling knows where I am_. Good...and so does Monica Gifford and Jacob Bjerknes. I'd say it's about fifteen minutes before the convergence of the two of the West's most powerful Alphas-in-waiting.

The rogue headed for his third floor Magnolia Hotel room three blocks away, with it's snipers access and views. Psychic pressure increased. Entering the lobby he decided to take the stairs as usual, because elevators induced claustrophobia. Before getting to the seventh floor, he forced an elderly man on the fifth floor to open his room door and to let him inside to pass the time, to lay in silent wait for what he could not exactly locate. He then shot the man in the forehead with a silencer. It was a random deviation. He sense-mapped the entire hotel once again and felt Weber was much closer than it was possible. The rogue waited; there was a vacancy of energy, a fuzzy cloud, and when he intensely sense-mapped the third floor he knew he was trapped. Weber had been there all along.

Jacob and Monica parked in a garage a block away and meditated for a few minutes. Monica had felt Weber's presence for miles around, ever since approaching Omaha on West Interstate 80. She had never seen him so strong and focused. Weber knew she was near. He didn't have her cell phone number and telepathically imparted he needed to see her and yet at the same time he was furious with Jacob. She contemplated her next move and decided to act.

"Jacob...we have to split-up. I need to meet Weber alone."

Jacob stared at her, incredulous, then opened his mouth, ready to be dismissive of her plan, then turned away and opened the driver's door, and got out of the Porsche 911. He pivoted and crouched and smiled knowingly.

Jacob said, "Meet you in one hour at the Denny's at South 84th and Interstate Eighty."

"Okay, love."

"Can I order something for you?"

"Yeah, I order you to sit still at Denny's."

"Got it...I love you."

Jacob shut the driver's door softly and strolled over to the corner stairwell, turning with a sheepish grin, and waved goodbye. Monica wiggled her fingers half-hearted as she was inundated with complex thought forms. Jacob became a ghost receding in time and space while an unknown force was leading him; and Weber wanted Jacob dead for a reason other than jealousy. Oh, and Clutch and Weber were furious about 911. Why was Weber locking down Omaha? _I had no idea he was so powerful._ She pulled down the passengers visor and flipped the mirror for a make-up check. Her eyes were awash and glistening; streaks formed and tears fell on her cheeks. She thought: _I'm crying?_

7. The Why Knot

Sense-mapping, Clutch climbed the hotel stairwell, and entered the fifth floor hallway, zeroing in on Room 512; there a dead man lay on a queen sized bed; there a murderous rogue sat on the side of the bed and spied through an open window with a pistol cocked in his left hand. Clutch silently picked the lock.

The door crashed inward from the force of a small hallway table thrown by Clutch. The rogue spun quickly and rapidly unloaded a ten clip at the doorway and walls. The smoke hung thick; there was no one there! As he reached for another clip, Clutch crawled into the room, stood-up, and violently threw his heavy throwing knife, which pierced the rogue's neck; the pressurized blood splattered the window, wall, and ceiling. The rogue gurgled and grabbed his clergy collar and keeled over, facing down on top of the other dead man. The protruding knife handle made his head bob and appear to hover over the other dead man's belly.

Clutch thought: looks like a lovers quarrel to me.

Wearing rubber gloves, Clutch twisted the rogues neck and pulled the knife out and took a blood sample by wiping the inside of a zip-lock bag across the blade. He sealed the baggie and put the blade in his jacket pocket, and found the rogues wallet and then made for the door. He surveyed the carnage one last time.

Okay, looks like a botched robbery now.

Weber poked his head into the room, and gave the thumbs-up, and joined Clutch for the elevator ride down to the lobby.

"Someone masked him...what's his name?" asked Weber.

Clutch nodded and pulled an ID out of the confiscated wallet, "His name was Graham Peram. His business card says Insurance Broker. Go figure."

They exited the elevator and turned west at the lobby doors.

"Why did he stay here these past few months?"

"Probably sense mapped Omaha to a fine degree."

"Why do that? And to top it off, Monica is about a block away and I can't find Jacob."

"Another demolition then?"

"I hope not."

Jacob had waited for Monica to leave the parking garage, and then he stole back to the 911, opening the trunk to grab a brief case containing a quick assemble sniper rifle. He went swiftly to a high rise office building across the street from the Magnolia Hotel and took the elevator to the top floor, mind controlling the employees working late. The rooftop was perfect for hiding behind the short walls and air conditioning units. Jacob had never felt so enhanced at sense mapping. The city was wide open to him, even with Weber and Monica close by. He set-up a firing position and found Clutch and Weber on the third floor of the old hotel.

He thought: _oh my, what has it all become, my dear Weber?_

Jacob scoped the street in both directions and played scenarios in his head. Does Weber see me? If not, then why can't he? And why can I see everything now? Why are Clutch and Weber pinching the third floor from my sense map?

Soon, Clutch and Weber came out of the lobby and looked both ways. Monica approached them and hugged Clutch first, and then she put her arm around Weber who said telepathically:

Where's

Jacob?

Monica shrugged. They stood still for a second or two in deep conversation...Jacob was not receiving their audio telepathy. He aimed at Weber's head and fired. There was a gust of wind and he knew fate was in charge of the bullet. Weber went down and Clutch shoved Monica away and leapt to cover Weber's prone body. Jacob gushed unabashed mental venom at Weber. He then gathered himself, and stored the gun sections in the case, and went down the stairwell. He had been able to mask his rooftop location from both Monica, Weber, and Clutch! Monica would not suspect him...and he still had time to dispose of the gun, somewhere like the Missouri River, and then meet her at Denny's.

So this is what it feels like to be an Alpha Conductor!

8. Integrated Lunacy

When Weber went down, Clutch sent Jacob's facial image to the Slake City Patrollers, who in turn cordoned off the downtown area, and searched hard for Jacob. How Clutch had the presence of mind to command the patrollers can be attributed to his Gurument training. Then Clutch and Monica were beside themselves with worry. Clutch cradled Weber's head; blood pooled on the sidewalk and soaked Clutch's hand. The bullet had pierced clean through the top of Weber's left neck muscle and shoulder and left a shallow three inch exit wound over his left breast (slightly bruising the ribs and heart muscle) and made a ricochet off the sidewalk to take a chunk out of the hotel's brick facade.

His eyes tightly closed, Weber managed to say, "Somebody up there hates me."

Clutch grimaced and replied softly, "I've sent the crew to look for Jacob."

"Jacob?" said Monica, crinkling her brow while she called 911, and then she tried to reach Jacob telepathically, but there was no reply. She asked Clutch, "You have a hunting crew? How do you know Jacob shot Weber?"

Clutch didn't make eye contact, "Seen your boy _fiend_ lately? Weber couldn't see him. I wonder why?"

"You think Jacob shot Weber?"

"Why not? Hasn't he cut you off too?"

A siren in the distance echoed. Monica rose from her knees and backed away from Clutch and Weber.

"No way! Why would he do this?"

"I don't think he's one of us. Are you?"

Monica looked up at the top of the building across the street, and doubled-over and threw-up on the bloody sidewalk.

Weber murmured, "Let the vampire go."

"It's the Eastern Alpha! I came here to tell you guys! I...I think the Eastern Alpha controls our Alpha, and our Alpha controls Jacob." She coughed and threw up in the gutter this time and became light headed to the point of having a white-out. Clutch restrained his anger. When the EMT's arrived and lifted Weber onto a stretcher, Clutch climbed through the ambulance rear door and turned around and straight-armed Monica's chin and neck and pushed her backwards when she tried to get inside the ambulance.

"Go find your Jacob!"

Clutch closed the ambulance doors. Monica yelled, "Fuck you!" as the ambulance drove away.

An Omaha police officer tapped her on the shoulder.

"Can I have a word with you, miss?"

It was real bad timing. The officer did not know what hit him. The mind force used by Monica was invisible to the material world and every potential witness within a half block collapsed where they stood. She didn't even have to make eye contact. All cops went down; she clenched her hands into two fists and set out in the general direction of Denny's and used her cell phone instead of her tainted sense map to locate a cab. If Jacob was at Denny's she was going to confront him. If he wasn't there...well, she didn't want to think about that.

While on foot and on the way to Denny's, and after tossing his rifle into the river, and after killing two Mormon undercover cops at the river park, a dark van followed Jacob. Tethered detector patrols cordoned off the downtown neighborhood. Jacob had missed the kill shot, and Clutch and Weber still operated the patrols. Monica was waiting for him at Denny's, in a back corner window booth. There was a solo glass of ice water on the table and in her veins. She knew he was near. She was lashing out and wildly sense mapping every alley and every moving car. This was not the time or the place to have a confrontation. He couldn't bear to leave her and he couldn't bear one of her mind intrusions. Yet he was now equally as strong as her! She couldn't control him any more. He needed to say something either telepathic or in person. The Denny's was only a half block away! He exercised self-restraint. Then he felt his heartstrings being tugged violently. She had found him. He turned away from the confrontation and thought of the parked 911 and again of Monica raging and waiting at Denny's. It was then he took a forceful and blurry baton blow to the left side of his forehead from a tall and shadowy figure who loaded Jacob into a black van and drove away.

9. First Triad

The doctors stabilized Weber, and besides losing a lot of blood, and enduring the pain, the wound was clean. The surgeons repaired the shoulder and neck damage and believed Weber would not suffer a permanent disability. Weber didn't want drip morphine. Clutch had maintained a protective vigil all night. When Weber awoke, Clutch said, "Jacob has gone away. He's being cloaked and I don't think he's the one doing it. Monica has brought a Styrofoam box containing your favorite nourishment...Mickey Dee's Big Breakfast."

"Pancakes with soft butter and extra syrup?"

"Yep. She awaits."

"Clutch, bring her in."

"Why trust her?"

"Because I know she's not in control."

"That makes her more dangerous."

"How? If she knew where Jacob was, I would know too."

Exhaling loudly, Clutch leaned forward, hands on knees, his chin down, eyes looking up at Weber and said, "Okay...I love her too."

Weber smiled widely and sat-up with anticipation.

Clutch stayed behind in the hallway. Monica came into the room, and on the surface, was calmer than the night before. Below the surface, her emotional body roiled with rage and doubt. She had sense mapped the region for miles around and knew that Jacob was gone or dead or cloaked. Maynard Ackroyd and the Gurument were no help and the Wish's were snipping the loose ends of the WTC controlled demolitions. And listening to the radio, she had just found out about the bogus American Airlines Flight 77, the secret cruise missile attack on the Pentagon financial wing and the valiant attempt to take back control of United Flight 93. She marveled at how the Government Conduits scrambled a day late and a dollar short to appear that they were in control. The reactionaries dominated the media with bellicose attacks on the Radical Islamic World. She put all this aside.

"Ta da," she said, "Mickey Dee's Big Breakfast."

She opened the container and set it on Weber's lap. She looked around and noticed it was a premium room; the nurses were inconspicuous and passively diligent, not hovering around like well paid saviors, not bossing the authorized visitors and screening unauthorized meals. Weber, his left arm taped to his side to temporarily immobilize the arm and shoulder, was for some reason actually joyful. Monica said, "Look at you, all happy and pain free. I see that the hospital is under tight control?"

"Pain free? Try this wound without painkillers. I'm self-releasing this afternoon."

"You're kidding."

"The bullet went clean through, they repaired the muscle damage. The attempted spiritual walk-ins are a nuisance. I'm not staying here one more night."

"Then we can plan our search for Jacob. Where are you staying?"

"I found a quiet hotel suite with a less bloody venue and it isn't hosting a convention of baby rattle salesmen."

"So you don't sleep where you kill?"

"I'm going to bust my stitches."

"Who was the target?"

"An East Alpha assassin. It was a little personal."

"We could have interrogated him."

"Killing him sends a message."

"I caught one and turned him in."

"What did he do?"

"He's an asshole American! He attacked us."

"Are you talking about Murray Hunt?"

She grinned, "Yes."

"So he was cloaked and protected by whom?"

"The East Alpha controls our Alpha and is turning natives into rogues, creating double agents and manipulating the shit out of everything."

Weber swallowed a huge mouthful of pancake and thought for a second and then said carefully, "That doesn't absolve our Alpha. How do we know that the East and West Alpha are not one in the same?"

"Weber, my quest has always been to topple the prevailing powers."

Weber hesitated, "Count me out. I'm going back to Half Moon Bay to resume my practice and take a slow path to a shared power model. Pyramid hierarchy schemes are going to be obsolete."

"I'd like to join your team."

"Team? Monica, you have to sort things out. Stay here for a few nights and think about how we're going to get Jacob."

"Get? What do you mean get?"

"Neutralize him, he's way too dangerous."

Monica sighed heavily, "Is he? You need a rest from killing."

"Think about him and he will be attracted, and then bring him to me."

"Finish your pancakes."

"Clutch will protect you. He's getting very strong."

"I don't need his protection. I want to see Jacob myself."

Weber smiled and said dismissively, "Thanks for the extra syrup."

10. Adherence

Overlays of resonating Alpha mind forms. Interpenetrating thought forms controlling transdimensional life. Tuner, emitter, slave, servant. The jet-black van approached the outskirts of Denver. Maynard Ackroyd looked over his shoulder at the unconscious form of Jacob, bound and hooded like a terrorist suspect. Maynard was filled with anticipation; all the rational Gurument forces were at work to capture Monica. Now he could put the instruments back in their cases and finally control the situation. Everywhere, agile Gurument Detectors were catching East Alpha controlled rogue conduits that were then taken to a mind numbing private prison in Canon City, Colorado.

The Alpha Conductor had given Maynard a recent attunement, a bumping up in vibration to match Jacob and Clutch's currency. The currency was power and mind control that allowed Maynard to align and compel people to move mindlessly and act on the Alpha's behalf. So all he really had to do was call Monica in Omaha upon his arrival at the prison and give her an honest invitation to visit Jacob. She had to love the possibility of rescuing Jacob, subdued and bound in Gurument chains at the special mental prison where she was so sure she could overpower anyone in her way.

Monica spent another ten hours in Omaha before Maynard called and asked her if she wanted to see Jacob. She talked with Weber, and they both knew it was a real tight trap. Weber couldn't go with her and Clutch had to stay to protect Weber.

"I have to stay here for now...the bastard shot me."

"Then I'll have to do this alone," she said with the palm of her hands open.

Weber felt helpless. "You're going to rescue him?"

"Beat him, brainwash him, fuck him, I don't care! He's going to lead me to both of the Alphas."

Weber said calmly, "It's a trap. The Alpha is using Jacob as a lure."

"It's loose ends, I get it! The Alpha hasn't talked to me in months."

"Oh...he'll be talking to you all right when you're in restraints."

"Good, then I will have his full attention."

Monica drove the Porsche to central Colorado at a leisurely pace. She thought of a certain pivotal night when she was in her twenties, just before going to sleep, when she had asked the spiritual entities:

What

does it feel

like to be possessed

by a minor

spirit?

The next day she awoke and had forgot that she had even posed the question. She felt a little off, her stomach churned a minor upset, there was a strange vibration overlay perception that filtered her eyesight. In the evening, when she lay down to bed, an involuntary high-pitched release of noise; a balloon-like escape of air came from her throat and mouth. Then a funy sounding cork-like pop. She got to her feet, feeling like her normal special mental self, and turned the lights on. She welled-up all joyful, realizing that she had got what she had asked for. She danced around the bedroom. The lesson was tantalizing.

Later, a shaman told her it was dumb idea. You get what you ask for is a real dangerous game to play against discorporate beings who are always there listening to your thoughts and only need your permission to enter your energy body. They utilize a universal moral code energy ethic modality best left for God to understand and judge. It is a carefully specific question and literal usage modality of asking, to tap the universal service ethic that abounds in the Outer Sanctum. This was when she learned to marshal spirits to be on her side, for them to be in service to her, to branch out and be a forward guard as she willed the current rescue and escape plan into being. She thought ethically: when I control someone's mind and when I have complete access to their energy body and I don't ask for permission and the targeted person's spirit body or group is oblivious to the control, _how are they subconsciously giving permission to me?_

The Alpha must somehow be suspending ethical permission, holding back blanket permission because his mandate to manipulate thought seems to be rubber stamped by a greater ethical dynamic. On the other hand, rules are made to be broken by the lawmakers and enforcers, only the low cons have to obey.

Crossing into Colorado on Interstate 80, Monica began an intensive sense mapping of the state, Canon City specifically. Her fingers tapped the dashboard and she leaned into the steering wheel, resting her chin, closing her eyes...using third-eye sight for a nervous ten seconds...then she screamed with delight, breaking the spell, and pressed the accelerator to the floor, passing a much slower state trooper who had pulled off onto the side shoulder and suddenly had to pee, preoccupied with what he was going to have for dinner.

11. Shelf Life

Maynard had a block hat fitted so he could withstand Monica's mind attack. The prison itself, a bastion of the Gurument, emitted a sweet spectrum of attractive energy into the World Wide Grid, which served to pull-in the naïve conduits, the cross-country motorists, who were then scooped-up as potentials by Gurument Detectors. It enhanced and intrigued Monica's desire to know that her lover was in the midst of such a delicious energy trap.

Jacob was unbound in his cell, clueless as to what had happened. A prison doctor had tended to his concussion and told him life might be fuzzy for a few days. He was confused, and weighed his dark predicament as he realized that he was being held by the Gurument. He sense-mapped his fellow inmates and figured out where he was. It had to be the Canon City S & I, the Suppression and Isolation facility, the off grid secure holding tank for the Alpha's highly trained special mentals who go off reservation. The energy spectrum emitted on the inside of the prison was also passive aggressive, heavy, and mind constraining. They drugged and isolated Jacob, and it didn't seem to matter that he needed human contact. Despite the Alpha's constant psychopathic control, and conduit culling, Jacob thought of himself as the ultimate free soul, and as far as he was concerned, freedom is the right of free doom, the right to commit suicide; Jacob wanted liberty not death.

A feeling was now missing that he had had ever since coming back from a detector mission in Turkey five years earlier. Now, with the strange overlay feeling gone, Jacob realized it was a possession he had failed to identify or articulate and it had eluded the West Alpha, Weber, Monica, and the entire Gurument.

Perhaps Weber had seen something deeply wrong with me, and this is why Weber and Clutch had never trusted me. _So where was Monica?_ If she comes here to be with me, Maynard will take her into custody. I should've shot Clutch and Weber at close range and met Monica at the Omaha parking garage!

The Alpha delivered a thought form:

BE

A TREE

AND SINK

DEEP ROOTS AND

WAIT IT OUT FOR

AWHILE.

The Alpha Conductor then removed his attention from Jacob and sense mapped the S & I and Canon City environs and Highway 50. Monica was on the horizon. She was even more powerful than two days ago. A zone of control surrounded her. She had leveled the playing field and knew what was in store for her. Yet she came of her own accord and to adhere to one irrational principal: to show her lover that he was not abandoned. The Alpha thought: _the hidden goddess of economy did her wrecking duty and I have to show her where freelancers end up when they believe they're in control_.

Jacob finally grounded and protected and fell asleep. He knew that Monica was close. He slept like a tethered baby.

Monica was like a mind spinning tornado when she signed-in at the S & I visitor lobby, waiting patiently for an escort to bring her to meet Jacob. The Alpha had never met a braver soul. She smiled fiercely when the block hat wearing Maynard appeared through a slow-opening door. She rose from the bench, put out a hand as if to offer a handshake and attacked Maynard with a groin kick and scratched his blocking arm. He went down like a bad oyster. She moved with speed and was offered no resistance. The hallways led her to the wing where, when she entered a particular door, there was going to be no return to her previous reality, and her final constraint became the absolute captivity of a prison cell she was led to believe was where Jacob slept.

The Alpha sent her the following thought form:

I

HAVE TO

SAVE YOU FROM

THE IRRATIONAL

NEED TO FIND

ME.

This did not improve Monica's frowning disposition.

12. Cardinal Points

The tall blonde fiftyish man in a blue blazer business suit had the self-satisfied expression of a household alarm system salesman who saw post 911 as a terrific growth opportunity. Fear-based sales were going to rise. The tall blue suit wasn't a typical salesman, though. He approached the hotel concierge and demanded, "Can you please put me in touch with Mr. Weber Grambling?"

His accent was Central European. The concierge, without question, tapped the computer keyboard and rang Room 416. Clutch picked-up and said, "Yes?"

"One moment please," said the concierge.

The concierge passed the phone receiver to the blonde man.

The blonde man said, "Mr. Weber Grambling?"

"No...who's this?"

"Good day, sir, I represent an organization that has been given permission to speak with Mr. Grambling."

"Is that right? What's your name and organization? And who has given this permission?"

"I cannot say over the phone line, Mister-"

"Clutch Antoine."

"Thank you. The matter is of utmost importance, Mr. Antoine."

"Is it? I'll meet you in the lobby and you'll give me your business card, which I will then convey to Weber. If he approves, and after a body search in the lobby restroom, I will take you to his room."

"Thank you, sir. I understand he was shot the other night. I can reassure that I am not here to finish the job."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"To my organization, Weber Grambling is a god."

Clutch thought: _Great! How does he know about Weber?_

"I'll be sure to tell him. He just may pop his stitches if I do."

"I understand sir. I'll wait in the lobby."

Hanging up the phone, Clutch thought: _polite bastard this one._

Clutch then tethered four nearby Gurument operatives, provided by Maynard, to converge discreetly on the lobby. Weber sat-up grunting from the soreness of his wound, pushed with his good right arm to swivel his body, and lowered his legs to the floor. He stood on groans and walked gingerly towards the bathroom.

He said to Clutch, "Bring him here. This guy's hard to read and has an agenda that is bigger than the both of us. The Alpha knows him."

"So? The Alpha knows everyone."

"Search him and bring him to me."

Clutch retorted, "He thinks you're a god."

"Does he? That's a good one. I sacrificed my shoulder for him?"

Clutch left the room and headed for the down elevator.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. There was no way to miss the visitor in the lobby. He was tall, blonde, Nordic, and extremely handsome with intense blue eyes. His hands were clasped behind his back and he smiled acknowledgement as Clutch approached.

Clutch thought: _Christ, another secret space-a-naut!_

The visitor offered to shake hands, Clutch refrained, and they went into the men's restroom for the pat down. After the fruitless search, the man offered Clutch a business card:

Stewart P. Galadius

International Society for the Prevention of Overpopulation

E-mail address:

www.rationalcontrol.ispo

Clutch said, "Dot I S P O? You have your own internet suffix?"

Stewart replied with a twinkle in his eyes, "Yes sir."

"What's your middle initial stand for?"

"Points."

"Points where?"

Steward smiled, "Its short for Pontius."

"Not much shorter. Do you prefer Stewart or Points?"

"My friends call me Gala."

Clutch put the card in his shirt pocket.

"Let's go, Gala. Weber will see you now."

The elevator featured Led Zeppelin Violins playing Stairway to Heaven and they made the fourth floor just before the viola solo.

Gala was bubbling with excitement that made Clutch nervous. They soon stood in front of the Room 416 door. Clutch studied Gala's body language and winked.

"Relax Gala; even though Weber doesn't have much patience right now, just make your points quickly."

"Ah, a pun...may I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends how personal."

"What is your definition of love?"

"Oh I see...sexual or intellectual?"

"Emotional."

"That's love, isn't it? Of course it's emotional... I know love when I feel it and it's always mysterious to me."

Gala nodded, "I sense that you're deeply in love with Weber. Tell me why he doesn't use his powers to control the world."

"Ask him. He'd probably say he isn't _seasoned_ enough."

They entered Room 416, where Weber greeted Gala, and dismissed Clutch from the room with an eye dart to the door, excluding and protecting Clutch from being privy to a direct conversation with a potential adversary. This notion was Weber's one allowable delusion.

13. Substation

Monica waited patiently for Jacob to visit. She sat on a cold cement bench in a pink common room harboring a fixed to the floor cement table. She knew it was all a trap. She had to go along for now. They suppressed her powers by holding her inside electrified walls. Submission was instantaneous. Gurument ethics demanded humane treatment. Maynard had arranged the dangerous reunion to assess granting an additional conjugal visit. Jacob refused the spiked meals and was mentally clear enough to telepathically communicate his apology and desire to see Monica and to simultaneously press on Maynard's nerves. So Maynard did the right thing and brought Jacob into the common room.

As soon as Maynard backed away slowly and shut the door to give them their space, they stripped to their ankles, and with their shoes on, they made love right there on the heavy cold table. The cement furniture didn't creak or budge; Maynard didn't bother to interrupt them and turned off the surveillance camera. Then he waited, voyeur like, from behind the locked door, and let them spend an hour whooping it up all primal and feral.

They helped each other get dressed and this induced a conversation. Ashamed, Jacob said, "I love you and we'll get out of here. I am sorry about Weber. It seems our Alpha is in cahoots with the Eastern Alpha, and I'm not sure which one's in control." Aroused once again, Monica gradually cracked a devious smile.

"That's all right, Jacob. Ever wonder who controls the Alphas?"

"If it ain't God, I'm not sure I want to know."

"It's probably a non local who uses the Earth Conductors as proxy controllers."

"I see you have it all figured out."

"Weber told me about the Outer Sanctum."

"Oh?"

"Only the rich and high-con are allowed to go there."

"Outer space?"

"Space colonies in our solar system and beyond."

"Oh?"

"It makes sense for growing and preserving humanity."

"Colonists? You think a non local Conductor is in charge of mind controlling the Earth?"

"We are behind enemy lines."

"I've heard that before."

"It's true."

"The best slave is-"

The door, where Jacob came through originally, opened slowly without warning.

"I'm not a mover, I'm a shaker," said Monica when Maynard dragged Jacob out of the room.

"Good job breaking him," said Maynard, holding the door, "I hope you're satisfied."

"He's good to go. Can't we share a cell? Better yet, can we go home?"

"Not going to happen. Jacob, however, is good to go."

"Jacob!"

The door shut with an echo that seemed to last an eternity.

Monica screamed at Maynard. She sat down on the cement bench and rested her forehead on her crossed arms. The locked door behind her finally opened and two guards, wearing block hats, escorted her to her cell and left her isolated and sobbing.

Maynard put Jacob in a straight jacket, staged him next to a lit-up helicopter landing pad, and surrounded him with guards. A thump thumping noise grew louder and soon a black helicopter landed and they loaded Jacob aboard. He turned to look at Maynard.

"Where you taking me?"

"Sorry, above my pay grade," replied Maynard.

Jacob glared at Maynard and tried to get inside his head. Maynard blocked access. Jacob stared at his own feet as the door slammed shut.

The helicopter lifted skyward and headed southwest.

Maynard's cell phone rang and a buzzing sound in his head announced the arrival of a Weber-based thought form. He answered the cell phone first. It was Weber.

Weber said, "Nice of you to visit me at my Omaha hotel room."

"Sorry."

"Know what I said when I got shot?"

"I imagine-"

_"Omaha?_ "

"Very funny."

"Yeah, I'm feeling so much better now. Tell me, Maynard, what the hell are you going to do with Monica?"

"She's on the shelf indefinitely."

"Why are you flying Jacob southwest?"

"I don't know. It's what the Alpha instructed."

"You're getting stronger."

"I am."

"Monica knows about Escalante."

"What about it?"

"That's where you're taking Jacob."

"I'm not taking him anywhere. I go back to D.C. tomorrow with a clean slate and a new agenda."

"Good for you. In my hotel room, I'm looking at a gentleman named Stewart Galadius. Do you know him?"

"Gala? This is good...I sent him."

"I gathered that he wants me to go on a tour of I.S.P.O. facilities and use my Conductor powers to rectify his leadership."

"It will be good to think global, Weber."

"I said I would think about it. How did his organization find out I was a Conductor?"

Maynard replied sardonically, "You don't know?"

14. Spliced

Weber hung up the phone and stared at Gala. He mentally summoned Clutch and resumed a reclined position in bed.

Gala said, "Then I'm confirmed?"

Gazing at the ceiling, Weber replied slowly, "It's obvious you're a Beta Conductor. How many people know I'm an Alpha in waiting?"

"Only me."

"Then how can you say I am revered as a God?"

"We think you are anonymous, from an alien world, and that you maintain an invisible hand. It is a righteous and faith based notion."

Clutch entered the room, sat in a chair by the window, and glared at Gala. Thinking out loud, Weber said, "So the West Alpha wants me to expand my horizons. Is using your organization my only way to grapple with the East Alpha? Tell me more about the I.S.P.O. and it better not be eugenics based."

Gala squinted slightly, "Our stated goal, declared publically, is to reduce the world's population to five hundred million people by the turn of the twenty third century."

"Go on."

"We intend to accomplish this by a combination of natural means, that is, birth control, war and famine, and the introduction of new diseases, and the removal of able minded people to space colonies. Most important is that we'll need invisible hands to enforce birth control and reduce the birth rates by using mind control to moderate the human procreationl drive."

"You're joking."

"No sir, I am not."

"Condoms and Conductors, that's your final solution?"

"I am not a Nazi, although I look like one."

"Convince me this isn't tampering with the genetic pool, a breakaway civilization."

"We are not selecting any one race for improvement or dominance. We intend to eliminate poverty and the resource depletion rate."

"It is my understanding that currently Earthlings aren't allowed into space unless they're high-con and rich, or have unique intellectual skills."

"True...there are exceptions. Easily controlled sub-conduit laborers are currently kidnapped to help construct the colonies."

Clutch chimed-in, "No doubt the colonies are modeled on our current incorruptible economic system here on Earth?"

Gala sneered slightly, "More like pre-civil war America."

Clutch replied, "So all the missing people and scientists being kidnapped for the past sixty years love the idea of colonization?"

"I think so."

Weber said, "I get the impression you're leading this enslavement organization at this time. True?"

"Yes sir. I know I have risked my life making contact with you. If I am killed, it won't be in vain."

Weber turned onto his side, away from Gala, and closed his eyes, and said, "I'll think about your enterprise, and when I'm somewhat recovered in a few months, come to Half Moon Bay and we'll talk some more."

"Please don't decide even then, sir. Tour our work sites first and gather and integrate our thought forms."

Clutch lost patience and thought: _Doesn't this guy know Weber is tapping him?_

"Time to go, Mr. Stewart Points Galadius," said Clutch.

Gala smiled and lifted his lanky frame out of the deep soft chair and bowed to Clutch, and then he opened the door. "Good day, sirs. Thank you, Mr. Grambling."

He once again bowed gracefully at Weber before shutting the door quietly. Weber didn't say anything. He had established a strong tether and would follow this psychopath tand learn more about Gala's operation by being passive receptive and distant.

Clutch stared at the door and chortled recognition, and then covered Weber with a blanket. "Can you believe this guy? My theory of escaped WW2 Nazis' infecting the ruling elites of the world is confirmed."

Weber grimaced from pain and said, "Ever notice how Jacob, the Wish's, and Gala have fallen from the same tree?" He shifted to be on his back again and opened his eyes and said, "Please order me some hot chocolate."

Clutch's third chakra growled with approval.

15. Field Service

The day after Gala left, on September 17th, Weber's shoulder and breast pain subsided to a dull flare. He observed an active energetic tether attached to his heart chakra through his back. It was Monica.

They checked out of the Hotel and went to the hospital to have the wound inspected and then headed to Canon City. Monica's tether intensity and range was getting weaker because the prison operators had spiked her air and food with suppressants. Yet she weakly connected to the grid and to those that she loved.

Clutch and Weber arrived at the prison at dusk and were stunned by the wall of energy camouflage and the direct influence of the Alpha.

"I shouldn't have let her go."

Clutch said, "Monica knows what she did."

"This is a no-flux situation."

"C'mon, Weber, she needs you."

"He won't let me take her away."

"Love doesn't need a plan."

"Okay...a visit can't hurt."

"She needs you."

As they parked in the prison visitors lot, a flatbed style tow truck drove by hauling away Monica's Porsche 911. Maynard received them in the Visitor Lobby and he didn't bother searching them. He knew Weber would not attempt a breakout. He escorted them to Monica's cell, locked them in with her, and waited on the other side of the door as usual.

Monica was standing with her arms crossed and said, "Let me keep the tether...please don't cut me off."

Weber accepted her plea and Clutch began to clear the cell of unwanted energy and sense mapped the prison wing to a finer detail.

Monica pressed on, "I'm begging you. He won't let me attach to Jacob. Weber, we've been so close in the past. I need your anchor."

Weber said, "Oh sweet pea, I'm not sure you'll be able to maintain the tether."

"Take me from here."

"This is for your protection."

"My protection? Why aren't you in here?"

Weber raised his eyebrows, "Maynard told me about New Jersey."

"Oh that's right. Think you couldn't see me because of the Alpha? Ever think that maybe I can block you?"

"I do. There are foreign beta assassins lurking and they are being protected by Alpha's we cannot identify. Which part of overmatched do you not understand?"

Monica grabbed Weber's hands, "They are afraid of us because we push back! The assassins are no threat because the Gurument has captured most of them!"

"Honey...I know there's a secret conspiracy and lord knows Clutch knows more about it then I do-"

"Damn right," said Clutch.

Weber pulled Monica to him and passed on a thought form of reassurance.

"I'll set things in motion and you'll be safe. Take on this prison wing and make it your own." Monica pushed Weber away and briefly studied his eyes.

She said, "Promise me you'll use that good energy of yours to protect me."

Clutch and Weber said in unison, "I promise."

"We are a loving triad. Say it!"

Again in unison, "We are a loving triad."

They hugged as a triad and Weber mind summoned Maynard to open the cell door and when he did, Monica said to Maynard, "I'm sorry for the unprovoked kick to the groin. I'll be the model maintenance detainee our beloved Gurument prison system holds so dear and close to its benevolent heart."

Maynard twitched his shoulders and said, "How sweet."

Monica took a wide stance as if prepared for an attack.

"You took my Jacob away."

Maynard motioned for Weber and Clutch to leave the cell.

"Jacob is safe. Take it easy, Monica, I'm on your side."

"Sure you are, Maynard. Can you pimp me a tall blonde prisoner?"

Maynard backed away and slammed the door. He put his palms on the door and nearly succumbed to her control.

He shouted, "Yeah, but she may be too old for you!"

Monica screamed, "I want a man!"

Weber made Clutch grab and pull Maynard away from Monica's cell door, and coaxed Maynard to escort them through the cellblocks, calming Clutch's energy body, for he was more furious with Maynard than Weber was.

"I'm sorry about 911," said Maynard when they got to the exit lobby.

"You're a tool," admonished Weber.

Forlorn, Clutch and Weber made their way out to the camper and drove home for Northern California and the West San Francisco Bay Area.

16. Primal and Regulatory

The high desert had received a light rain overnight, and the gusty winds, a castoff of a late season monsoonal flow, dashed the high desert mesa; flowers bloomed, swaying in the breeze, colors whizzed by mixed with the scent of freshly washed mesquite bushes and red and chocolate rocks. The dazzling blue sky was streaked by jetliner contrails.

Clutch drove, Weber had his eyes closed, meditating on which route to take back to California. They had just spent the night in Albuquerque and Weber was tired of the morning debate. Clutch wanted to go to Escalante. He would state his case until the last possible second before they would have to turn off Route 491 or continue on Interstate 40. Outside Gallup, a form of mind control called a road sign loomd:

JUNCTION 491 & MUNOZ BLVD: 3 MILES

TO: YAH-TA-HEY

Clutch said, "I know where they took the traitor."

Weber turned his stiff neck slightly to the left, and opened his eyes to squint an answer at Clutch's side profile.

"What makes you think Jacob is still there?"

"I reckon they have daily departures."

"No...I think they have weekly departures."

"We don't know that."

Weber groaned and sipped his coffee before answering.

"What's the point? Jacob is controlled."

Clutch raised his voice, "Then he's even more dangerous!"

"So are we, Clutch."

"Are we?"

Weber exhaled loudly, eyes fixed on the divided highway and the distant horizon of Far Western New Mexico, "What? Kill him? Drag a confession out of him? Turn him over to a conventional government agency?"

"I want to read his Alpha tether. Why would the West Alpha have you shot?"

"Don't you think I've been pondering that notion?"

"I wonder, I reckon."

"Look Clutch, there's something sinister here. I'm terribly unconscious of the answer. I don't think it's our Alpha that controls Jacob completely. The East Alpha is obviously involved. Jacob has several tethers. There's something I can't quite put my finger on and I need to heal before I'm ready to detect whoever is operating in the shadows."

"It has to be the West Alpha!"

"Like I said-"

"And the East Alpha is working with him!"

"It's complicated, I agree, and there's a factor we're not considering."

Clutch swerved the camper hard to avoid a bounding herd of suicidal tumbleweeds crossing the roadway. He said, "Go on."

"In Canon City I delved into Maynard's mind, and even though he's been attuned to a higher degree, I read a thought form he's been holding close to his vest."

"What's that?"

"Philosophically, I have been pondering a similar thought form."

"Weber!"

"The Outer Sanctum harbors a Master Conductor who oversees the Earth Conductors."

Clutch glanced at Weber and reached for his coffee mug, gulping down the rest, and after wiping his lips with his right shirtsleeve, he absorbed the implied meaning of Weber's statement.

"When were you going to tell me this?"

"Oh, right about ten seconds ago."

"Ha ha."

"Just for discussion and contemplation, suppose that the most powerful Alpha is extremely hard to pinpoint because he or she or it is a non-local entity."

"You're describing God."

"For primary purposes, yes I am. And what is really interesting is that this entity has allowed me to surmise this conclusion."

"Why would a non-local Master Conductor allow discovery and why would it try to kill you? It could make us drive off a cliff any time it wanted to!"

"True. What if it's bi-polar?"

Clutch slowed to 55 mph to avoid migrating tumbleweed.

"That would explain why the world is so fucked-up."

"Exactly! And how do we get a crazy Master Conductor into psycho-therapy when he doesn't have an Earth address?"

Clutch leaned forward onto the steering wheel and exhaled, and blinked at Weber.

"So we're behind enemy lines and our enemy is a psychopath."

"Yes!"

Clutch laughed a deep belly laugh.

"That doesn't explain why we don't go to Escalante."

Weber, with a tone of exasperation said, "Charley's not there and I'm not ready yet. I still don't know who the West Alpha is! And only Charley can punch our ticket to the Outer Sanctum!"

They drove by the exit to Route 491 and thereby abandoned Jacob to his fate.

17. Missing Time

They had taken Meteor Crater Road for a few miles and turned onto a system of dirt roads and camped in the open air just a few miles south of the crater. The desert twilight air was crisp and the stars bright and colorful. Clutch, on his back, focused on a blue point of light surrounded by a bright orange halo, directly above them, pulsing and shimmering, exhibiting non-ballistic flight. The array of maneuvers occupied a nickel-sized reference circle perhaps ten miles high.

"Classic stuff!"

"I'll say."

The object of their focus finished darting around like a ricochet pellet and disappeared in a fuzzy poof of white light. The whole event lasted five seconds longer than the typical shooting star.

"That was a good one," exclaimed Clutch.

"A high altitude exit point."

"They have anti gravity drives, I reckon."

"Trouble is, where were they before we saw them?"

"Don't fuck with me, Weber."

"Geez old timer, you've never been inside a UFO?"

Clutch replied sarcastically, "Course I have or the Gurument would've never recruited me."

"Check your watch. Tell me I'm wrong."

Looking at his wristwatch, Clutch scratched the right side of his neck, and then pressed a button to illuminate the watch face. He sat-up, then stood, and said with dread, "We lost half an hour."

"Yeah right."

"Remember setting-up the sleeping bags? I don't."

"Don't fuck with me, Clutch."

"I'm not kidding."

Weber sat-up, "We should've stayed in a Flagstaff motel." Grunting, he rose from his sleeping bag slowly, his shoulder burned, the entry and exit wounds, courtesy of Jacob, flared a pulsing pain. He felt a mosquito bite on his neck behind his right ear and thought to himself that it wasn't really optimum mosquito territory here in the high and dry desert terrain.

A telepathic and strangely accented female voice abruptly sounded in both of their heads and addressed them:

Sorry

for intrusion,

Misters Grambling

and Antoine.

They turned to face each other. Clutch stooped for a flashlight and swooped the beam in all directions.

Not

insect bite

on neck. It is tracking

implant and communication device

most Conductors cannot detect. Attempt to remove

and the pain will be severe. Consider device

a kiss of welcome from an Outer

Sanctum

friend.

Weber motioned for Clutch to keep silent by putting his right index finger to his lips. Weber spoke telepathically:

Testing

one two

three.

Yes

I can

hear.

Have

a name?

My

name is

missing.

I

don't

understand.

It

is missing.

And

I Don't Know

is on third base? You're

joking.

I

love to

joke.

What

do I call

you?

Unpronounceable.

People visualize

me as:

§

"I see," said Weber out loud, "How come aliens aren't named Trixie? We Earthlings have trouble understanding the Outer Sanctum."

Clutch said, "Fer Christ sakes, she's Prince!"

"Nah, Prince dropped his symbol last year."

I

am Beta

Non Local.

I need help to find

the Earth

Alphas.

Weber replied:

Yes

I'm searching

too.

First

most urgency,

Weber and Clutch,

unless self defending,

must forsake killing in general,

and murdering rivals

specifically.

First?

What makes

you think we're

on your

side?

Next,

please be

careful with

Charley

Nadal.

Charley

is my

friend!

This

is true.

Charley is

not who you

think he

is.

I

don't

know what

I think he

is.

Devote

to your own

business and insert

peace and love

into the world

wide grid.

We're

naturals at

that.

From

time to time

I will call on you

to perform a

detection.

Clutch telepathized:

How

will you

pay

us?

I

will

bring more

business.

Weber asked gently:

Why

be afraid of

Charley?

He

contains

a powerful

walk-in.

Clutch and Weber couldn't reply in time. Overwhelmed by the urge to sleep, they lowered themselves into their snug sleeping bags and had dreams of space-crafty aliens. Eventually they woke-up in the early dawn with smiles on their faces.

18. Wide Fidelity

Maynard returned to East Coast to reel in the Wish's consolidation efforts and to supply the war on terror with interference, with detectors, conduits, and coolers. Monica grazed on her cellblock mates' energy. She concentrated on a strong conduit nearby who had Jacob's energy without the sharp undertow. They rarely let the protected ones out of their cages. The stranger gave in freely and Monica reciprocated by tethering every cellmate to join their surface thoughts to hers and to form a wide sense map net where every guard in range was controlled and especially pliant when they took off their shielded helmets, thinking that the inmates were sleeping. The guards miraculously supplied gourmet food and arranged intimate play between the inmates. One night, about three a.m., the Alpha came into Monica's mind:

HELLO

MY RARE

TREASURE,

JACOB IS

ALIVE.

Then it was Jacob in her mind:

My

love, I

have to go

away. I won't

be able to see or

touch you,

good

bye.

Monica swiped at the air and wailed at the invisible moon, as if this is where Jacob was going. He actually was blindfolded, sitting in a SUV on a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. He had been allowed to send the thought form to Monica, and then they escorted him to a rock outcropping and through a hidden underground entrance. The blindfold forced him to use his third eye to see where he was going. There was a tunnel and then a huge lighted cave right out of a James Bond movie. There were no sports cars or English accents. There was a strange looking unmarked jet airplane with protuberances all over it. A high-con man, taller than Jacob, guided him up a ramp and they entered the jet cabin where Jacob was secured inside of a cushioned tube. A thought inserted into Jacob's consciousness:

I

SEND

YOU TO THE

MOON FOR R & R AND

PROTECTION. THOUGH MY

ENEMIES HAVE

NO CLUE, THEY

ARE LOOKING

FOR YOU.

Meanwhile, Clutch and Weber made it back to Half Moon Bay, and settled-in to read a stack of snail and e-mails, and enjoyed a weekend of relaxation by having two comforting breakfasts at the Bypass Café. One e-mail came from Walter Wells and Wanda Nguyen, telling Weber that they were going steady and asking permission to tether to him telepathically. Weber sent a thought form:

I

am

proud

to engage

and hope to see

you soon in the

astral class

room.

As for Charley Nadal, he had never felt so close to Dr. Fenzeig, even though theirs was a relationship of distance, of physical separation. Fenzeig rarely visited Summit Fountain School in person. He was always present in Charley's mind. Enrollment was up, and the curricula had settled into place. International terror and fear ruled the attentions of the sub-conduits. The Earth had finally started World War Three.

# PART SIX - Fountaineering

#

Civilization is a binding mental agreement

enforced by the Inner Sanctum.

Intuition is reason in a hurry.

August 2015

1. Truce Seeking

Weber picked-up his smart phone.

"What do you want now, Maynard?"

"We need to meet."

"Another Gurument debriefing?"

"Yes."

"I sense you're still in California?"

"I am."

"Does this have anything to do with the fact that Edgar was real? That he killed pets and left paint drops spattered everywhere he went?"

"Yes."

"That we could take his picture?"

"Yes."

"That he was not just operating in our minds eye?"

"Yes."

"That just maybe the Galaxies' transformative phase density is cycling in and changing our collective perceptions?"

"Yes."

"So why do we need to meet?"

Maynard exhaled loudly into his phone receiver. It was like a wind gust carrying fine grit and sand.

"My detectors retraced the route Edgar took from Yosemite Valley to Pismo Beach."

"Oh?"

"Edgar marked trees with paint drops."

"Go on."

"At first glance, they are random multi colored paint drops and drip lines which pool at the base of the trees."

"What a mess," replied Weber.

"We found a graffiti tag hidden in the random droplets."

"Go on."

"It's a red crescent moon and star, the universal symbol of Islam."

Weber cleared his throat.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. There is another deliberate drawing."

"Go on."

"We also know Fizzgig emitted paint drops wherever he went."

"I know...he ruined my favorite hoodie."

"The droplets are petroleum based."

"Edgar and Fizzgigs?"

"Yes."

"Maynard, did Fizzgig leave a symbol?"

"Blue spiral. The symbol was inside your motor home."

"Come to think of it...what are you getting at?"

"I thought you might help me figure this out."

"Where can we meet?"

"Come to Moffett Field."

Clutch and Weber arrived at the Moffett Gurument warehouse, parked Karmavore, and met with Maynard inside.

Weber said to Maynard, "I forgot to thank you for Monica's jail break."

"Thank me? She practically killed me and took out anyone in her way. She's loose on the world because of me."

"Deep down she loves you."

Clutch let out a mocking laugh, "Oh yeah, she _loves_ Maynard."

Weber and Maynard stared at Clutch and he said defensively, "What? She loves Maynard? The Gurument? Monica respects Maynard, but she doesn't love him."

Weber continued to stare. Clutch opened his mouth to protest and decided to say nothing and went to get some coffee. Weber glanced at Maynard, "I think we both know who is behind the Clownsheep invasion."

"Yes we do."

"So why all the rampage and theatrics?"

"The transdimensional intrusion is some kind of probe or lure to draw-out the West Alpha rivals."

"Then what are the Clownsheep? Transdimensional henchmen?"

"They're connective archetypes created by the East and West Alphas to coalesce the two world conflict as the world transverses and moves into a higher phased arm of the galaxy."

"Jesus, Maynard, you've been channeling again? What do you need me for?"

Maynard smiled and motioned for Weber to sit down on the couch.

Then Maynard winced a little, knowing how provocative the next question was going to be, "Can you bring the Clownsheep back for a good old fashioned interrogation?"

Weber faced the ceiling, "Paging Doctor Jung, Paging Doctor Jung."

"I'm serious, Weber, only you can engage this reality directly with a strong fix and control."

"Really? What will I learn? I already know the Clownsheep can shape shift. Why aren't we being inundated with a thousand next dimension archetypes eager to be recognized?"

"It's your universal control. I think you know who the West Alpha is."

"Funny, that's what Charley Nadal said."

Maynard sat down on the couch.

"Who's Charley Nadal?"

Weber squinted his eyes, turned to his right and studied Maynard's face.

"You haven't met Charley Nadal?"

"No."

"He's the headmaster at Summit Fountain School in the Santa Cruz Mountains...and a Beta Conductor equal to me."

"We've never met."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure...tell me about the Summit Fountain School."

"It's a private grade school for special mentals."

Maynard leaned forward and asked carefully, "Is this a school the Gurument cannot penetrate?"

"It is."

"Can you take me there?"

"Well... I can...but I made an informal agreement to someone years ago that I would avoid Charley. When I think about him, I feel nauseous."

"Is that a fact?"

"Still...I haven't seen him in years and on occasion we talk telepathically. I'm sorry, no; I cannot meet him right now."

"Why not?"

"Clutch and I are taking Karmavore for a road trip."

2. Ground Swell

Being that humanity, in general, is well prepared for ghostly apparitions, and that all people engender a subconscious awareness of spiritual metaphysics, and due to the thousands of years of ritual practice, billions of devoted religious believers are not soul cracked when they begin to see the occupants of the next dimension.

Being well prepared is not the same as actually interacting with a mischievous dead grandpa or a malevolent discorporate elemental spirit. Humans are constantly penetrated by the energy spectrum and light from countless stars; is it really a mysterious wonder that spirits interpenetrate our energy bodies and attempt to enter our minds and touch our emotional bodies? The abundance of mind forms, which permeate the so-called void between islands of solid matter, enjoy the same universal access to information that we do. We are in constant resonate contact, only made visible in certain narrow visual frequencies, which on occasion we are forced to attune to collectively as the Earth moves through a different vibrational region of the galaxy. These movements into zones of higher vibration are cyclical in nature, arrival times are unpredictable, and occur approximately every six to twelve millennia.

A person can be taught to attune to the so-called unseen realities prior to the frequency change, if they at first believe it is possible. What is even more unnerving is when the energy changes back to a lower vibration and the universal spirits traumatically become invisible to the untrained eye once again. This change is called a Darker Age, the kind of age we've been departing ever since a shift began around 1750, losing its optimum potency in the present. Transitions are a molasses drenched bitch for those who are caught unaware, like when you die and don't believe in an afterlife. Practitioners of Scientism have one hell of a time adjusting.

Walter Wells and Wanda Nguyen were incredibly prepared for the resonance change. Like the transdimensional perception used by cats, they could see the integrated multidimensional worlds that occupy the voids between our tiny islands of coalesced matter. Charley Nadal had attuned them carefully within a wide scope.

Walter and Wanda lived "off grid" about fifteen miles from Charley's Summit Fountain School. They were married ten years earlier when they turned 18, and found a love shack in the East Santa Cruz Mountains, and with the earnings from Walter's polymorphic paintings, they thrived blissfully on a ridge spur on the west side of Black Mountain, below a world famous winery, enjoying a ridge top prow view of Stevens Canyon winding to the east below Mount Eden and the Saratoga Gap.

One moonless night a greenish translucent aerial serpent a thousand feet long and as wide as a one-car tunnel, undulated northward through the canyon and the night sky, scooping up translucent schools of darting rods. These were the same rod shapes that only high-speed cameras could see a few years earlier; sensational rods viewed by thousands on You Tube videos; amazing life forms moving faster than the physical sight capability of humans.

So it was that upon seeing this insanely huge and agile serpent, which was previously invisible before the shift began, often mistaken for a cool five mph breeze, Wanda monitored her roof mounted mini-cam, snapping high speed digital shots, hoping they would show the giant green creature dining on rods as it headed northwest, up-canyon to Page Mill Road above the Palo Alto foothills.

In moments, Wanda viewed the stills and videos on her laptop, and even though her third eye perceived the serpent, she shrieked with delight anyway when she saw the actual images on her computer.

"I captured the serpent and rods!"

Walter took his eyes off the tail end of the green serpent, the rods passing through the end of the swaying tail and darting away free; he hustled back inside the love shack to see the digital commotion.

"Amazing," he said, "I hope they believe it in the age of photo shop."

Wanda quick kissed him on the left cheek, "Who cares? We've entered a higher realm." Pointing at the green serpent and tapping the monitor with his right index finger with conviction, Walter said, "That's where the Clown Sheep come from."

3. Crescendo and Escalante

A little relieved, knowing that Clutch and Weber were on the road about a day away, and having cloaked her energy and the blue Chevy Blazer from being detected, Monica rolled on Highway 12 into Escalante at sunset.

A glowing multi-bulb motel sign said:

H

O COWBOY

W COUNTRY

D INN

Y

She parked the blazer in front of the motel office and sense mapped the locality, overlaying her thought form control, essentially taking over the town's seven by eight block grid surrounded by square cow pastures and fields. She knew roughly where the alcove spaceport was, only fifty miles away to the south off of Hole in the Rock Road. She had to be escorted there by Clutch and Weber to insure safe access. Her patience had become superhuman after spending fourteen years in prison. Her underlying restlessness, however, would not abate; she had slept enough in jail. She got her own private motel room and did all of her physical exercises and her hyper yoga bunny hop.

A listless town, Escalante is sprinkled with devout Mormons and cottonwoods amidst alfalfa fields, below the red and tan backdrop of Grand Staircase National Monument, topped by snowy peaks. Exercising a stomach crunge, Monica remembered her spanish: _escalante_ means ladder or to escalate or to climb.

She thought: up, down, any direction away from this sleepy village would be a step in the right direction. She hadn't felt Jacob's close presence since 2001. Would the Alpha let her go to this place called the Outer Sanctum? Jacob had to be there. When she sent her detecting thought forms into the worldwide grid they came back with no flavor of Jacob in the mix. He had to be off-Earth. If he was dead, she would've been meeting him in her astral dreams all these long lonely years.

A field of thought is neutral until a person imposes filters of admittance, rejecting and suppressing the feelings a human being doesn't want to have. Each of us creates a protection mind form that conforms to our individual comfort zone. Attraction is the binder of love, extending protection and affection, the deepest distractions in life. Monica would not let Jacob go, not after what they did on 911. Theirs was a deep bond to fulfill, if only she knew the colony he had gone to. She knew he was alive because she was still breathing. It was only an illusion they were separate.

Her funds were intact, protected by off shore accounts, her holdings held steady for the fourteen years she languished in Gurument jail. Any Outer Sanctum fee to reach beyond the Earth she could afford and hide the rest. Jacob had bought an island in the Caribbean. No time to liquidate that real estate. She had made many Gurument induced, drug-addled astral trips to their beautiful island when she was in Canon City confinement, and never found Jacob there, in body or spirit. She found only a superstitious skeleton crew of Jamaican caretakers who lived on Jinx Key, growing strong ganja, blissfully unaware of conductors, or those who paid their salaries.

Weber was like a smothering lover too close; it was like he was in the motel room with her. And Clutch; it felt like he was in the motel room next door!

Leaving her room, expecting a motor home to be parked next to the Howdy Inn, Monica walked down the main street to an old strip mall, and went inside for good country pizza and beer. About ten thirty, when she came back to the inn, she didn't see a parked motor home and sulked back to her room.

Being a Beta Conductor Freelancer, a specialist in manipulating the economy, was a lonely amoral business. Can't just let them know who you really are; you're like an alter ego superhero that must maintain inner strength and reliance and allegiance to the inner sanctum journey and project an alternate persona to the outside and to the overlapping varieties of thought control and spheres of cultural influence. Habitual collective minds were everywhere to exploit a good or nefarious gain.

She could only be herself around Jacob and Clutch and Weber. Clutch was a guard dog that she secretly adored and protected because he was pure and deeply loyal to her. Weber was probably the next American Conductor. She would have to align with Weber and be content with his greater regional power. There was no doubt the West Alpha Conductor knew Weber was all but in charge. There was no doubt Clutch and Weber would lead her to Jacob and to the Alpha Conductor.

4. First Fountaineer

Upon the glorious realization that multidimensional energies were arriving and interfacing, and amplified modified and redistributed by the chaotic unmapped worldwide grid of vortexes, Walter invented an idea for an evolutionary stewarding organization that would usher in the New Age accordingly. The primary mission was to sense map public and private lands, locating the various vortexes and their values, create and sell or distribute maps to landowners so they might understand these untapped resources.

Even if people could see a vortex, they would need to know its value. To reconstruct and adapt to a changing reality, one has to participate in the energy flow. So Walter invented Fountaineering in order to educate the masses on the advantages and disadvantages of vortex encounters. Vortexes were becoming visible, intense, and unnerving energetic fountains that initially were frightening to those in the unprepared status quo, emboldening to the disenfranchised true believers, and validating to people flourishing on the spiritual fringe.

Inside of this New Age transition, Fountaineers would have to trespass on private land, and deliver unsolicited and accurate results with the conviction of an evangelist, lobbyist, or fundraiser. Positive Conduct was the most important thing.

Walter came up with the idea of Fountaineering the night Wanda and he had witnessed the giant green serpent feasting on rod energy. The thought form hit him all at once, and as with most complicated thought forms, it took him a few days to unravel the total meaning and how best to assimilate the idea into his transitional concept of reality. After explaining the idea to Wanda, it was she that came up with the name.

"Name it after Summit Fountain. Vortexes are really just fountains of energy. Call it Fountaineering."

"Good idea! We are the first Fountaineers!"

"This means uniforms and trainees and an operating manual."

"Uniforms? Recruiting will not be hard. There are many people in the Bay Area who are like minded, and my polymorphic painting tie-ins have gotten publicity and recognition in the local New Age community."

Wanda added, "It will have to be organized as a non-profit."

"I suppose it will."

Wanda's enthusiasm increased, "I nominate Charley Nadal to be our chief consultant and President of the Board of Directors."

"Not so sure we should be so visible. I want us to be all-volunteer."

"Not so visible? Why not?"

"I envision a grass roots organization like Occupy Wall Street or Critical Mass, to be free of central leadership and corporate sponsors and investors.

"Occupy' attracts violent pseudo-hippy thugs and anarchists."

Walter pleaded gently, "Do we have to register with the government? The whole idea is to trespass and reveal vortex locations. Universal energy is free for everyone. We are not establishing mineral rights. Subtle energy should be free like the air. Let's inspire new law as a result of our mapping expeditions."

Wanda replied, "This is true...and we have to place a physical marker by each mapped fountain."

"Like an underground gas line marker?"

"More like a wooden trail marker designating the V scale and vortex properties."

Walter laughed, "We'll have to designate whether the fountain emits sprites or other mischievous spirits."

Wanda was not so amused, "I thought all fountains emitted spirits?"

"Elemental feeders and suckers-"

"Vampires and walk-ins."

"At first it will be impossible to validate walk-ins, because the unprotected low cons will be permeated by them. When they're able to see and feel walk-ins enter their own energy body, then they'll learn to protect themselves."

"They are permeated now!"

"Mostly just the weak and damaged."

"Do you think Google will eventually develop a Google Fountain App? We sell them the idea and they'll provide Fountaineer trainees."

"And fountain flash mobs? No way we turn this into a worldwide social media religious app. No corporate sponsors or partnerships."

"Underground movement?"

"Freelance. Do you really think the government is going to ask us to declare a nonprofit status when they can't see us?"

5. Influence

§ spoke to Clutch and Weber at the Deer Flats Campground south of Cedar Breaks the night before they reunited with Monica at Escalante:

Hello my

Freelancers.

They were watching the campfire, wide-awake, alcohol free, and that's what they heard in their heads. They rose from their folding chairs and gazed skyward out of instinct; didn't see any kind of UFO, or a spindly alien, or feel a hit-mind attacking them.

I'm

proud that

you have not killed

anyone lately.

Weber swayed with the implication of high praise being showered upon him inside the many loving thought forms arriving unfiltered, and Clutch was mesmerized by § and her creepily gentle voice.

I'm

happy people

can relate to others

nonviolently.

When they tried to talk they found that they couldn't.

I

have

disabled

your fifth

chakra.

Weber closed his eyes and could see her! It was not that he could see her full size body externally with his third eye; he saw a much smaller image floating in his mind's eye.

Close

your eyes,

Mr. Clutch.

He gasped with surprise. § was not only beautifully proportioned and naked, she made their minds feel warm and safe and desired. They were completely seduced by her invasive power and each and every thought form became easier to read and unravel. It was an intimate and pure exchange, a direct communion, an intensely close relationship unfettered by miscommunication or a language barrier.

Be

seeing

Monica Gifford

tomorrow?

Weber replied telepathically, "I haven't seen her in fourteen years."

The

tether has

not been broken and

neither has her love for you.

"Monica wants me to escort her to the Outer Sanctum."

There

will be an

obstacle by being

no space plane to take

her away.

"Then I will have to show her the space port. She'll have to deal with the departure schedule on her own."

A

wise man.

"I prefer that she return to California with Clutch and I and strengthen our power triad."

This

will have to

happen. Confront Charley

Nadal now and bring along Mister

Maynard Ackroyd."

§ image faded suddenly from their minds, the feeling of closeness did not fade. Clutch whooped and hollered and searched the sky. Weber experienced a chill going down his spine which rebounded upward as heat when his first chakra warmed-up, then his second, and third, all the way up the chakra ladder and out through the crown of his head. He raised both hands into the sky and felt the rarely conscious eight, nine, and ten external chakras floating above him. His merkabah field extended outward until it thinly enveloped the entire grid of Earth.

They drove into Escalante the next morning and parked next to the restaurant that had served thick pizza to Monica the night before, and went inside where she was waiting with a broad grin, a clear mind, and a French accent.

"Mister Grumbling, I presume?"

Weber approached slow and deliberate, Clutch ordered a round of coffee, grinning and laughing and shaking his head.

Weber replied, "Well, what do you know? It's Mrs. Eileen Cornelius! No worse for wear. I take it you haven't found your husband Paul?"

"Ouija, monsieur. Paul is still missing, and the cruel blackhearts will not help me find him...I believe you have found a hole in the wall of fire?"

They laughed and hugged, and touched each other's faces, and kissed each other on both cheeks while Clutch stood by with a tray of coffee mugs, beaming with pride that they were finally getting back together.

They found a corner table and sipped coffee and telepathically conversed. Weber said, "I have to declare something that will make one of us upset."

Clutch wiped away his contented grin with a napkin, "Why ruin a coffee break?"

Weber telepathized:

Our

triad now

consists of myself,

Monica,

and

§.

Monica replied:

§?

Weber said out loud, "That is the female non-local Beta Conductor."

"Non-local? Does she know where Jacob is?"

"I don't know."

"When can I meet her?"

"I don't know...she's _non-local_."

Clutch interrupted, "Did § propose this last night by a secret thought form?"

"I thought it was my idea," replied Weber forcefully.

Clutch paused and sighed, "Okay, I reckon I'm not upset. I know I'm not as strong as you two."

Weber said facetiously, "Thanks for the understanding, partner."

Monica said loudly, "Mr. Grumbling, can we please go to the gulch?"

6. Walk-ins Welcome

The caretaker device barely hummed, holding a man whose soul was being projected to a distant Outer Sanctum colony where he occupied another man's body living in the colony capital, a man whose critical role was to coordinate the colonies security protocols and to primarily screen newcomers and newborns for special mental abilities.

The man in the caretaker machine, the walk-in, was Jacob Bjerknes. He had been plugged-in for fourteen years without direct physical human contact, experiencing only fleeting moments where he was allowed to feel his body and identity to it in the context of his previous life. At these times, he tried to connect to Monica by visualizing her beautiful face. Forbidden, the attempt would elicit a sudden blackout until he was projected back again into the security man's body.

Then Jacob was a walk-in again, displacing the security man to the background, controlling his dutiful life, trapped in the body of another autonomous meat slave on a distant planet in the throes of colonization.

The caretaker machine occasionally let Jacob contemplate his own life in context as to where the caretaker device was installed. The Gravity was lower, the air thinner, and then Jacob would remember that he was inside of the Earth's Moon! Monica was a quarter of a million miles away and he could only think of her as an abstract name and former lover, his thoughts of connection and reunion controlled by the caretaker device, which was controlled by a lord he never quite grasped.

Jacob's body was fifty pounds thinner and weaker from inactivity. When he looked from side to side, he saw caretakers holding other high-cons, who he then tried to reach with his mind but to no avail. He remembered the milestone science fiction movie The Matrix, and how closely it described his entrapment. Except that he wasn't a battery and his mind was projected into the mind/body of a real person, not a virtual person.

So this array of personal prison coffins inside the Moon was the final destination of his years of spiritual growth, the epitomy of high-con attainment and guided homicidal rampage? No wonder protective religions on planet Earth acted as brokers between sub-conduits and conduits. Be careful how far you advance in consciousness. You will be noticed and appropriated by greater beings to do their bidding.

Will the slavery never end?

The Earth was alive with walk-ins influencing the economy and politics, controlling consciousness evolution, dueling with the brave freelancers who dared to surface and exert independent mind control and influence on the prevailing culture.

There are dark and mischievous walk-ins, who enter people's energy bodies uninvited; to feed on fear or joy and prod the victim to produce the emotion they feed on. The negative dark walk-ins congregate at bars and hospitals and god-fearing temples of worship. The positive light walk-ins are used to control the population. On space station Moon, the light walk-ins are distributed and controlled by the Conductors of the Outer Sanctum.

The Earth is a nursery school.

Jacob felt abandoned by the Alpha, who left him utterly alone when he was in his own body, or in another's. Only his love for Monica and himself remained.

The Sipho Colony was his salvation. He had a wife and children, and he didn't have to kill anyone on Earth anymore. The indigenous life had not evolved beyond rodents and microorganisms. Fresh water resources were scarcer than on Earth, and limited the Colony to seven settlements on three continents.

There was more adventure in Omaha than on Sipho. Then one routine day, when he returned to his body after a day of occupying the Security Chief's mind and body, when the chief went to sleep, Jacob felt Monica's close presence in his mind for the first time in fourteen years.

Tears welled-up and he couldn't focus on anything but her presence. He closed his eyes, and there her beautiful face was in his mind's eye. Love was exchanged by telepathic connection. There were no words or auditory communication. It was an intimate personal communiquake of overwhelming proportion, an allowable intervention, and a care package from Earth. _There were no words to hear.._.

7. Do by Doing

"It's time to test the Fountaineering design," said Charley Nadal, behind his office desk, with a knowing glint in his eye. Walter sat back in his chair, grasped his hands behind his head, exhaling slowly, and puffed his cheeks as he side-glanced at Wanda, who was nodding in agreement.

"I think I am ready. My five recruits are trained to be sneaky and they're experts at detecting fountains," said Walter.

"Good. We really need sneaky."

Wanda said, "I'm queen of sneaky."

Charley hesitated and said, "Shall your first property to map be my neighbor? The Hudson's?"

Walter said, "I don't know. They own guns and have two Doberman pinchers."

"That's a fact, "said Charley, "that's why we use mind control when we trespass on private land."

Walter leaned over to the desk and made a note on his tablet draft of the Fountaineers constitution.

Wanda said, "I'm really good at controlling animals."

"Yes, Wanda," Charley said proudly.

"I can make them chase phantom prey."

Charley winced and squinted at her.

Walter said, "Let's start tomorrow...whether or not all my Fountaineer's are here."

Wanda said enthusiastically, "I cracked the Google Map tablet app and can now place V scale pins on the digital map to mark fountains. Each pin has its own editable drop-down legend dialog box so I can detail describe each fountain to the tee."

Charley said, "Wonderful."

"I can e mail the final map and legend version to the property owners, or mail a hard copy. Each mapped locality will build into the greater locality, state, country, and world map which will be available on our web site."

"Clever. How did you hack Google...wait, that's a dumb question."

"I'd love to answer it," said Wanda.

"Okay, make me prouder."

"Wanda seduced the VP of Google Maps," interrupted Walter.

"No I didn't! I used mind control."

Charley said, "Is that right?"

"It's right."

"Can't they recognize the hack?"

, "Google was made an offer they couldn't resist." said Walter.

Wanda boasted, "Yeah, they signed an agreement under mind control, and the software they own runs on a cloud server they also own."

Walter added, "I barely had to reinforce the agreement."

Charley was impressed, "What do you need me for?"

"Well, I need your smoother over-mind thought forms to reinforce the agreement."

"I can do that."

The Summit School's V5 arched energy to the property next door. The Hudson's lived on twenty-five acres of clear land mixed with oaks, firs, redwoods, old apple orchards and poison oak, mixed with Manzanita brush, and sinewy and sensual red Madrone trees. Rock outcroppings dotted the landscape, more then on the Summit Fountain property. There was an unobstructed view of the Santa Cruz Mountains and Monterey Bay from a flat-topped knoll lined in sagebrush and topped with one giant and imposing fir tree.

At 5 a.m., before sunrise, Fountaineer Wanda was at the northeast corner of the Hudson property, Fountaineer Walter at the northwest corner, and Fountaineer and rising conduit Tom (Tommy) Smith was at the southwest corner. Charley stood at the southeast corner; each of them had a tablet in hand to map the vortexes. They asked for permission to interpenetrate all the spirit bodies on the Hudson property and after a commanding prayer, they started a group sense mapping and crept inward towards the center of the property, where the main house and utility buildings were occupied. There were also far flung outbuildings and two cottages built over V3's. It was predawn and the light-sleeping Doberman pinchers were still locked-up.

Beta Conductors Walter and Wanda crept in camouflage; telepathy was the method of precise communication. It was almost too easy. Even though vortexes were increasing in quantity and intensity with the arrival of multidimensional energy, most people were being subconsciously conditioned to ignore the next phase. Thought forms were sent to keep the sleeping Hudson's asleep and the early risers from being interested in going outdoors. There were twelve people in four residences on the property. Wanda gave them all delusional fantasies or dreams of technical accomplishment in fields such as information theory or porn site administration. Receptive adults and children were noted for their level of conscious awareness and given thought forms that would lead them to the unique mapped fountains that would accelerate their individual growth.

Walter followed a vibrant strand of energy from the Summit V5 to the Hudson's main house. He sense mapped a healing V2 in the Hudson's great room fireplace and met up with Wanda within visual sight of the two story log house.

They merged their energy bodies and began to feel a strange pattern.

8. Omnipresent

It was mild for August. Cirrus clouds scratched the bright sky-blue and gusts of warm wind blew over the mesas and canyons. Driving Karmavore on Hole in the Rock Road, Clutch followed Monica's dusty Blazer kick-up; Weber was her passenger. They passed the hidden complex tunnel entrance. Clutch pulled over at the first Coyote Gulch trailhead and locked the RV. They doubled back in the Blazer and parked a hundred yards from the tunnel entrance.

Weber felt a repulsive thought form of foreboding abandonment as if the secret spaceport was gone. He saw two gliding rippling shadows on the ground; cawing black ravens joined the blunt and intrusive mind rebuke. He thought:

Ravens represent the Moon...

All was well.

The entrance was open when they got there and a greeter named Max took them to the reception area while the alcove operations people decided on the next step. A shuttle was not present. Weber said to Monica, "Now what?"

"They have to let me speak to Jacob."

"Fair enough."

"In person."

"He's not here."

"Then I want to be on the next shuttle."

Weber sense mapped the underground facility and discovered an area they hadn't seen back in 1999. It contained what appeared to be a spare shuttle travel cocoon or something else entirely.

A Monroe Meditation & Isolation chamber?

Clutch got antsy and silently implored Weber and Monica to take over the facility and show these wannabes who's the boss.

Weber said, "Max is coming with good news."

Clutch said, "What in the blazes...no Charley Nadal?"

Monica said, "Whose Charley Nadal?"

Weber had never told her about Charley. Or at least apply the thought...

"Ah...he's a powerful Beta in California who happens to coordinate travel to the Outer Sanctum."

"Then why aren't we talking to him? And what's this Outer Sanctum anyway?"

"It's the controlled space above the Earth's surface."

Weber's left shoulder twitched as if it were attached to an active electrode stimulator, a leftover symptom from his 2001 bullet wound.

Monica contorted her forehead, "Controlled space?"

"Apparently, only really advanced high-cons are allowed to leave Earth."

"So that's what all the secrecy is about?"

"I reckon so."

"So what's the problem? Why can't I go?"

"Probably because you're needed right here."

"Bullshit!"

"C'mon, Monica, I ain't the gatekeeper."

"Really?"

"Be that it may, here comes Max."

Max approached and said, "My team has agreed to let Monica Gifford communicate remotely with Jacob Bjerknes."

Preparing to be outraged, Monica blankly accepted Max's terms without a fight.

"Thank you, Max," was all she could say and she hugged Max until his face blushed pink. They placed Monica horizontally in the isolation chamber and asked her to meditate on a full Moon image and to picture Jacob's face superimposed over it. She lowered her heart rate and closed her eyes and visualized the Moon as a whole, then the crater pocked surface...and then her consciousness was pulled inside of the Moon.

For the longest time she couldn't say anything. They merged astral bodies and immersed familiar energies and basked in the glow. Jacob was strong and disciplined and a new maturity wove throughout his body and mind. Slowly they sent each other life catch-up thought forms, sketches of what they had done and what they wished they had done the past fourteen years.

Monica only had one question:

What

are you

doing in

the heart

of the

Moon?

Jacob replied decisively:

Waiting

for you to

get out of

prison.

I

love

your man

cave.

Then they disconnected.

9. Death Knoll

Charley and Tom Smith did not have a direct path to the Hudson's main house. Tom climbed up the side of the flattop knoll and stumbled into a field of abandoned slabs of rock material, left by a defunct stonemason business. Fog wisped, and amidst the large firs and oaks lay unsold and unfinished headstones spread-out across a quarter acre corporate yard, partially covered by wild weeds and undergrowth, and rotten tree limbs, strung with spider webs, littered the ground.

Tom's base chakra connected; and resonated back and forth with an obliging and menacing presence at the center of the knoll's V3. Tom protected and slowly moved through the periphery between the forest edge and the unsold headstones, which had names and birthdates, but no death dates. Some of the birthdates were in the 1910's. It was either a graveyard for immortals or for the layaway poor who couldn't afford the stonemason's final installment.

The V3, a tight humming resource of the morphic field, released a full spectrum of waveforms and thought forms and entities. To classify this one, Tom would have to get close to it...but it had malevolence and he was only a high-conduit.

Tom texted an urgent plea to Charley: Meet me at the knoll!

Charley read the message and replied: Found the headstones?

Tom sent: Found a walk-in!

Charley didn't hesitate: On my way.

Charley changed direction and sense-mapped the knoll. The Hudson family members, known to have occult tendencies, locally controlled the V3 vortex. Charley knew the Hudson's as dark and supernaturally eccentric; it's why he insisted on their property as a first Fountaineering survey target. Pushback was hell. Walter and his rookies had to confront the dark reality, which would feed off their fear if they let it. Charley's sense mapping of the knoll revealed an entity presence all too familiar: Dr. Fenzeig! Charley engaged telepathically to his mentor and gently asked him to remain in the background.

Fenzeig said:

I

WILL

NOT.

This

is my

show!

POOR

TOMMY.

Charley rushed through the brush and reached the knoll flattop. He located Tom lying on his back in a cluster of unfinished headstones. Tom's head rested on:

Myrtle Grace Willow

B. April 11, 1932

Tom was in a trance state as Charley knelt beside him. Charley thought: the walk-in is Fenzeig! Charley spoke to Tom's spirit first. He touched Tom's forehead with his index finger and tapped Tom's third eye rapidly.

"Stay grounded, my friend, this won't take too long."

Fenzeig spoke in Tom's voice, "He can't hear."

Charley demanded, "What is this?"

"I'm doing your job."

"I will not walk-in to another being."

YOU LET

ME WALK-IN

TO YOU.

I

regret

this.

I

PUSHED

A DARK ENTITY

OUT OF POOR

TOMMY.

Do

leave

him.

Fenzeig left Tom's body and entered Charley's mind:

IS

THIS A

BETTER

WAY?

Yes

and thank

you. When can

we meet in

person?

THAT

IS YOUR

CHOICE.

Charley didn't reply. He slapped Tom's face twice.

"Snap out of it!"

Charley shook Tom's shoulders and he finally came out of the million-mile stare and gawked at Charley.

"Uh...thanks for coming to get me," he said meekly.

"I wasn't the only one," stated Charley.

"I couldn't stop the dark entity...it attacked me! I don't remember!"

Charley helped him stand, "Good thing too. I interceded on your behalf and performed an exorcism."

"I thought I was ready for this stuff."

"You're more than ready...but from now on we use a buddy system."

10. Labyrinth

Despite the abrupt end to Monica's and Jacob's Moon Meld, Monica was in High Heaven. Weber was frustrated because he needed her and even though they meshed energy chemistry, she was in love with Jacob. Being in close proximity to her was enough, though, and Weber hoped a camp-out at the trailhead and a triad sponsored powwow with § might induce an even stronger bond between them.

Clutch wanted to spend the night in the underground complex and update a tour of the alcove. Hot intelligent high-con women were certain to be found. The cafeteria was five stars. The locality was clear of dark walk-ins and elementals. It was refreshing to be in a spaceport of any kind, a relief from the random spirit world that was becoming more visible and unnerving to high-cons, and flickering on the fringe of the sub conscious sub conduits minds'.

Weber protected Clutch by allowing Clutch to act as a fearless point man. Clutch surfed Weber's wave of control. It was a slow ride getting to know the next dimension. It was crowded. Even in the remote canyon lands of southern Utah, dimensional entities had always lived side by side and fairly ignored the low-cons. A blind exchange of subconscious values; our system of consciousness has a movable vibration range, a way to advance in vibration consciousness, a way to reveal access to universal knowledge, wisdom, and thought form action. The key is the third eye.

Just after Weber decided to camp in the spaceport "hotel", the alcove operations personnel comepletely disappeared. A text message from Max indicated that Max had phased to the next dimension to refresh. It's tedious, tiresome, and wavering to be in two dimensions simultaneously, when the draggy lower vibration is slowly being tuned-upward to a higher level. It took deep reserves of life experience to tune to an intuitive unity.

Kicked-back in the lounge area, Clutch said, "Where did they go?"

"They haven't left," said Weber.

"Why can't I see them?"

"Slightly phased ahead of us," said Monica as she looked past Clutch.

An hour later they received a warm arrival announcement from §, asking Weber to set-up camp in the natural alcove:

Light

please a

bonfire to

illuminate

canyon

port.

Give

me time

to gather

firewood and

sleeping

bags.

A

time of

interval as

the moonlight

touches the

alcove

sand.

Weber agreed and sent Clutch to gather kindling and firewood from the entangled growth along the gulch walls. The moonlight would be touching the alcove floor in another hour. So within a half hour, they sat around a campfire and reminisced about the Gurument days and the awful time in Omaha back in 2001. Monica reminded Clutch and Weber of the competing mind control sources on the night Weber was shot by Jacob.

"Do you remember I thought that Jacob and the West Alpha were being controlled by the East Alpha?"

Weber replied, "Yes. I'm convinced the dual Clownsheep incursion was really transdimensional surrogates mediated by both of the Alpha's in collusion to force the American Beta's into the open-"

§ intruded suddenly into their collective mind:

It

was the

Alpha Non-local

who breeched

the morphic

field.

Weber replied:

Are

you

here

now?

Yes.

Monica and Clutch and Weber stood on the alcove lip; the moon had risen and lit-up the sandy floor of the alcove cavern. A deformity of the air rippled and a silvery UFO disk materialized, hovering about fifty feet above the gulch, in front of the alcove.

A flood of thought forms rushed into their minds, forcing attention inwards, their eyes fixed on the spacecraft. In seconds, standing there warming her hands over the campfire, was the flesh and blood entity named §.

§ wore tight khaki shorts, a pullover shirt made from a woven alloy, and a peculiar necklace pendant that amplified the moonlight to fill the alcove. She looked like a nineteen-year-old blonde Natalie Wood sans the Hollywood make-up. She spoke conventional without making direct eye contact, "Max works for me."

Max materialized, bowed, was lifted by invisible hands and delivered to an opening in the side of the spacecraft.

"In the Outer Sanctum, we do not say our names. We convey our thoughts telepathically. Tonight is a good time to merge our fields."

Weber and Monica were compelled to move over to § and hold hands with her in a semi-circle around the fire. Clutch faced the UFO and ignored the triad.

Weber and Monica felt §'s energy body; it permeated them like a hot desert wind blowing through a cool mountain shadow.

11. Ground Stake

Calvin Hudson was puzzled by the invasion of Fountaineers. Being the patriarch of his family and a widower, he was prepared to take on all liberal invaders. This group was different. They weren't pot growers or trespassing hippies. They knew where his vortexes were and they united the thought streams to form a short-term intense mental map of his land, buildings, and people. They controlled everyone on his property but him. They converged deliberately on the main house, creeping silently on the long wrap-around covered porch. They carried no weapons. The nerve!

Thin fog drifted between the tree branches, the clear sky brighter between the intermittent misty fingers drifting by directly above. Walter received Charley and Tom's distressful tether about the time he and Wanda figured out that the energy pattern underlying the Hudson property was balanced to a perfect half dark and half light. A protected man named Calvin was inside the main house master bedroom, conscious of the four Fountaineers. He did not project doom. He was the one who allowed a balance of energies to coexist on his property. No wonder Charley chose to build a school next door to the Hudson's. Calvin was a powerful Beta Conductor and an old back woods seer.

Walter stayed on the porch and sent Wanda to meet Charley and Tom as they approached the main house. Wanda sensed that Tom seemed to be okay even though his energy body projected a latent fear of dark energy. Charley had an arm around Tom's shoulder.

"He's going to be fine...it was a shock to his ego more than anything. He thought he was strong."

Tom nodded in agreement. Wanda pecked him on the cheek.

They returned to the main house and to great surprise, Calvin Hudson sat on the porch conversing casually with Walter, both of them drinking coffee from steamy mugs.

Wanda, amazed by Walter's nonchalance, stopped in her tracks as a confident Charley escorted Tom forward.

Walter said to Calvin, "This is my wife Wanda and my mentor Charley."

"Good morning, Charley...long time no see," said Calvin.

"And this is Tom Smith," said Walter, finishing the introductions.

Calvin said, "Tommy? You're as white as an albino ghost."

"Yes sir."

"I call my headstone yard The Death Knoll."

"Yes sir...you've captured the very essence."

Calvin chortled knowingly, "Walter here is contemplating going to a buddy system."

Charley said, "Is he? I wonder where he got that idea?"

"Probably from a foolish rag head like you, Charley."

"No need to trade insults. I was conceived in Los Angeles."

"This is a terrorist organization you're promoting. Challenging personal belief systems with your so called enlightened discoveries is a very dangerous occupation even when there's no trespassing."

Walter said, "Fountaineering will be recognized because we are neutral healers."

"True, but you're confronting the mainstream. They'll eat you alive."

"Not if we change their minds."

"To reveal the control reality will be profoundly disturbing."

Charley said, "Like what you've done to your property? People don't trespass on your land because it's protected by dark entities."

"Charley, we've been through this before. I'm all about keeping my enemies at bay and not paying fees to an alarm company."

"You're right about that...is cruelty a positive attribute?"

"Cut the pretense, Charley. The only reason that school of yours exists next to my homestead is because I couldn't afford to buy your property forty years ago. I regret this because you've grown a V5 that is dominating my local grid control. Please respect my boundaries."

Charley laughed and said, "Don't forget I've rescued a few sub conduits from your walk-ins." Calvin lifted his lanky frame from his rocker, set his coffee mug on a side table, and bowed, hissing loud like a bus airbrake valve.

"Y'all got your school, I got mine."

Wanda asked cautiously, "I take it you don't need a map of your fountains?"

Calvin replied, "I call them portals! Science Friction. Go ahead and give me a hardcopy. I need a good laugh."

Tom whispered to Wanda, "Put down skull and crossbones for the Death knoll V3."

Calvin laughed, "He's seen my map!"

Walter and the Fountaineers said goodbye to Calvin and released their mind control over the rest of the property and made their way back to Summit School.

12. Remote Skewing

Clutch helped Monica wipe down the interior and exterior of the Chevy Blazer before they pushed it into a gully off Hole in the Rock Road about ten miles south of Escalante. Weber waited inside Karmavore, in the driver's seat. Monica and Clutch hopped on board and the trio headed for Hwy 12, then picked-up groceries in Escalante, and headed west to California.

Their ultimate destination was a New Age schoolhouse: Charley Nadal's Summit Fountain School. Maynard waited at Moffett Field and wanted to tag along with Weber and Monica when they met with Charley. The first night on the road they stayed at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. For Monica, the side trip was a family bonding moment and she got to catch-up on movies, to listen to satellite radio playing electronica music from the Ought's and she engaged in video backgammon on Clutch's tablet. Mostly, she couldn't stop thinking about § and Jacob and how § had the power to get Jacob out of the hollow Moon. Weber sensed her preoccupation and gave Monica a wide berth; in fact, he let her have the master suite in the rear of Karmavore. Monica would have nothing to do with the isolation chamber. "Use it for storage," she said, "people can meditate anywhere, anytime, I don't need a safe isolation."

Weber said, "It's also a Monroe Chamber."

Clutch distributed skewers and marshmallows and the trio surrounded a small campfire. Monica said, "The iso chamber is for frequency induced astral travel?"

"And remote viewing," said Clutch.

"A psychic spy cabinet?"

Weber laughed, "Yes...a spy cabinet."

"Can I beam my astral body to the Moon?"

"To Jacob you mean?"

Monica gave him a look of wonderment, "And after that I can try to remote view Summit School...Charley lives there in a trailer?"

"He does."

"Will he let me in?"

"I don't know."

"Can I try the Moon first?"

"To the Moon, Monica!"

A thought form arrived from the West Alpha:

DO

NOT TRY.

MONICA IS

BLOCKED TO

VISITING

JACOB.

Deflated, Monica and Weber stared at the campfire and popped hot roasted marshmallows in their mouths while Clutch just gazed spellbound at the flames.

"There's your answer," said Weber.

"I knew he wouldn't let me see Jacob," she said almost stoically.

Weber said enthusiastically, "I wonder if you can view Charley?"

They waited for another of the Alpha's intrusive thought forms commands...and waited.

"There's my answer," said Monica.

Coyotes yelped in the surrounding forest, snapping Clutch from his rapturous campfire attention, "I reckon that the Alpha sanctions a pow wow with Charley. I wonder if Alpha's ready for a peaceful transfer of power."

Monica skewered another round of marshmallows and hummed the Black Eyed Peas "Let's Get It Started" and with campfire glints in her eyes she said, "Charley is the key to the West Alpha... I know it."

Weber looked up at the quarter Moon.

"And Jacob is physically near the West Alpha."

Monica followed Weber's eyes, nodding agreement. She felt the Moon's tidal pull. Clutch picked-up a small rock and threw it into the forest; the noise chased a familiar out of range of the next rock he immediately threw. Then Clutch rushed into the woods suddenly, and using a flashlight, he found orange and blue paint drops on top of a bed of pine needles and just inside the forest fringe, there was a tiny blue spiral on a tree trunk.

13. Dark Property

With a look of mock seriousness, in the role of a heavy he could never pull-off, Charley Nadal sternly faced-off Walter and Wanda Wells, and Tom Smith, from his accustomed position in front of the chalkboard.

"The Fountaineers aren't the only ones who know how to map vortexes. I'm sure you've heard of the Gurument?"

Walter and Wanda nodded and Tom said, "My Dad's in the Gurument."

Charley nodded slowly and said, "Yes he is."

As Charley drew a sketch of the Summit Fountain School grounds and the adjacent Hudson property he said, "My V5 dominates the Santa Cruz Mountains and the Western hemisphere. This will be the center of Fountaineering power and control." In an exuberant and maniacal gesture, he sketched the swirling V5 in red chalk, using the broad side of the chalk stick, and made the vortex boundary lines project beyond the map boundaries of the school and past the Hudson property, past the chalkboard frame, turning and gesturing like a symphony conductor.

"It's our job to conduct the established regional fountains. You have to stabilize and hook the little ones into the grid," said Charley, "like stitching a quilt."

Wanda said in a warning tone, "The Hudson's energy is going to be a constant obstacle to Summit Fountaineering. Dark holes in the quilt."

"Calvin Hudson provides a constant balance to the grid by being next door to my influential V5. We map the good, the bad, and the neutral. Mutually supportive. Mapmakers and Fountaineers can't leave an active volcano or a private dark property off the map."

Wanda said, "What's our long term goal then? To establish the location and type of fountain? Like a dowser locating a water source for a property owner?"

Walter inserted, "Even Google apps shows people picking their noses and satellites invade our backyards."

Tom said, "They show people picking their noses in skanky yards!"

Charley said, "This is why we have to be ethical when we invade others space with our energy and minds."

Walter abruptly asked, "Charley?"

"Yes?"

"No offense, I would like to lead the debriefing now."

"None taken my friend...I do tend to go on."

Walter stared at Tom, "Thanks. Now Tom...tell me what happened on the Death Knoll?"

Tom fidgeted and looked at Charley and sideways at Wanda "Well bro, I climbed up to the knoll, and when I got there, and saw the hella headstones and rock slabs, I felt the dread and my energy body kind of wobbled. I guess it was triggered by the cemetery archetypes, uh, like the gravestones and ghosts and such. I stayed away from the V3 source and thought I'd snuck around it pretty good when a discorporate being suddenly entered my body and made me feel sick. I texted Charley for help. In a matter of seconds the walk-in was commanded to leave me by a voice in my head. A more powerful spirit replaced the walk-in and then controlled my mind."

Walter's eyebrows raised, "Another spirit from the V3?"

"I don't know. Charley talked to the spirit."

Walter turned to engage Charley's eyes.

"Charley?"

"It was Dr. Fenzeig. He intervened on the behalf of Tom."

"Our school's silent partner?"

"One in the same."

"Okay...really?"

"He's very powerful."

Walter loomed over Tom, "What did he feel like?"

"To be honest...it felt like Charley."

"Like Charley?"

"Ya know how Charley fills a room with his own kind of energy flavor?"

Charley interrupted, "I think about Dr. Fenzeig all the time and he thinks about me." Wanda stood and paced around the classroom and attempted to clear it in Charley's presence. It was something she had never been able to do.

Charley grinned slyly, "Dr. Fenzeig is a master."

Walter said, "He's the West Alpha, isn't he?"

Charley shrugged, "The Conductor? Who knows? What flavor do you see?"

Wanda said, "An omnipresent invisible mist."

She crept alongside the chalkboard and pinched chalk dust from the catch tray and blew a cloud at Charley's smug face.

14. Encapsulated

One fine Moon day, Jacob's muscle stimulator function had to be reconstituted, so his caretaker device opened and he got to sit up and walk around the room. There was an older man laying inside the nearest caretaker device, and unlike Jacob's restrained status; he had control of his device because it was open to the air, minus a cocoon cover. Radiating a mind field, the room was filled with the Alpha Conductor's signature presence. Jacob stared at the bald old man. It had to be him. Dark eyebrows...he looked like a Nazi war criminal. Deep lines in his face seemed arranged to draw attention, like a provocative tattoo one can't quite look away from, and his short clipped silvery beard indicated an obsessive grooming habit. Intense blue eyes opened, and when he smiled, Jacob fell to his knees and wept. The old man sat-up and looked around the room.

"I see your tear ducts are working."

Jacob replied, "Is it really you?"

"I hope so. My name is Dr. Serge Fenzeig."

"No wonder we couldn't find you."

"Indeed. I'm the Man in the Moon. I'm glad I found you, Jacob."

Still on his knees, Jacob reached out to shake hands. Serge clasped Jacob's hand and vigorously shook it up and down until Jacob started to laugh and cry like he was an emotional pump. Fenzeig let go and bellowed a loud infectious laugh, left his device, and hugged Jacob. Jacob burrowed his face into the Conductor's chest. When Jacob stood up, he was a foot taller than Serge.

Serge said, "The Moon is designed to amplify thought waves and thought forms. I do not need caretaker enhancement to control the Earth. However, it serves to keep me from getting stress fatigue on challenging days."

Jacob gazed at his mentor.

Serge continued, "I chose you because of your ruthless passion and independence, and your gift of being able to fly under the radar. On the flip side, you're a reckless and infantile predator."

Jacob stuttered, "I...I...I-"

"Sorry, Jacob, I don't love you that way."

Serge Fenzeig looked at a wall and a door opened there, and the air was filled with whitewash light and passive aggressive thought forms. He motioned for Jacob to follow him, "Better protect your body field or you'll black-out."

Jacob shook his head and moved backward toward his caretaker. Being so close to the door he felt spiky invasive control forms pierce his energy body and weaken him. He felt like a baby about to be thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool.

Fenzeig turned to face Jacob.

"What you feel is next level stuff, a riptide to the next dimension."

"No thanks, Dr. Fenzeig."

"Imagine the linkers' and let them in and it will be much easier on your body."

"I can't!"

"If you want to understand me you must enter the field. Besides, I have a great cafeteria and a low density Sipho lobster waiting for you on the other side."

"Am I dead?"

"Good lord, Jacob."

"I mean it. I thought you were a smooth and willing thirty year old."

"Sorry, I really did have to stimulate your bisexual tuning."

"I...I...I feel discombobulated."

"I'm old enough to be your Grandfather."

"No one has ever cared for me as much as you have."

"I made you kill for me."

"Water under the bridge."

Serge motioned towards the wall and said softly, "Why are you afraid of the security field current?"

"Am not. I want to live like a normal special mental."

"Then wake from your special mental dream."

Jacob climbed back into the caretaker machine and laughed and cried as the crossover-tuning field tossed aggressive link thought forms at him through the doorway where Fenzeig had disappeared through. Jacob simmered in his revelatory moment and tried to imagine a way out other than Fenzeig's tuning field.

His caretaker device stayed open to the air.

Monica came into his mind and he closed his eyes.

15. Interference

At 2 a.m., despite the Alpha's order, Monica climbed into Karmavore's iso-cabinet and contacted Jacob without the slightest Alpha obstruction. The Alpha had to know Monica would try to reach Jacob.

At 2 a.m., Weber decided to seek out Fizzgig, the one Clownsheep that wouldn't attack him. Upon reading Clutch's mind and the details it provided, and finding out there was no Edgar crescent and star paint drops present in the forest, just the blue spirals denoting Fizzgig's presence, Weber took a night walk with a heavy flashlight to a small meadow several hundred yards away, brightly illuminated by the moonlight. He caught a pair of sparkling large eyes looking at him from the north end of the meadow in the flashlight beam and he slowly approached the source. The eyes turned away and he saw Fizzgig gallop along the forest edge and move to the south and then abruptly head straight for him.

The Alpha Conductor came into his mind:

I

AM

ONE IN

THE SAME

AM

I.

Weber's heart leapt as he replied telepathically:

Oh

my god

a sheep is

really in

charge?

I

AM A

CHARGING

SHEEP.

Fizzgig rammed into Weber and knocked him to the ground, then stood over him keeping Weber within all four of his legs and hooves. Paint drops dripped from Fizzgigs belly onto Weber's flannel shirt and ashen face. Weber tried to gather his wits. He hesitated to verbally joust with Fizzgig and sent this thought form:

I

thought

we had an

understanding

to transfer

power to

me.

Fizzgig looked at the moon. He pounded his right front hoof several times. The Alpha responded with a thought form:

YOU'RE

TREADING

ON MY MIND

CONTROL!

I

mean to

take over

soon.

I

WILL

DETERMINE

THE RIGHT

TIME.

I'm

the challenger

and it's

time!

Fizzgig lifted his right front leg and said calmly, "I stomp your head."

A shot rang out and Fizzgig bellowed in agony, his four legs buckled, and he toppled over, leaving his right legs draped over Weber.

Infuriated, the Alpha sent an aggressive thought form, causing Weber to blackout, and before Weber did, he saw Clutch carrying a 38 Special which pointed at Fizzgigs immobilized body as it slowly dissipated into thin air.

Monica was astrally with Jacob when she felt Weber's distress thought form. She ended the visit and left the iso cabinet and flew out of Karmavore with a flashlight in hand and headed north, sense mapping the vicinity. Clutch was ahead of her when she heard a shot ring out and echo through the woods. The Alpha bastard distracted me by letting me visit Jacob!

Monica found Clutch holding Weber's head, whispering in his ear, next to hoof gouges in the soil splashed with sky blue and orange paint drops.

"What the hell happened?" she asked.

Weber sat up and rubbed his shoulder.

Clutch said, "I shot Fizzgig the Clownsheep. It felt good."

Weber moaned and said, "Fizzgig is the Alpha non-local's transdimensional drone archetype."

Clutch scratched his chin stubble and said, "Then who is projecting Edgar into our world?"

Monica swept the flashlight beam around the meadow, searching for the sinister eyes of threatening metaphysical wildlife. She said calmly, "Edgar has to be from the East Alpha. If the East Alpha is on Earth, and the Alpha Non local is on the Moon...then who is the West Alpha?"

Weber ran his hands through his wavy brown hair and said in a matter of fact tone, "I know who the West Alpha is."

16. Glide and Bearing

Charley brushed the chalk dust from his face and coughed.

"Thanks, may I please have another."

Wanda's anger turned to shame and she went over to Charley and swept his dark purple tee shirt with a flurry of hand swipes, smearing on more white smudges.

"Oh Charley I'm sorry."

"It was a nice move, Wanda. Now I know how you feel."

"Charley, I know you're powerful, and I love you, but I need honesty with Walter and me about your true position."

"I am a beta conductor, pure and simple."

Walter said, "Simple?"

"I do know who the West Alpha is."

Wanda backed away and put her arm around Walter.

"Are you going to tell us?"

"Fenzeig won't let me."

"Then Fenzeig is the West Alpha," stated Walter.

Charley asked, "Ever think about higher boundaries and beings?"

Walter answered, "Sure, like space and beyond?"

"Well, Mr. Wells, there's a hierarchy, a power priority out there in our cosmos and we act in accordance with its natural alignments."

"Like a neural net? A cosmic nervous system?"

Charley nodded, "You're my favorite student."

"C'mon Charley. There's definitely something you're not saying or thinking because you'll think I'll make a challenge if I find out who's really the West Alpha-"

"Then read my mind."

"So Fenzeig is the Alpha non-local!"

"Not exactly...we are the Alpha non-local."

Walter moved toward Charley and brushed chalk dust from Charley's right sleeve.

"We?"

"Fenzeig walks into me."

Wanda went ashen for ten seconds or so and then composed herself after going through a symphony of chills and a crescendo of fears.

She murmured, "You're a split personality?"

"That's one way of putting it. I'm a multidimensional human being."

"Then you're the West Alpha," said Walter.

"Sorry to dispel the rumor...I am not the West Alpha."

Wanda said, "Bull pucky, Charley. Then who is it?"

Charley winked and stared at the ceiling, "It might be Walter...it might be Wanda."

Wanda laughed and slapped Walter on the back. Walter glared at the thought form of dissembling diversion as manifested by Charley's confident looking expression. Charley said, "If it makes you happy, I'm slightly more powerful than the West Alpha."

"Sure, if you say so," said Wanda, looking at Walter.

Walter said, "I get it, Charley. Please don't tell me. If I am conscious enough I'll know who it is and then I'll finally be in greater adult peril as I mature in power or when the Alpha finally takes me seriously, or I'll know if I kill the Alpha. It's barbaric, really."

Charley finally took his tee-shirt off and snapped the remaining chalk dust off of it, and put it back on, and walked over to his desk on the west side of the room, and sat down in his wooden chair, and opened the shallow top drawer of his desk, and produced a baggie containing a piece of square metal. Coinage thick, the relief on the rough side depicted a spiral; the smooth side was a fountain and basin relief.

Charley pointed the spiral face of the coin at Walter.

"Familiar?"

"Looks kind of old and kind of Roman or Greek," said Tom, sitting behind Walter, becoming mesmerized when the tiny spiral symbol set upon him; Tom then gave out a zombie stare, stood up and shuffled out of the room.

Wanda's eyes followed Tom's strange departure. She said, "Hella going on, Charley?"

Charley pointed the coin at Wanda, "It's a psycho-polymorphic screening image left on Earth by ancient aliens."

"Currency," said Walter.

"Now its yours," said Charley.

"A pocket polymorphic initiator!"

"It was Fenzeig that pushed Tom out of the room." Charley handed the baggie to Walter. Walter removed the heavy coin. There was a tiny hole in the center of the spiral, and depicted on the reverse side was a fountain springing from the hole centered in a basin that would drain out through the center of the spiral on the other side.

"A token for the symbol minded," said Charley.

17. Detector

Monica coaxed and gathered Clutch and Weber and made them get back to Karmavore where she had Clutch park near the Widforss Trail head and they walked to a viewpoint overlooking The Transept to see the sunrise before they headed west. Weber would not talk about Conductors or Clownsheep. He did not want to say or think about who he thought the West Alpha was until he confronted Charley. Clutch set-up three folding chairs and poured coffee for three from a thermos and enveloped Weber with clearing energy to bring Weber out of his brooding mood. Weber gradually came around and raved about the beautiful squint-making sunrise rising over the Grand Canyon's buttes and mesas.

Clutch said, "The Hopi say there is an entrance to an ancient underground city below the rim. The government enforces a quarantine surveillance zone."

Weber said, "Been there, done that."

"When?"

"I made you forget."

Monica giggled.

Clutch asked, "I reckon that was about twenty five years ago when we camped at Phantom Ranch and I swore I had some missing time?"

Weber shrugged and turned away. Squawking came from a large raven gliding by the canyon rim at eye level, right on cue, it seemed.

"Geez," said Clutch, "Spy ravens are everywhere."

Monica said, "The underground city is protected by deep powers."

Clutch replied, "Is it a Beta training ground?"

"I wouldn't know," said Monica, "I don't like rock climbing and I don't like evading Gurument Rangers."

"Oh you're a climber, all right," said Weber laughing, which indicated the coffee had purged if not softened the shock of the Clownsheep attack three hours earlier. Accustomed to being an introvert, Weber had to deal with the unspoken revelation that he had confirmed within himself the identity of the West Alpha and the mind numbing implications.

"We have been manipulated and made passive far too long. This morning, when I suppressed my revelation, the obvious hit me like a ton of bricks."

Monica said, "And what's that, Weber?"

Weber sent a penetrating thought form:

A

UFO

can be a mind

control thought form

emitter used to reinforce

the collective will to adhere to

ideology not conducive

or useful to the self

interest of the

individual.

Clutch said nothing and nodded his agreement. Monica took a deep breath and replied mentally:

We

are slaves

controlled by

competing non-locals

representing

diversified

owners.

Weber composed the following questions out loud, "A slave or slave owner, the brainwashed or the brainwasher? That is the choice. Manipulated bliss, or be a hyper-conscious manipulator?"

Clutch said, "Nuthins' wrong with ignorant bliss-"

"Said the retired Gurument Beta," retorted Monica.

Weber continued, "Don't you think it's odd that the exotic technological tool of mass mind control, the UFO, is being used to enslave rather than uplift minds? If we are to renounce affectations and selfish pleasures, and give our material wealth away, and raise our consciousness in order to qualify for entry into the Outer Sanctum, then why doesn't the Alpha non-local accelerate everybody's development? The poor are ready to advance! The idea that we can gain entry to heaven by being humble and subservient to god matches the idea that sound spiritual growth will lead to a joining with the advanced overseers residing in the Outer Sanctum."

Monica said, "The reason the world is absolutely corrupted by the one-per centers is because the Alpha non-local is extremely greedy and extremely mentally ill. He stokes income disparity to align the average person to fear and preoccupation with survival."

"He's probably a tool of a tool, and so am I," said Clutch.

Weber said, "Sooner or later a worn-out tool has to be replaced."

Clutch swirled his coffee mug and tossed out the bottom dregs of thick coffee and lingering grounds over the canyon rim. Monica and Weber followed suit and the three of them hiked briskly back to Karmavore and loaded their folding chairs into the lower cargo hold.

18. Amped Receiver

The group of several dozen operatives, a mix of men and women, dressed in street clothes, could not hide the intensity of their eyes due to the nature of the covert assignment just given to them by Maynard Ackroyd. Everything, to be sure, was a covert assignment when you were in the Gurument. The assignment given was one of physical containment and capture, or assassination, if necessary. The general task was to occupy Summit Fountain School. The primary target was Charley Nadal.

The informational briefing was over. Unbeknownst to the operative team, they were really being controlled by Fenzeig, through the authority of Maynard, a Gurument legend. Recognizing their idolatrous devotion, Maynard next conducted a group meditation in the Moffet Field facility for their benefit and protection. They were rapt with attention. Intention burned with a purpose they didn't have an hour ago. Maynard began with a breathing exercise and mentally repeated and conveyed the mantra thought form:

To

serve is

to protect

the greater

good.

The operatives repeated the mantra out loud, in rhythmic unison, like a practiced and pious choir of enraptured cultists attuned to a charismatic leader, an orchestrated unity of a trained guided spirit group, a powerful secular secret government branch officially non-existent and off the books. The Gurument would show their best agents on this day.

The Wish's lurked near a large manually operated roll-up door mechanism and lent considerable clout to the meditation. Pull chains and loud clanky gears fit the Twin's reputation. Maynard sent clearing thought forms and the operatives aligned to his effort. He prepared them to surround Summit School, to ground the influential V5, and clear the property of dark entities, to pave way for Weber Grambling to consolidate his power.

Maynard was suspicious of his own conclusion that Charley Nadal, in fact, was the West Alpha. Charley the Alpha would not allow a direct intrusion. Yet Maynard and Weber had been allowed to think and plan a confrontation. From Weber's own description, Charley was too young to have been handling Maynard all these years. What bothered Maynard was that he had never considered where the West Alpha might live...where he had settled to manipulate the world. It was logical for the West Alpha to be near the technological and New Age Center of America. If the Master were weakening it would explain why he hadn't been making persistent mental contact lately. Maynard needed to manage his own anxiety as he directed the operatives to merge as one force of will wielding a narrow and dangerous purpose. They must be spared from seeing the big complicated picture; spiritual warriors are hard to come by.

Still...the Master's tacit and stone silence did not inspire confidence.

Maynard began a chant and said, "From slow motion now is the time to accelerate time and to vibrate and sync."

The operatives chanted, "VIBRATE AND SYNC."

"From sacred duty grant us permission to intercede with love and detachment."

"LOVIe AND DETACHMENT."

"Watchful eyes are we that attain the mind field."

"MIND FIELD! MIND FIELD! MIND FIELD!"

Maynard cast away his authoritarian doubt and sent a binding thought form of group unity and the operatives restored themselves to a calmer vibe. Then, out of nowhere, out of Maynard's control, all of the operatives raised their left arms in perfect unison, making counterclockwise circles in the air. It took every gram of will to not lift his left arm. Maynard blushed and the left arms of the operatives involuntarily dropped to their sides.

A horn honked outside announcing the arrival of Karmavore. George and John Wish blazed compliance, unlatched the roll-up door and grabbed and pulled on the noisy lift chain. A metal on metal clanking and the creaky heavy door slowly rose. The unmistakable legs of Monica Gifford were revealed standing on the Karmavore's massive front bumper, and then her short cut-offs, and then her beaming smile. Her raised left hand circled counterclockwise and her right hand waved at Maynard and his gang of Gurument operatives.

19. Transcendent

The atmosphere was still. Charley affixed a wireless infrared camera on the tethered gondola and raised the balloon to a height of 300 feet over the school grounds.

"Never get trapped in a tree," he said to Walter and Wanda standing nearby, who understood and reassured Charley that they would be firmly on the ground, in the trees and bushes at a safe distance. Weber was as dear to them as Charley.

It was Charley's extra precaution that had them worried.

A half dozen Fountaineers were blended inside bushy hideouts, there to peacefully spy and monitor and balance the fountains, to knowingly observe a possible Clash of Conductors. Walter and Wanda didn't elaborate to their fellow Fountaineers too much of the sketchy implications of the day.

Clutch drove Karmavore, and Maynard sat in the front passenger seat, terrified by the serpentine Hwy 17, the insane toboggan runamuckus to Santa Cruz, a road overpopulated by over-compensating and over cautious drivers with stress and ego based driving skills. For the first time, Weber and Monica made quiet love in the master bed, behind a thin pocket door separating them from the kitchenette. Weber was thoroughly distracted and Monica had obliged him the distraction in order to keep him from over-thinking. It didn't help that Weber was not being forthcoming with what he deeply knew to be true. Weber had insisted on limiting Maynard's crew to six top agents and the Wish Twins. There were Fountaineers lurking at the school. What if Charley didn't confirm Weber's discovery? Monica thought that lovemaking might help Weber also release a secret she hoped she was qualified to know and not misuse. To boot, the curvy banking road was a fun assistant to bouncy sex and flows of misdirection.

Clutch then took the Summit Road exit, followed by Maynard's operatives in their two Gurument Humvee's sporting Habitat for Humanity decals and signage. The transiting entourage passed through Class V3 fountains every tenth mile, heating everyone's third eye. Weber had to made it a quickie, kissed Monica wetly, and careened up front to plot the next intuitive move. Karmavore pulled onto the Summit School property. Weber sensed mapped everything, and despite the dark property next door, Charley's little fountain kingdom was not displaying threat energy. There was intense anticipation. Charley, however, displayed two competing personalities. Weber got out of Karmavore as soon as it rolled to a stop and he walked toward Charley. At that moment, no one else but Monica could see Charley and Weber directly facing-off with each other, earnestly and deliberately confronting each other from across the small parking lot.

Weber drew both arms upward like a symphony conductor, then dropped his left arm and he used his right index finger to point at Charley, and then he turned his right index finger to emphatically tap his own chest.

Charley Nadal nodded agreement and bowed to Weber Grambling.

# PART SEVEN - The Inner Nest

#

Infinity / Certainty = Insanity

December 2015

1. Annual Plea

"I have been depopulating the lesser promoted countries by moving the spiritually educated to Outer Sanctum colonies. Whole families are being taken for space expansion," said a gloating Gala.

Weber had granted an annual meeting with Gala, who once again pitched Weber to be a controlling interest in the covert depopulation movement. They met inside Karmavore, parked at Sunset State Beach.

Gala continued anxiously, "You must seek out the East Alpha and power shift to a one world government."

Weber said, "My agenda is for a two world government."

"Two worlds?"

"Yes, two political societies opposed in a delicate balance."

"It won't work."

"In fact, it is working. I hope my counterpart in the East feels the same way. I don't know who this person is. I do seek his or her identity in order to forge an human tech agreement which will impose upon the United Nations to divide the world into two governments, two control continuums."

"I see. Then you must have a timetable for world reorganization?"

"With a two world system in place by 2050, it should take about 750 years to transition to a one-world government without coercion or violent war."

"750 years! My plan is to reduce and unify by the year 2100!"

"The plan is genocide, Gala. I won't allow it."

"Oh? You allow me to act freely and continue with my immoral plans and yet you don't see the hypocrisy?"

"Gala, you're doing a service to humanity by secretly selecting qualified people and shepherding them to faraway planets. I'd be a hypocrite if I allowed your psychotic thugs to also use war and famine and unfair wealth distribution to control the population."

"That's why I'm here! Use your mind control to curtail the birth rate. Persuade the one per centers to fund education. Increase the wages and raise the standards of living to slow population growth even more. You have the power to do this!"

Weber was exasperated, "I am doing this! There hasn't been a cross border war between two countries since Iraq Iran. I'm ending violent war as a political solution. Violence is not acceptable. Did you forget that bloody wars are the functional part of your plan to accelerate depopulation by the target year of 2100?"

Gala replied in a tone of defeat, "The planet is warming; people will be displaced by rising sea levels. Weather patterns will cause famine and mass migrations; people are going to starve anyway. Borders won't matter. Only the strong will survive."

"You mean only the wealthy will survive."

"I plead with you, Weber, to side with the strong when you come to power."

"Gala, I am in power."

Gala crinkled his brow, and opened his tense lips.

"I see...kudos to you, sir."

"Thanks, Gala...forget about it."

Gala rose from the table nook and nonchalantly said goodbye, and wondered why he was talking to a bearded middle-aged professorial stranger in a motor home parked next to a sand dune on a clear coastal day in December, in a place that looked like California.

2. Alpha Cardinal

Cardinal Haller paced back and forth inside of his private office, waiting for Maynard Ackroyd's coercive bi-annual visit. Since 911, he no longer questioned that Maynard was a messenger of the Alpha God. The Gurument took prisoners. The Catholic Church welcomed and practiced subconscious enforcement. Catholic mind control modality was ritually transparent and marginally effective compared to Maynard's orchestration of field operatives and geomancy dominance.

Priests protect sacred thought forms and sacred sites as long as they serve the congregation. Maynard, thought the Cardinal, worked for a non-local entity whose control agenda was unfathomable in regard to the faithful exercise of freewill.

What devious false flag plot am I to be burdened with today?

Maynard entered the Cardinal's office, sat down in a soft leather chair, and frowned, "Forgive me Cardinal; can I have that Bloody Mary now?"

Cardinal Haller said, "You're upset...that's a good sign."

"Oh sure, I have historic news."

Haller whistled Hark! The Herald Angels Sing as he made the cocktails and served Maynard a swirling red vortex of vodka, tomato juice, and spices.

"You found the non-local?"

"No sir. What's important is that we have a new Western Alpha, or should I say...the West Alpha has been identified."

"It's not me?" said Haller with relief and sarcasm.

"No sir. Though you do control the American Church."

Haller set his drink on his desk and squinted at the large beveled window and at the brilliant sunlight reflecting off of a glass skyscraper from across the street.

"Maynard, what took so long for us to articulate a relationship?"

"I don't follow."

"The Church will always desire an Alpha Conductor. The Congregating Choir is a powerful thought form."

"Yes sir. But you're a Beta compared to he that resides in California."

"In California? Please... tell me he's not from Hollywood."

"No sir. He doesn't get the blame for the past hundred years of crass movie entertainment and propaganda."

Haller chuckled, "Though he will get the blame going forward!"

Maynard laughed, from the relief that he was allowed to remember the identity of the West Alpha, and that the Cardinal did not press too hard to know Weber's name. He had other news to break. He swirled his drink.

"I am the Gurument Beta, backed by the Alpha Non-Local."

Haller smiled warmly, "A well proclaimed confession, Maynard."

Maynard said, "Americans are lazy and impatient, ingenious but unwise. Yet our laziness begets efficient shortcuts and our impatience produces even more of them."

"America does get it right...eventually?"

"Yes sir. Coercion and then a vibrant homogeny."

"Oh? Should I sit down?"

"The West's Alpha is moving towards full disclosure of his identity."

"Full disclosure? In the media? Let the masses know about collective mind control? He must be insane...he's not ready to be the Alpha."

"He's the West Alpha! He calls his planned global confession the next great communiquake."

Haller was astonished; "I prefer false flags and order over chaos."

Maynard nodded and gulped down the last of the Bloody Mary.

"He doesn't expect people will believe the announcement, which will be forced into the minds of the talking heads. Peripherally, everyone will receive a collective thought form and he will be interviewed on PBS to confirm the mass thought form reception."

"This will be a calamity greater than 911!"

"He doesn't think so. Only a small percentage will believe the disclosure."

"Then why not distribute the disclosure mentally and see what shakes out?"

"He already has. The younger generation is very receptive."

"And so the internet will propagate the idea exponentially?"

"He wants the church to incorporate the idea of mind control in its rituals."

"My flock already knows that God knows what they are thinking!"

"Exactly! Is it so farfetched that a flesh and blood person has the same ability? And potentially everyone else can have the same ability?"

"I'm sorry," said Haller, gulping the cocktail, "The world is not ready for this information."

"Really? They're not ready to raise their consciousness? To become truly free? Cardinal, I'll take another Bloody Mary now."

Haller turned to the side board, began to mix another round, and said, "Only God can free the slaves, Maynard."

3. Spring Runoff

By December, the Fountaineers had mapped Santa Cruz and Santa Clara Counties. Humble Walter Wells was changing California one county at a time. His transform polymorphic sculpture-paintings of crop circles were selling as fast as he could make them. He had to slow productivity on his artwork until the Fountaineers could finish mapping Northern California. Wanda's web site had received over 100,000 hits, and the Fountaineering movement had grown to over 150 practicing Fountaineers. Unaffiliated freelancers, as a hobby of the heart, submitted GPS fountain coordinates and meditated on world peace.

As the Earth moved into the fringes of the trans-vibrational positive waveform consciousness, people received denser heart chakra energy, and they began to spontaneously connect to the arriving field and to access higher consciousness, separating from their mind-body material lock, becoming aware of higher thought forms and transdimensional vibratory beings entering their awareness through the 6th chakra 3rd eye.

Vortexes mark the waveform point where one vibratory dimension meets at least one of another vibration. The portal confluence of two or more dimensions is only recognizable at a distance if a conscious person is able to modify their vibration rate and their tuning resonance. The Fountaineer's sense mapping effort strengthened the California Grid, inciting increased awareness and participation throughout California. One percent of the conscious population can completely change the status quo thought form control of the grid field. Even less people if there is technological assistance. In this case, it was the Internet that began to make the shift within its overlay grid influence.

Unfortunately, the Alpha non-local, the subservient Gurument Betas, and the religious and corporate Betas also use the Internet to inflict users with controlling imagery and thought forms and monitor users through the guise of NSA data gathering, or to sabotage with deliberate virus propagation to disable or slave a computer, or to destroy the identities of influential high cons.

The Internet manipulates users; high tech enables faster socio-political change than was possible in previous generations, and users rely on visual capture technology to store their actual memories than in their organic or holographic consciousness. The Internet had morphed into a neutral cloud mind and memory control device, using smart phones to spread its web of attention control.

So it was on a crisp day in December, warmed by the woodstove, intensely monitoring the Fountaineers in the field, that Wanda's web site crashed.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Walter rushed in to the cozy shack with an armful of logs.

"What's up buttercup?"

"It's down...the server is down. The stupid cloud site...I hate it!"

"Hate is a strong word."

"Well...I don't love it."

Walter set the wood in a basket by the wood stove.

"It's all right, I think we can afford to build our own server farm. Monica has all the funding we need."

"I know, Walter. The problem is that our satellite link speed is too slow. We have to move away from here. We need a cable hook-up."

"Sure...you know Charley said we could live in a trailer at Summit Fountain."

"I thought you wanted some autonomy. Besides, Summit doesn't have high speed."

"That's true. We can move closer to town...like Cupertino or Los Gatos or Saratoga."

"Too much electric grid for me, Walter."

"What a country girl! High speed internet is penetrating deeper into the Santa Cruz Mountains. We just need to find out where the nodes are."

"Have to have our own servers and a independent power source to run them."

"I'll talk to Monica."

"We definitely need more rooms."

"Yeah sure. We got the money."

Wanda hesitated, staring at her monitor.

"We're gonna need a nursery room."

Walter froze his gaze at the back of Wanda's head. His sixth chakra heated-up and enveloped his whole energy body.

Wanda turned slightly and said softly, "I'm pregnant."

Walter grabbed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head gently. Wanda turned in her swivel chair and smiled nervously, making eye contact, monitoring Walter for fidelity to her feelings. And his feelings were mixed with fright and excitement and bewilderment. A match. She stood and hugged him tightly, started to sob, and burrowed her forehead into his chest.

"Sorry I stopped taking birth control.

"That's okay...one of us had to make the first move."

"Good swimmers, Walter. You're surprised?"

"Yes! How long have you been able to keep it a secret?"

"I found out two days ago from a home test. I think I'm eight months away."

"Oh? We're going to make a doctor appointment today."

"I don't need a doctor. I need a Vietnamese mid-wife."

"Okay. There's lots of them in Silicon Valley."

Wanda pulled away from Walter. He absorbed an unfamiliar and defiant thought form. Wanda looked incredulous, and stared at him and said, "Silly con valley? We're going to North Vietnam!"

4. Coherent

Karmavore pulled into the shaded Summit School back lot and parked next to a utility hook-up provided by Charley. Clutch and Weber no longer had a fixed place of business or residence in Half Moon Bay, and were on hiatus from taking new clientele, including cooperating with the Gurument. Weber would only protect his colleague Maynard Ackroyd in activities involving their shared conspiracy against the Alpha non-local on the Moon. In conjunction, Weber would need Maynard if and when Weber began his search for the East Alpha.

So it was that Charley approached Karmavore with a six-pack of beer and a broad smile. Monica exited Karmavore first and hugged Charley and then she skipped away and hugged the nearest redwood tree for comic relief, and then skipped back to Charley.

"Thanks for letting us stay," she said, squeezing Charley once again for emphasis, "Even though Clutch likes the seashore better."

Charley nodded, "Tell him mountains are slow motion waves."

"They don't curl, Charley!" said Clutch as he came out of the RV.

"Sure they do! Haven't you been to the alcoves of Escalante?"

Clutch hugged Charley and then Weber appeared and he hugged Charley and they popped beers and the four of them strolled over to the schoolhouse, which was closed for Christmas break.

The crisp fresh air tantalized Weber's mind into connecting to the V5 and to sense mapping the world grid in one fell swoop. What returned to his mind was the presence of a strong boundary of non-local space and a cloudy Asian continent holding his hidden adversary; a place that couldn't be pinpointed from half a world away by a distant Fountaineer, or even himself. He planned to send Fountaineers into the fray to sense map the East after he dealt with the Alpha non-local inside the Moon base. There were three ways to do this:

Take a secret shuttle to the Moon under the pretense that he had to personally meet the Alpha non-local.

Convince the Alpha non-local to come to Escalante.

Have Jacob assassinate or force the Alpha non-local to leave our solar system.

The third solution appealed to Weber the most. To render the Alpha non-local powerless, from a distance, was the safest way to achieve Weber's Earth conductor dominance. Monica and Weber would double team as a mind control unit and maneuver Jacob to act independent of non-local control and force a unified triad attack. § waited in the wings.

The options were conveyed by thought form to his companions.

"We should locate the East Alpha first," posed Charley out loud, "and convince him or her to cooperate."

Monica said, "Why? If we proceed without the East Alpha, Weber will have the Moon and the upper hand, or at least a bargaining chip."

Charley replied, "But the East Alpha is being controlled by the Alpha non-local and so is Weber, and you, and Clutch, and everyone else. We need to find the East Alpha in order to strengthen our position."

Monica said, "Then why is the non-local letting us have this conversation?"

"He's positioning the Earth based Alpha's to take autonomous control, to be responsible for Earth, to consolidate his power by giving the illusion of power."

Weber listened to Charley and Monica while Clutch popped another beer. Weber thought in sudden sadness: _it's time to confront Charley_.

"Confront me?" Charley faced Weber.

"Yes Charley. What's the name of your walk-in master?"

Monica and Clutch grabbed Charley's arms and Weber leaned-in to within an inch of Charley's face. Charley was suddenly sick to his stomach, and he tried to double over as his mind began to un-cloud.

Fenzeig engaged all of them telepathically:

GO

AHEAD

AND TELL THEM

THE AWFUL

TRUTH.

"I...I can tell you what you need to know."

Monica and Clutch relaxed their grips and Weber caressed Charley's forehead, coaxing the genie out of the bottle.

Charley said, "I'm a surrogate Alpha, a slave like everyone else. My walk-in is Dr. Serge Fenzeig, founder of the Gurument, the Alpha Non-Local of Earth."

Weber mentally commanded Monica and Clutch to release their grips as he continued to gently caress Charley's forehead and study his facial expression for authenticity of presence.

Is

it really

you, Charley?

Charley nodded and began to cry.

5. Migration

Walter was confounded by Wanda's insistence.

"North Vietnam? We can't go to Vietnam."

"Yes we can go when I'm close to the due date...maybe a month ahead."

"I see you've been giving this some thought."

"I was born in Vietnam and I want our child to be born there."

"Okay, okay, Wanda, let's find out as soon as we can what the due date is going to be."

"Agreed."

Wanda turned-off her computer and went outside to her meditation spot within a clearing of chaparral on the ridge about fifty yards above the cottage. Manzanita bushes and fluttering moths combined to balance the moment of bliss. She sat cross-legged and greeted Helix, her black and white male tuxedo cat, when he trotted up and rubbed her left knee with the right side of his mouth.

Walter's afraid to go with me to my homeland?

She emptied her mind of Walter's anxiety and lifted her conscious awareness up the chakra ladder, balancing her issues, rejecting consensus reality, connecting to universal consciousness. What was left of her mind-body awareness was an earworm medley of White Christmas, Jingle Bells, and Let it Snow, and Helix purring. She smiled and thought of her upbringing in Iowa. She missed the Midwestern winter, snow angels, and now she missed her parents.

Walter called Charley and gave him the news about the pregnancy.

Charley exclaimed, "Wonderful! Now's the time to decide gender."

"What?"

"Do exactly what I say. Decide the gender, which can be very difficult, and pray and meditate, and send the thought form to the embryo and it will oblige and become the gender that you wish."

"I guess it can't hurt to try."

"Please try...it will be thought-affirming."

"Wanda wants to have the baby in Vietnam."

"You don't say?"

"I do say."

"Are you telling me you're going to immigrate to Vietnam?"

"No, Wanda wants to have the baby delivered by an authentic Vietnamese mid-wife shaman."

"I see... I still sense that you are contemplating a permanent move."

"We have to move closer to the fast grid and create our own server farm. The Fountaineering cloud web site is prone to crashing."

"I wish there was a move planned closer to Summit Fountain."

"Summit would be as remote from a good web connection as staying put would be."

"Then perhaps the Fountaineers can find a suitable place."

"Good idea, expand their mission!"

"Send out the thought forms and you'll be just fine."

"Charley, how's Weber's visit going?"

"He knows about Fenzeig. I feel a burden has been lifted."

"What's he going to do?"

"Well, Clutch is doing research on Fenzeig, specifically to find a photo of his face. I'm afraid my sketch of him from memory is not very accurate. I only met him once when I was about eight years old."

Walter shrugged, "Surely his face is on the internet?"

"Probably not. I don't think a photograph exists, and if it did, he would block access."

"Then how will we break his control?"

"There is an old school way. It is called face to face."

"I'd pay to see that negotiation. Where will they meet?"

"I suggested Fenzeig walk-in to Weber. Weber doesn't like my idea."

"That's not really face to face. I don't blame him. How's he going to manage your relationship with Fenzeig?"

Charley laughed and said, "By keeping me close."

"Close in mind and body?"

"He has to keep me close. I channel Fenzeig. If I cannot convince Fenzeig to have a meeting or even to share power, I don't know how Weber will ever topple him. And Fenzeig can control the Gurument to attack Weber and Monica. And he's listening to everything I say, at least when he wants to."

Walter said, "Weber is very strong and I think he has annexed the Fountaineers."

"Oh my dear boy, he probably invented Fountaineering."

"Let's hope so."

"My humble Walter! See you on Christmas Day?"

"I'm having brunch with my parents first."

"You're a good son. Then I'll see you for dinner. Please bring the wine."

6. Thought Field Management

In early January, on a moonless night, at 2 a.m., Maynard picked-up Cardinal Haller and they drove to a turf airstrip in south New Jersey where they boarded a small Gurument jet destined for Moffet Field.

Gala was waiting on board. Maynard conducted the introductions.

"Cardinal Haller, meet Stewart P. Galadius, or Gala as he is so affectionately known by the New World Order."

They shook hands, and both rejected Maynard's offer of a hand sanitizer. Maynard grinned, thinking they got the joke, and yet these were serious men and Maynard wasn't known for his levity and he thought: _I guess they're not germophobic._

"I'm _not_ a germophobe," said Cardinal Haller.

Gala laughed sadistically, "Germs are good for the world."

Maynard had them strap-in and the jet taxied and took-off. When they were about a quarter hour into the flight, Maynard initiated a conversation.

"I feel we are equals?"

Gala shifted in his seat and fiddled with his seat belt. Cardinal Haller sipped from a bottle of water.

"Then it should be no surprise that we all have the same master?"

Haller said, "Might be the same master, might not."

Gala said, "The Alpha speaks to you, Maynard. All I get are thought forms conducting me to perform an agenda."

Maynard replied, "The Godfather, the prodigal son, and the New Order Holy Ghost."

Haller said, "Very funny, Maynard. What's your point?"

"We are a triad to balance the other."

And then, for the first time, there came the male voice of the Alpha Non-local into Haller's and Gala's head:

TRIAD

SERVE ME

WELL

Haller and Gala went wide-eyed and looked around the cabin. Maynard tightened his seat belt and glanced to the dark rear of the cabin and made eye contact with someone lurking behind the curtain. Gala followed Maynard's eyes and felt ill at ease.

I

WANT

YOU TO SERVE

WEBER GRAMBLING

AS IF YOU

LOVE

HIM.

Haller and Gala nodded, realizing they now knew the West Alpha's name.

WEBER

MUST KNOW YOU

ARE WILLING

SUBJECTS.

At this point, Gala and Haller's ego energy kicked-in and Maynard barely dipped his forehead as a signal to whoever was behind the curtain. Only _one_ oxygen mask fell from the ceiling fore Maynard, and red lights began to flash and beeping noises annoyed the air and induced a fearful panic. The garbled voice of the pilot announced cabin decompression. Gala and Haller reached desperately for their oxygen masks that weren't there.

WELL?

I'M WAITING

FOR YOUR

REPLY.

Gasping for air, they both screamed their acquiescence.

GOOD!

THANKS

FOR FLYING

GURUMENT

AIR.

The cabin pressure was restored, and John and George Wish emerged from behind the curtain with hot towels and Bloody Mary's. Maynard was pleased with himself, and doubly so, because now Gala and Haller would have a more direct understanding and shared contact with the dominant power of the Alpha Non-Local.

It was dawn when the jet landed at Moffet Field, and as they taxied, Gala saw Karmavore ramble into view and park alongside a warehouse next to the airfield. He thought: that monstrosity looks familiar.

Maynard said, "I'll be moving to the West Bay soon...I suggest that Gala and his team follow suit."

Cardinal Haller said, "Leaving me the Right Coast?"

"All yours."

The the jet door opened, the step ramp beckoned, and the expressionless Clutch Antoine greeted them at the base of the steps.

He said, "Sorry Maynard, Gala and yourself have to stay on board with the pilot and the Wish Twins."

Maynard became sullen, "What's this about?"

"I reckon there's only enough space for one triad out west."

"I see. Can't I meet with Weber?"

"In person? No."

"Okay, Clutch, Merry Mythmas and all that."

Gurument humor. Weber, at a distance, redirected Maynard's attention. Clutch smiled tight-lipped, baring no teeth and said, "Monica says hello...ah, you already know that."

Maynard nodded and climbed the jet steps and brushed by Gala, who was extremely disappointed; Gala squinted for a few tense moments directly at Clutch before turning to go back inside the jet. The energized Cardinal Haller marveled at the South Bay's sunny December weather and walked beside Clutch in the direction of Karmavore.

Haller thought: _should I be praying for my soul?_

Clutch offered:

Why

stop now?

7. Plug-ins

Calvin Hudson ventured north from his main house to meet Charley Nadal by a redwood stump rooted on the property line. He didn't know if it was Charley or if Charley's powerful walk-in was attempting coercion. Calvin knew he could only read Charley until the Alpha non-local walk-in decided to intercede. At these times, Calvin understood his own motivation for living away from the hard grid. It wasn't the unsophisticated rabble of unenlightened masses that intimidated him; it was the shrewd and more diabolical mind control society he wanted to avoid as much as possible.

At 4 a.m., Calvin had woke and tensed-up when Charley sent an invitational thought form. There were other nearby mind readers Calvin couldn't read who were staying with Charley, they were curiously without the searing energy of Charley's insane walk-in. Calvin was being squeezed and pinched by minds more powerful and they had mysterious and competing agendas. His dark property would only protect him to a point.

When Charley converged on Calvin's position, they shook hands.

"I appreciate the meeting," said Charley.

Calvin didn't say anything.

"I was hoping you might be able to help me?"

Calvin didn't telepathize at all.

"I have found a way to increase your domain."

"Which way is that?" replied Calvin.

"Infiltration of the dark zone around Earth to undermine the dominant control system."

"Ah...so your master is weakening."

"Perhaps I have a new master.

"From what I gather you have four masters."

"Who are they?"

"Yourself, the non-local, and the woman and the man who live in the RV with a beta conductor named Clutch Antoine, who's listening to us right now from the underbrush."

Clutch yelled from the bushes, "All right then!" There were leaves rustling and a snapping of twigs, "I'll go get Weber."

Both Calvin and Charley raised their eyebrows.

Charley explained, "Weber and Monica have found a way to invade the sticky dark layer with a balanced vortex that will hide Monica briefly from the mind of the Alpha non-local so Monica can walk-in to a simpatico operative near the non-local to view and memorize the non-local's face."

"A remote walk-in? Sounds complicated. Transferring an accurate image is borderline stupefying. What does that have to do with me?"

"Controlled integration of your dark V3 with my light V5."

"A merge? Why not instruct your operative on the moon to kill the Alpha non-local?"

"Dark thoughts, Calvin. I knew we could work this out."

"You expect me to cooperate with tree huggers and the so-called do-gooders?"

"The fountains will form a short duration coil connecting to the Moon."

"You're joking!"

Cloaked, Weber strolled into the small clearing and telepathized:

I

AM

WEBER

HEAR ME

ROAR.

Calvin spun around to engage an attacker...to no avail. Weber materialized, sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing south, in the direction of the Death Knoll V3. Calvin was beside himself, out of body, resonating between self-control and Weber's control.

Weber said calmly, "I need your help for only a short time, until Monica gets the mental snapshot of the Alpha non-local controlling the Earth, Gurument Master Dr. Serge Fenzeig."

"Why do you need me? You have the power!"

"The Death Knoll V3 is your baby. I only have so much attention to give and it has to be focused at Fenzeig. Charley will assist me by joining with you inside your vortex. Since he is tethered to Fenzeig, he will distract Fenzeig."

"So you think," said Calvin.

"It can't hurt to try."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes."

"Then I will do it for educational purposes. I'm not going to do this in order to expand my domain."

Weber looked at Charley and protested, "Calvin has a _domain_?"

Charley said, "It's just an expression."

8. The Life Star

Dr. Serge Fenzeig was actually beside himself when he came through the crossover field to see if Jacob had changed his mind about going to the higher control. It was a joy on the one hand and stressful frustration on the other to ponder Jacob's refusal to tune in and migrate his energy body and consciousness to the rest of the Moon Base facility.

The Moon core control base of operations was the technological marvel of the Solar System. Qualified Beta's were hard to find and they were needed to run the thought ports. Other space-adapted life forms ran the domestic and colony transport services. Fenzeig needed Jacob to learn the next level stuff in order to lead the security of an actual human colony team. Things were coming to a head.

Jacob awoke inside his module, emerging from another walk-in session. Without centering and pausing to restore, he was forced to leave his body, and was pulled across the room by Fenzeig's mind towards the doorway and into the crossover field.

I

HAVE

TO TREAT

YOU LIKE A

CHILD.

Jacob, in amazement, went through the door of passive-aggressive energy, entering threshold attunement, and instantly shared a field of heightened emotions with the now visible tethered apparitions and the next dimension energy forms and spirits. The entire Moon interior was available to him. Massive hollow spokes radiated out from a core superstructure and functioned as access tunnels to the surface. His organic brain wouldn't have been able to handle all the sensory input and movement of consciousness. Basketball-sized plasma energy balls darted about. Bright dense one inch in diameter blue-white firefly thought forms were everywhere, attracting Jacob's awareness.

GO

AHEAD

AND HITCH

A RIDE.

Jacob focused on one firefly, which sent him back to his module, finding himself under instant restraint. Jacob seethed with anger.

"You fucking ass hole!" he yelled at Serge, who stood in the shadows.

Serge replied, "Abrupt unflinching transition...very good, Jacob."

"Good? Let me out of here! I saw _thought field generators?_ "

"Is that right?"

"Don't let me in there!"

"You're more than ready, Jacob."

"I won't want to come back!"

"Forget about Monica."

"Can't make me!"

"She sleeps with Weber."

"I don't care about that."

Serge said, "Then care about Weber and Monica and how they are going to remove me or force me to share power."

Jacob paused and calmed down a little and pondered interspatial conductor dynamics. "They're going to take a snapshot of your face?"

"Yes they are."

"I am the camera."

"Let it happen."

"Yeah right."

The module and the restraints opened. Jacob closed his eyes and returned to a comforting balance of awareness and self-identity.

Fenzeig said, "Weber thinks he can have the Moon and yet he doesn't want to come to the Moon."

"Then go to him," said Jacob.

"That would be an improper use of my imagination."

"What do I do?"

Serge smiled slyly, "We can capture the astral Monica. Weber will have to come to the Moon with Monica's life-supported body to transmigrate her consciousness back to her body."

"That's insane! Let Weber take a mental picture of you."

"He'll take over the Moon remotely, and frankly, I don't want the tables to be turned."

"Then he's stronger."

"Not if I take Monica first."

"That's really not cool, man."

"The Moon is a neutral transceiver, Jacob. I let Weber bring Monica to me and she will be yours, and then both will be captured."

"Tell me, Serge, does a Alpha Conductor ever give-up power?"

"Never! A Conductor either physically moves away or dies."

"So Weber is really attempting to move on?"

"No, he's attempting to die."

"It's all or nothing duality?"

"On or off, my dear Jacob."

9. To Serve and Connect

Monica and Wanda narrowed Walter's real estate choices to a Monte Sereno Estate home with its own amplified cellular tower and a server room with a back-up generator. However, it was way too accessible from the valley. Farther to the southwest, they found a similar set-up in Skyland, a sprawling ranch-style solar home with an indoor pool and sunny gardens, an old pear orchard, and a V3 centered inside of a redwood grove cathedral. Isolated, the home could not be seen from below, and had distant hazy blue views of Monterrey Bay to the south and the wooded ridges near Summit Fountain School a few miles to the north.

The pregnancy was confirmed...Wanda was nearly two months in. They made reservations to fly on "Aunt" Monica's private jet to Vietnam in July. Walter was still bamboozled by Wanda's need to go to the "homeland". Why was a San Jose shaman talent any worse than a foreign midwife, other than Vietnam's immersive authenticity of place and energy? And Vietnam had four times the infant mortality rate of the United States!

When the Fountaineering web site worked, it pulled in a steady income from advertising. The site's revenue was a secure and regular heartbeat compared to the sporadic income from Walter's wall art. And things were coming to a head between Weber, Monica, Charley, and Serge Fenzeig; triad plus one, the four of them constituted the West's capstone of control. If a God's remote curser is truly at work, there will be no violent outcome.

Just today, Walter had remapped an unstable property in the Cupertino Hills where Jesuit seminary ghosts, looking thirty years of age, were drawn to a prominent V4 fountain. Some of the fountains in the area were revealing themselves in the visual spectrum. People not distracted by their cell phones could see them. The Santa Cruz Mountain fountains were coherent and cohesive and the regional power grid was gradually tilting to a higher tuning. There had to be a resolution between Weber and Fenzeig in order to control the wider transition smoothly.

Walter was spending more time with Wanda as they slowly packed for the inevitable move. So it was that they decided to go with the Skyland Ranchero home and move there within the next forty days.

Wanda made-up a stack of empty moving boxes and bemoaned how little staging area the cottage had. They would have to pack and load as they went.

"Do I pack the art supplies now or should I wait?"

Walter rested on the bed, hands cupped behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

"Sure, why not?"

"I don't know, maybe the artwork is still important?"

"Yeah, sure it is. I think thought forms are more direct."

"Oh...I see. Does this mean a change is occurring?"

"I don't know...I still think art is needed in a fundamental way. It's the recognition and conscious use of thought forms that are gaining traction and currency."

"Oh...so long as the journey inward is inspirational and manifests across dimensions, artwork will continue to be the creative anchor point and connector to conscious awareness?"

"I couldn't have said it better."

"Okay, I'll pack your art supplies last."

Wanda nestled in to the bed with Walter, who gazed at the ceiling as if he could see through to the stars above.

"Who built your bullshit detector?" Walter gently caressed Wanda's forehead.

"Didn't you know? Amerasians are extremely psychic."

"A secret cabal of Amerasians trained you to detect bullshit?"

She planted her elbow on Walter's groin and rolled-over to face him eye to eye.

"I only serve Walter."

Walter kissed her freckled nose and gazed at her green eyes.

"I'm serious! Weren't your parents' high-cons?"

"Why ask me this now?"

"I also have a bullshit detector. The passport office has no record of your parents."

"They're dead...why would they have a record?"

"Death certificates are in the server database to establish lineage and citizenship."

"What are you saying?"

"Either your facts are inadvertent typos or you're hiding something from me."

"Intelligent women hide secrets from their husbands in the interest of domestic tranquility."

"Yes, but one strategically placed lie can establish a convincing false identity."

"What are you saying, Walter?"

"I don't know. It appears my Wanda Nguyen is hiding something and it makes me very horny."

Wanda drummed her fingers on Walter's chest, "Silly man! Let's re-submit the passport application. I probably misspelled something. Oh, I remember, my father's initials are B.J."

10. Expressual

Eastern filaments!

Ever since his astral bungee crossover inside the moon base, Jacob could feel the presence of the East Alpha Conductor in the form of conscious oriental energy. The presence was tethered to him and the tether was allowed by Serge Fenzeig! He was being bundled by Serge to the East Alpha and this meant that Serge controlled the East Alpha. It also meant that Jacob was being controlled by two puppeteers! Serge thought of everything. Jacob's attempted assassination on Weber had been controlled by Serge, who was actually working through the East Alpha to make it seem that it was a foreign adversary behind the attack!

Just like 911!

Jacob thought about his path of spiritual growth, the "trailhead", and how it all began with the Tao and Zen, and transcendental meditation after a vacation to Japan with his parents when he was sixteen years old. The temples and humble ways of the Japanese people inspired his consciousness to go inward. It changed him forever. And it wasn't the exotic benefit of being in another culture. Someone in Japan had tethered to him when he was too naïve to understand the feeling.

He asked his parents to pay for martial arts lessons, advancing quickly. It was like his muscle memory for judo moves was DNA pre-loaded! Everything came so easy, and as he got bigger and stronger he left his friends behind especially since they thought of his new skills as threatening...which he adored.

To actively participate with Monica's astral body and to knowingly allow her astral capture; he didn't think it was possible that she wouldn't sense his duplicity. It didn't matter, because as soon as she entered his body to view Serge Fenzeig, she would be prevented from returning whether Jacob controlled the transmigration dynamic or not. I am not myself anymore. I have two masters.

It was not that Monica would ultimately be back in her body and close to him, or that Weber would be taken out of the picture; it was that Serge's twisted mind would win the day and control Earth no matter how senile he became. And how could Serge trust the East Alpha's intentions in their weird partnership?

How can I trust Serge Fenzeig?

Jacob felt like a fanatic bound to an ancient ritual loaded with meaning he was unable to see. The power of a Conductor kept his mind at bay and compliant. He couldn't even kill himself!

Earth

to Jacob.

Come

in.

It was Monica via telepathy! It was too soon!

He realized that she was only auditory at a distance and that her astral body did not make the journey. Still, he needed to warn her! It felt like a brain freeze from a mouthful of ice cream.

Jacob telepathized:

Hi

my

love.

Monica was muted by dark energy:

Is

Fenzeig

there?

No.

Good.

This is

a trial

run.

A

trial

run?

The

next time

there will be

a short blackout

and we will

be one.

Sounds

kinky!

It

will be a

quickie!

I'm

not going

anywhere.

Then she was gone, and it felt like she left something tangible inside him, as if a tether channel had been established where their thoughts and feelings would be exchanged, unfettered by dark energy.

Jacob thought: _How will she know when Serge is within range of her astral sight? The newly formed tether?_

No matter, he was not alone, and this settled his mind and body.

11. Edgar the Bold

Clutch and Weber drove Karmavore to Mount Diablo in the East Bay, where they had reserved a RV slot at Deer Flats campground to meet § for a late night strategy session.

At 2 a.m., they grabbed their flashlights, after being summoned to meet § upslope at a ridge top clearing; there they waited patiently in the frigid January air. A point of blue white light descended from above and a disk shaped spacecraft silently landed next to them.

A doorway opened, and to their dismay, Edgar the Clownsheep trotted out and slowly bowed, dripping his paint drops on the new shoots of wild grass and last seasons golden brown undergrowth. He spoke with § seductive voice.

"Sorry to disappoint. I am not who I am."

Clutch and Weber looked at each other, once again muddled in confusion.

Weber stated, "§ is a extension of Dr. Fenzeig's imagination?"

Clutch restrained his anger and Weber bowed to Edgar.

Weber added, "And am I to assume that Edgar is also a figment?"

Edgar laughed in his own voice, "I chase Fizzgig."

Weber understood, "So Fenzeig is Fizzgig."

Edgar spun in a circle, and cackled unintelligible words. The gist was merrymaking, and the spray of paint splatter felt like pure joy drops.

"Yesses!"

Then Fenzeig's voice intruded in their heads:

I

USED

FIZZGIG

TO LURE EDGAR

FROM THE NEXT

DIMENSION.

Weber telepathized:

To

see

how Edgar

would behave?

TO

TEACH

MYSELF

HOW TO BEHAVE

TRANSDIMENSIONALLY.

To

play both

sides in a

rigged

game?

Clutch inserted himself:

To

kill

innocent

pets in the

interest of

séance.

VERY

GOOD CLUTCH!

I SEE WHY HE'S

YOUR BEST

MAN.

Weber said:

Why

reveal this

now?

Instead of an answer, Edgar turned away and re-entered the spacecraft. Shaking like a wet dog, he sprayed a mist of red paint in the air before the door closed.

I

SHOW

MY POWER

IN BELIEF YOU'LL

GIVE ME LOVE

INSTEAD OF

AMBITIOUS

HATE.

I

seek a

generational

change.

CAN

IT BE A

PEACEFUL

TRANSITION?

I AM FOND OF

THE MOON.

The spacecraft lifted soundlessly, static electricity tinged the air, and the craft non-ballistically zigzagged and disappeared over Mount Diablo.

FAREWELL

CLUTCH AND WEBER,

CATCH ME IF

YOU CAN!

Clutch shined his flashlight onto Weber to reveal red paint splotches on Weber's face and clothes, top to bottom. Weber glumly sat down in the grass, facing the East Bay lights below. Clutch joined him and pulled out a flask of whiskey. Weber took a gulp and Clutch took a gulp and they sat silently, absorbing the powers of the mountain, amplifying their resolve to be better people in the face of insurmountable odds. Weber lamented, "That cold bastard is always one step ahead...he'll only go away on his own accord."

By dawn, they were soundly asleep inside Karmavore, when a rap on the RV siding woke them. Clutch pulled aside a curtain and peered out the mini window. There was a perky State Park Ranger standing there with a clipboard in hand and a narrow grin on her face, "Hello! I'm Park Ranger Gwen Givens. Can I have a moment of your time?"

Clutch wiped his eyes and stepped outside while Weber groaned disinterest.

"We've had multiple reports of a UFO early this morning in this area and I wondered if you saw something?"

Clutch was suspicious as usual. Rangers weren't Rangers anymore.

"A UFO? Eh, no, I reckon I didn't see anything...Weber?"

Weber appeared and pressed his nose to the screen door.

"Oh yeah, I saw it. There was a Clownsheep on board and if you go up to the clearing on the ridge above us you'll see paint drops and discolored grass. It's damn impressive. We got what we came for."

Gwen's jaw dropped, she scurried away, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Implausible agreement works every time," said Weber.

12. Present Viewpoint

The East Alpha Conductor chanted the following thought form wisdom packet narrowly and coherently through the world grid to a single receiver:

Dark

energy and

the blackness

of space

are not

evil.

The

dark is

unrecognized

wavelengths and

thought forms not

comprehended by

the biological

brain or the

conscious

mind.

The

Black

of space

contains

the vibrant

frequencies of light

that a person is

not attuned to

or will

not

see.

Suns

are emitters

and transceivers

of the full light

spectrum.

The

Universe of suns

are a holographic lattice

of interconnecting emitters

and transceivers.

A

human being

transmits and receives,

and is a charged irrational

distributer, a transducer

one and

all.

The

Holographic

Universe is sourced

from a non-gravity lower

dimension.

A

Conductor

is in charge

of the field

to "local"

flow.

The wisdom packet was acknowledged by the protégé in California:

I

am the

local flow.

The

source of

one.

Transducer

of

all.

A

lattice of

many.

The

sun's

intention.

The

bringer of

light.

A

conscious

attention.

I

am the

enemy of

fear.

The East Alpha, content with the chanted response, pleased with the protégés purity of coherent thought, sent a personal thought form of delight, warning, and prayer:

I

sense

maturity

formation.

Be

mindful of

detector.

May

journey

be safe.

The protégé sent a bolt of love to the East Alpha Conductor.

13. Prayer Circle

Monica Gifford, Walter Wells, and Wanda Nguyen-Wells, lay on their backs with their eyes closed, head to head like human spokes from a hub, channeling each other's seventh chakra, fazed by the Stevens Canyon afternoon breeze and layers of high clouds. Time stood still. A sphere of ki energy formed between their crowns and they shared oneness with each other and the grid. They celebrated the purchase of the Well's new home and the last load of belongings sitting in Walter's pick-up truck. Walter and Wanda imparted warm gratitude to their tiny cottage and their lonely and rebellious ways. Their new home would accommodate many visitors; they said goodbye to the simple ridge top life.

They also summoned, with all their powers, for Wanda's black and white tuxedo cat, Helix, to come down. Helix knew the move was happening and was hiding nearby, nesting on a high branch of the live oak tree behind the cottage.

Wanda said, "Helix won't budge to our usual mind summons. Instead, I tap my finger on an imaginary tuna can...then we'll see super cat descend the oak tree in a parkour style freefall."

Monica squealed with anticipation.

"Helix has now received the tuna can image," said Walter.

Eyes still closed, they heard an urgent meow from on high, then after a moment, a loud purr closed-in and the three of them giggled. Helix pounced onto Wanda's stomach and made clawing forepaw biscuits. He settled into the tiny space left vacant between their head crowns, purring louder, receiving loving ki energy, better than tuna, as the three of them dug-in and pulled on their heels to make more head room.

They had built a strong relationship since Monica had settled in with Clutch and Weber. Monica also had a private bedroom waiting for her at the Well's new home. She bought a BMW and planned to spend time between Karmavore at Summit Fountain and the Well's retreat. Walter hired an architect to design a training center for the Fountaineers, to incorporate the V3 redwood grove as the centerpiece of an indoor/outdoor add-on floor plan. Wanda designed her baby's nursery. These thoughts and concerns of coming together comingled between them until Monica suggested an unusual meditation.

"Imagine we are in this current position-"

Wanda said, "With Helix in the center?"

"Sure, so we are laying on our backs, six spread legs and feet outward, with toes facing skyward, and then see six Fountaineers lay down on their backs, each head abuts one of the six original feet, and then imagine twelve more Fountaineers aligning in the same manner. Are we there? Yes, I know we are there."

The group visualization coalesced to form a mandala of twenty oneFountaineers.

"Let's hold the image with our heart energy for five minutes."

They held the visualization. The low-lying stratus clouds parted, forming a clear circle of blue sky directly above them.

"Open your eyes! See what an _imaginary_ prayer circle can do."

Walter and Wanda both exclaimed, "OMG!"

Monica propped herself up and then stood over them.

"I came-up with this visualization in Gurument prison. It was how I took control of the prison population and made my eventual escape. I can't wait to try it with twenty one mentally healthy people with good intentions."

Walter stood-up and said, "It's the missing mandala formation."

Wanda stood-up and began to sob. They had a group hug. Helix circled and weeved, rubbing their legs, anticipating a bowl of tuna for lunch.

The clouds stayed parted for thirty minutes.

14. Mind over Chatter

Charley Nadal slouched in his office chair, eyes closed, dreaming, wondering about Weber's Mt. Diablo rebuke and Walter and Wanda's new digs, which he hadn't even seen yet. Monica had stepped-up and taken them under her wing and was spending less time at Summit School. She was the wild card in the grand scheme of things. Fenzeig's manipulations were enigmatic and his mastery of mind control kept the challengers at bay. If they attempted to assassinate or capture Fenzeig, there was a high probability that Fenzeig knew the plan and might even be the plan originator. The man in the moon was in charge, a grandmaster of mind control. He had gamed the system by being inaccessible. It was one thing to know the identity of the non-local conductor, another to actually make physical contact. How could Weber possibly take over?

The current student body had tripled in size due to Walter's Fountaineering publicity. Monica funded expansion and they added two pre-fab add-ons to accommodate class size and two new teachers. Triple the student body, triple the concerned parents. Charley pondered a name change to Summit Academy.

Clutch and Weber, having returned from Mt. Diablo in Karmavore, brooded inside the RV, and were re-evaluating the plan. There was no way they would engage in a direct assault on the moon base. Fenzeig controlled the Moon's secret space ports. If Weber was able to board a space plane, and approach a moon entry port, Fenzeig would either vaporize him or welcome him with suspiciously open arms. Weber might fall into darkness. Charley thought: _Would Clutch tag along and support such a risky and direct move?_

I'M

COUNTING

ON IT.

Charley opened his eyes and sat-up.

LET

IT HAPPEN,

CHARLEY.

Do

I have a

choice?

WHAT'S

WRONG WITH

GIVING-IN TO THE

THOUGHTS OF

OTHERS?

Charley pondered that statement for the umpteenth time. After all, he was a teacher and a mentor. The great frustration in the learning curve continuum was that a student learned more deeply from a mistake and soon realized that there were wiser people who saw the mistake coming and knew their tested methods actually worked. The implicit design of learning new concepts includes making mistakes in thinking in order to achieve a more sophisticated, clear, and grounded understanding. Charley thought: _Serge Fenzeig wants to be toppled?_

YES!

Charley slouched back into his office chair, grasping at a thought that wasn't there anymore. Then a flood of thought voices assailed him. The Summit V5 raged with grid input, the thoughts of every student, of all the Fountaineers, of Clutch, of Calvin Hudson, of Monica and Wanda and Walter, all formed a dissonant choir in Charley's head.

Fenzeig has withdrawn from the grid!

Then the dazzling Weber Grambling took control and conducted a concert of thoughts, directing thought forms to harmonize one voice out of many. Weber was not going to back down from his plan! He found a single motivation, conquered his doubt, greeted the world wide grid, asked permission and delivered a slam bang group thought form, and delivered to the collective mind a stick-in-the-craw communiquake disclosure of breaking news:

CONDUCTORS

EXIST!

15. Semi-Autonomous

Monica knocked on Karmavore's screen door before entering, and there was Clutch eating a salad on the kitchenette table. He nodded a greeting, swallowed, and smiled with his mouth closed.

He said, "Weber's in the iso booth. There's been a change."

"I know," said Monica, "Fenzeig is up to something."

"I agree. Want some salad?"

"Does it have spinach?"

Clutch exposed his teeth and said, "Eh?"

"Lovely. Yeah, I'll have some salad."

She served herself and scooted in next to Clutch and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He said, "How's Wanda and Walter's place?"

"Great, they're all moved-in and we're all waiting for the arrival of Karmavore to suckle the newly installed utility hook-up."

The iso booth door latch clicked and Weber emerged.

"Hey Miss Sweet Pea! Ready to go to the Moon?"

"Hey Monsieur West Alpha."

She fired a beaming smile at Weber and winked.

"That's a yes?"

She tilted her head and winked again.

Weber approached, leaned-in, and kissed her on the forehead, and with his face close to hers he asked, "Does Clutch know?"

"Men are such fools," said Monica.

Clutch stopped munching and stared at Monica.

Monica looked at Clutch and then back to Weber.

She looked puzzled and said, "He doesn't know?"

Clutch fidgeted, his nose whistled, and he swallowed quickly.

"Know what?"

Weber bit his lower lip and settled-in to the kitchenette seat by using his right hip to push Monica over. He draped his right arm behind her neck and gazed at Clutch.

"It's about Wanda."

"She's pregnant, I know."

"Yeah, she's pregnant. That's not all she is."

"What do you mean?"

"She's from the East."

"You mean Iowa?"

"No."

Clutch quickly unfroze his look of bewilderment.

"She's a plant? No way in hell! She's way too young!"

Weber withdrew his right arm from Monica's shoulder and put both elbows on the table, palms out.

"I'm sorry, Clutch. Wanda is not who we think she is."

Clutch hesitated, blushing from a sudden thought.

"Hold on, Weber. Let's turn her. Make her a double agent."

Weber paused and side-glanced at Monica, who looked down at her salad.

Weber said, "Perhaps we can make her a triple agent."

"Oh fer god's sake Weber spill it!"

"Okay, okay...she's tethered to the East Alpha and Fenzeig."

Clutch bellowed, "No way!"

"Yes way. She's also older than we thought."

"Older? How much older?"

"About five to six years."

Clutch stared at Weber and absorbed the implication.

"Has she done harm to us? To the Gurument? To the West?"

"I don't think so...Monica thinks Wanda was planted to study the West's mind control structure and she ultimately came here to bond with a powerful young American, who turned-out to be Walter Wells."

Clutch tossed the empty plastic salad bowl into the kitchenette sink and rubbed both his temples.

"This is nuts. Wanda wants to create a second generation Beta hybrid?"

Monica said, "Don't take this betrayal as an evil thing, Clutch."

"Why not? I love that kid! Walter's gonna be heartbroken."

Weber grinned slightly and said, "Walter's the one who found out. Wanda doesn't know he knows."

"You underestimate her," said Clutch.

"I agree."

Clutch looked at Monica and asked, "What about her parents?"

Monica replied, "We think her father is a white American and her mother is from South East Asia."

"Uh huh...so now what? Are you going to fly her to Vietnam when it's time to give birth?"

Monica looked offended, "Why not? She's free to roam the world. We don't kill challengers anymore unless they attack us."

Weber said forcefully, "However, we _do_ eliminate non-local Alphas...want to hear my revised plan?"

16. Silent Coup

Sleeping on his back, emitting soft bubble popping sounds from his barely parted lips like a aquarium air pump, Walter dreamed of fatherhood, shaped fireworks, and a V1 fountain of golden mother's milk in the front yard.

Wanda slipped into a comfortable jogging outfit and brushed her teeth and then hovered over Walter, leaned-in, and kissed him on his forehead. Tears fell from her eyes and tinkled his nose. Walter reflexively used a floppy left hand and wiped the tickling feeling and then his cheeks trembled. He mumbled incoherently and rolled onto his left side, facing away from Wanda. Her legs suddenly became weak in contrast to her Master-reinforced left-brain resolve to slip away in the middle of the night.

Let

him

go.

Wanda gathered herself, wiped her face with a sleeve, and slipped away into the dark hallway. A small black duffel bag lay on the floor of the entryway. She picked it up and opened the front door and turned for one last look.

Take

the silent

Prius.

She closed the front door. Helix was there...he brushed her legs and purred loudly and stood on his haunches, digging his paws into her left kneecap.

She dropped the duffel bag and picked him up and cradled him for a few seconds.

She whispered, "Bye cutie pie."

She turned and opened the front door, and let Helix back into the house; closed the door carefully behind him and took a deep breath.

Have

the mapping

software?

Yes

Master.

Go

now and

don't look

back.

She carefully opened the Prius driver door and tossed the duffel bag onto the passenger seat. The hybrid started silently. She crept away without checking the rear view mirror. The long gravel driveway crunched from the rolling tires and she cringed repulsively, hoping the sounds wouldn't wake Walter. Fresh tears formed as she remotely opened the gate and turned onto Skyline.

Wanda recalled that the divorce rate rose with the increase of car ownership because the opportunity to have a cross town affair was made easier. Now she felt sleazy, driving across town, leaving only a short note behind to her lover and best friend:

Dear Walter,

I sense the suspicion and this has accelerated my departure. This is not goodbye. I promise our son will be in your arms the day he is born. Please fly commercially and come to see me when I ask. Monica will be in danger if she lands in Vietnam. I am positive that my master will let you see me and not force you to stay.

Hugs are people too!

Love,

WANDA

She drove down Highway 17 and onward to freeway 85 to 237 to Middlefield to Ellis Street to Moffet Field and then past the weak minded guards at the security gate. She parked next to the Gurument hanger and walked out to the runway with her small black duffel bag where the private jet was fueled and ready to depart.

The jet door opened, the scent of shampoo, aftershave, coffee, and croissants wafted out of the cabin. She entered and faced her escort sitting in the first seat. Wanda smiled coyly in gratitude and said, "Good morning, Mr. Ackroyd."

17. Alliance

Wanda wasn't in the bathroom or out front. The Prius was gone. Walter found her goodbye note taped to the teakettle. He stuck the note in the front stretch band of his boxer shorts and turned the gas stove on and began his morning as usual by having a cup of tea loaded with half and half. He reached out with his mind and saw her freckled face looking back in love and gratitude and humility. He began to sob and lament and to forgive. I have to see Charley.

Calvin Hudson trudged across the property line towards Summit Fountain School to find Weber's RV Karmavore for a damnable urgent meeting. He had no choice in the matter. They either expected his one gargantuan dark energy incursion to happen, or there was going to be another impossible plan on Weber's mind. Apparently, the Alpha Non-local, Serge Fenzeig, had withdrawn his control, and they weren't sure if it was deliberately intentional, or if it was an unforeseen consequence of an unknown action. Calvin thought: It might be an unknowable unknown.

Charley sat in the Karmavore kitchenette and gleefully watched Clutch and Weber's wake-up ritual. Clutch cleared his throat, spilled coffee, and dropped a spoon. Weber recited his now fading dream memories; a confessional display of offloaded compartmentalized fears and suppressed doubts. Clutch played the anti-psychotherapist, making judgmental and snide remarks, which Weber completely ignored and loved. Charley thought: _It's so beautiful! They're the bestest friends I ever saw._

Weber gazed at the ceiling, as if there was a hole there, wiping the crust from his morning eyes.

"Like I was saying, it was a hand saw and I used it to play a yellow squash like a violin-"

Clutch exhaled forcefully, "So eat more veggies!"

"I rolled-up the saw into an edible metal appetizer and when I ate it my throat made violin noises that I could modulate by using my right index finger to bow my nose-"

"Then blow your nose!"

"A marching symphony comprised of white bearded gold miners with golden teeth played a modern composition-"

"Chewing, somehow this is all about chewing."

"I spun animated motion lines around and around and they morphed into lines of musical notation that morphed into golden Mayan hieroglyphics-"

"Where do you get this stuff?"

"And the musical notes turned into miniature thought strands containing thousands of microtic encapsulated double helixes-"

"Microtic? A brand new word, just like that. Really?"

"The helixes' musical language compounded my understanding-"

"The helixes, why weren't they golden?"

"I scooped the micro capsules out of the thought strands and spread them like mustard on the yellow squash and I ate the squash."

"You mean the stupid yellow squash? Really? Squash for breakfast?"

"The golden yellow squash tasted...delicious."

Clutch opened the refrigerator and said, "Please Weber, I've had enough. I'm not your emotional dumping ground-"

"Got a yellow squash in there?"

They both started to laugh and it became involuntary and Charley joined-in and then Walter showed-up and tapped on the screen door with Calvin by his side.

Charley said cheerfully, "Come on in."

Walter stepped-up and looked left and said to Weber, "How long have you known about Wanda?" Weber abruptly shifted focus, "I'm sorry Walter. I've known since Clutch and I picked her up in San Francisco. Ever wonder why she didn't use her mind to get off the streets?"

Walter raised his voice, "She did! She used it ethically and tactically!"

Calvin impatiently climbed up the steps and entered Karmavore. He held a brown paper bag and shook it in front of Charley's face.

"Want some yellow crookneck squash from my greenhouse?"

18. Above Frey

Jacob Bjerknes awoke in his module device. The lid was open and he emerged once again to the amused and confident voice of Serge Fenzeig coming from the dark corner of the room.

"Afternoon, Jacob. I have good news. I'm leaving you in charge."

Jacob yawned and said, "Come again?"

"I have withdrawn direct influence over the Earth."

"Sure you have."

"Right now, right here...step-up and get real close to me. Go ahead, send my face to Weber." Fenzeig stepped into the light.

Jacob walked over to him, close enough to smell his moldy breath, and committed the old man's face to memory and then went over and sat down on a couch and began to meditate. He pictured Weber in his mind's eye and then pictured Fenzeig's face. He dragged the image of Fenzeig and dropped it on Weber's image. He thought: _I have a mental mouse?_

Fenzeig said, "I'm leaving. Do you prefer to kill me now so I won't turn-up like a bad penny?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm leaving to take charge of the planet Sipho."

"Who will be the Earth's Alpha Non-local?"

"Logically it will be Weber."

"Then who am I?"

"A lure, my friend."

"Lure? Am I to continue to be the Sipho walk-in security officer?"

"No. You won't be anything unless you voluntarily walk through that door and enter the higher dimension of the control station. Choose stagnation or transformation."

"Go higher-con and enter the inner sanctum in one fell swoop?"

"Think you can do it?"

"I think so."

"Wonderful. I prefer to not be taken by your hand."

"I don't want to kill people anymore."

Fenzeig hugged Jacob for a long ten seconds.

"Weber will visit the Moon to eliminate you."

Jacob pulled away and said, "Oh? Weber and I get along just fine."

"Bye Jacob," Fenzeig laughed and shook his head and effortlessly exited through the threshold attunement doorway.

Jacob blinked rapidly and eyed the threshold. It beckoned the way a baptism cleanses the soul and a metamorphosis changes perspective. He thought: I'm not ready. There is a whole continent on Sipho I haven't seen.

SIPHO

WILL BE

THERE.

I'll

wait for

Weber and

Monica.

LET

THEM

LAND.

Jacob sat on the couch and meditated...this time he pictured Monica's loving face and intense green eyes. She was already in his head, tethered without dark and heavy influence. Weber's crazy plan was certain to fail, was not even needed. Imagine that...

Monica telepathized:

Weber

showed me

Fenzeig's

face.

Jacob replied:

Is

that a

fact?

Is

he

dead?

God

is not

dead.

Is

it safe

to visit the

Moon?

I

don't

know.

There was no reply from Monica. It happened to be the moment when the Earth, as a part of a vast and complex solar system, entered a denser band of the galaxy pinwheel, encountering higher phase energy that had been dallied with and felt fleetingly for so long. An oscillation occurred between the clashing dimensions; energy waves and particles breaking without gravity on the ethereal beach; sizzling eddies of multicolored photons and sensational gusts of energetic forces. Just about everyone on Earth and the beings in the next dimension became discomposed.

19. Conflict Revolution

Monica emerged from Karmavore's isolation booth and saw that everyone was crowding the kitchenette and laughing and marveling at the seamless new reality. Walter's heart chakra raged an intense neon emerald green. Wanda's astral body had travelled from a distance and spun through Walter's physical body. His mood had changed for the better.

So beautiful inside the RV, the Outer Sanctum is transcendent.

Monica said to Weber, "Jacob says it may not be safe to go to the Moon."

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that. Okay, everyone...I know what Fenzeig looks like and I'm still blocked at the source from engaging his mind in order to establish my dominance. I won't need Calvin to assist me. I can't break through the artificial control field around the Moon. From what I know, Jacob Bjerknes is there positioning himself to become the Alpha Non-local. I feel he is waiting for me. I sense he is fearful so I propose to go to the Moon and carefully find out his status. If I do what I'm capable of doing, I will become the Earth's Alpha Non-local... if the East Alpha doesn't get there first."

Clutch said, "Another space race? What if Jacob can seal his mind from your influence?"

"Okay, well...I'll send Monica. Jacob won't shoot her down."

Then, just as sudden as the high vibrational band of energy had arrived, it ended. The ghosts and energy forms faded from sight and things were "normal" again. Clutch prepared breakfast for Weber and Monica.

Calvin shook his head and left Karmavore and headed home. Walter and Charley left and went to Charley's office. Charley sat down at his desk and pulled a document from his top drawer and handed it to Walter.

"What's this?"

"Sign it and become the new headmaster of Summit Fountain School."

"I don't understand."

"It's a very simple decision, Walter. I'm leaving today and I need a trusted person to take over. You're cosmically qualified."

"I'd be signing under duress."

"Oh?"

"I'm not myself! Wanda is gone."

"Not true."

"Charley, why go?"

"Please sign the document. It transfers ownership and liabilities."

Walter squinted at Charley, and then signed the form in a flourish.

"Much gratitude,' said Charley.

He stood up and bowed to Walter and said, "Ever wonder why the tethered hot air balloon stays relatively in one place when the wind blows?"

Walter crinkled his brow and replied, "The vortex?"

"Correct! The vortex. Please retrieve Clutch and Weber, and Monica, and meet me by the tether platform."

"Charley! You're not going to float-off like the Wizard of Oz?"

Charley laughed loudly and motioned for Walter to leave, "Please fetch them."

So Walter left and returned to Karmavore. He tapped on the screen door once more.

"Come on in," said Monica.

"Thanks...Charley asked me to fetch you three and meet him at the tether platform. He's leaving."

Clutch chuckled and said, "He'll have to wait while I gather a brass band for the send-off. I hope they know the Kansas state song."

Walter replied, "I already used the Oz reference."

Monica said, "OMG! Maybe Charley's the Wizard!"

Weber was not amused, "He's leaving? What do you mean?"

"I don't know, he said to meet him at the tether platform."

Weber replied, "For some reason, his mind is a blank to me".

One by one, Weber engaged everyone's eyes, "Monica? Clutch? Walter?"

They were as perplexed as he was.

"Okay...let's go and see what this is about."

They filed out of Karmavore and headed to the tethered balloon platform in the small meadow, the center of the V5 fountain. Upon rounding a set of oak trees, there was Charley, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, sporting a broad grin, pure joy streaming down his face.

"Thanks for the send-off; a brass band is not needed. This must be confusing. Know that I love y'all." Then Charley opened his eyes and said, "My task is finished. Fountaineering is established and will grow to be an influential organization at a time in history when it is most needed."

Weber said, "Why can't I read your mind?"

Charley answered in a deep tone, "Because I choose to defend my mind. It is self-evident that I am more powerful than Weber Grambling."

Weber looked at Clutch, and then Monica and Walter, and felt humility rush through his entire energy body. Charley Nadal said, "Good bye," and then he closed his eyes and sang: "He'll be coming round the fountain when he comes-"

And then he disappeared.

20. The Grand Staircase

Monica flew Walter to Hong Kong on her private jet, and then Walter flew commercial to Hà Nôi, landing at three in the morning. July in Southeast Asia is not oppressively muggy being that it's winter in the equatorial zone. Yet Walter was clammy and nervous. When he emerged from the jet way into the terminal, there was Wanda wearing a long and bulging plain light pink maternity dress and an expression of relief and gratitude.

She is radiant beyond belief!

They embraced and spoke silently in thought forms. Walter fell to his knees and rubbed his wet eyes on her dress and pressed his right ear to her stomach. The rest of the arriving passengers steered clear.

A security officer barked commands at the reunited couple, and then he quickly turned away, and grabbed his crotch, and wet his pants. Walter gathered himself and stood and put an arm around Wanda's shoulders and they sauntered slowly towards the baggage claim area.

They claimed Walter's duffel bag and then they met their escort who was waiting in a black Land Rover at the curb. A polite young porter loaded Walter's bag and the happy couple cuddled in the back seat. The vehicle drove off into the night and headed to the Northwest highlands.

Karmavore, driven by Clutch, passed black crows and ravens gripping the power lines and fences on the west outskirts of Escalante. The sun was behind, soon to set, the stepped mesas of Grand Staircase glowed pink and white on red rock strata. The sky cloudless and the desert aglow as they bypassed the sleepy town and turned right onto dusty Hole-In-The-Rock Road. After a mile, the washboard rhythms evoked choppy third chakra vibrations. A nearly full moon would soon rise.

Monica and Weber sat up front to keep Clutch concentrated on driving the bouncy Karmavore, preoccupied with the mission at hand, instead of thinking about the risks. Clutch did not want Monica to go to the Moon. There's no way Weber was going, and Weber didn't want to think about Monica leaving for the Outer Sanctum. Despite the mixed reservations, they were strongly compelled to be there. Still, there were no descending UFO bright lights and Clutch eventually parked in a safe and wide turnout and they made their way inside of the hidden alcove spaceport that sat vacant, vibrant, and welcoming.

Monica sense mapped the base and cavern and said, "Where the hell is everybody?" Clutch and Weber spoke together: "Where's the space plane?"

Monica headed for the camouflage curtain, Clutch for the offices and locker rooms. Weber stayed put and said loudly, "There's supposed to be a plane."

Clutch turned back, "Maybe it's cloaked."

Then Monica turned around and said, "Let's not get impatient. Do you guys really think this is a bus stop or that we don't have to wait? This here's an elevator station and the conveyance is on the top floor and we're on the bottom."

"I reckon she's right, Weber."

"An elevator?"

Monica said, "Yeah, an elevator. Looks like it will take a Conductor to lower it for our useful needs." She smiled at Weber and then took several strides and peeked through the curtain, expecting to see the red rock alcove lit by moonlight and streaked by sharp shadows and maybe a watchful spy raven perched on the flat top drinking rock. She sense mapped and sought to control all living things in her range of vision. There, appearing in the center of the alcove, flowed a blue V2 fountain surrounding a parked and glowing silvery disk the size of a midsize car.

Her mind reached for it and the machine complied.

# Epilogue

October 2002: As Told To Clutch by Weber

"Just let me finish this part. I know the Viking marauders raided from all sides of the promontory and I would love to give the gory details but the Vikings don't do anything other than to chase me into a four story peaked roofed mansion that represents my soul psychologically-"

"Does it have fresh paint?"

"No, the old mansion is made of weathered wood, grey and splintered on the edges. I enter the archetype of my soul and start in the basement searching for something, I know not what, and I come across dusty multicolored jewels lying on a cluttered wooden table. I wipe the jewels clean with the pulled-out tail of my white dress shirt-"

"Were they sapphires and diamonds and rubies?"

"Yes, yes they were. Can I continue?"

"Go ahead, I can't stop the monotony."

"I heard footsteps from above me on the first floor...not rampaging footsteps mind you, but my pattering footsteps."

"Fer god sakes, Weber, this is creepy-"

"I climb the stairs and reached the first floor, and there I meet myself, and my first floor self took over my consciousness and started to rummage through the kitchen and dining room area-"

"What were you looking for? Your knitting or your marbles?"

"I don't know. The sparkling jewels from the basement somehow lit the rest of the house, channeling a prism light source as I made my way through the second floor and third floor and finally into the attic. The attic roof was caved-in and the clear blue sky shown through. I looked through an attic porthole window at the grounds below and the Viking marauders were gone."

Clutch scratched his head, "Sounds like your crown chakra needs clearing."

"Or maybe it's symbolic for opening up?"

"Sure Weber. If it was me, I'd install a sky light in the attic."

The

End

# Terminology

**Alpha Conductor** planetary mind controller.

**Alpha Non-local** **Conductor** greater off-planet mind controller.

**anticipation** the mental and emotional act of connecting to the past, present, and future, simultaneously grounding to the connective property of love and good memories.

**attune** to consciously harmonize with the next highest vibration.

**balance** exchange energy equilibrium.

**Beta Conductor** level below alpha mind controller.

**Beta Freelancer** level below alpha mind controller, unaffiliated to a group or collective mind ideology.

**Beta Non-local** secondary off-planet alpha mind controller.

**block hat** headwear designed to block controlling thought forms.

**clear** free from obstruction.

**communiquake** media transmitted event, often tragic and fear inducing, that draws intense attention from the individual and collective mind.

**Conductor** one that is a master mind controller.

**conduit** mind control level below Beta Conductor.

**detector** one trained to detect special mentals.

**emotion** e(nergy) in motion.

**energy** a usually positive spiritual force.

**energy vampire** a person who draws-off the energy of another human being.

**eternity** a 25,000 year cycle.

**filtering** default overlay thought pattern that screens-out contrary thought.

**Frey** Norse god of fertility, crops, peace, and prosperity.

**Fountaineering** the activity of mapping energy vortexes.

**grid** the integrated energy flow ley lines coursing the surface of a celestial body.

**ground** energetic connection to Earth.

**high-con** as in high consciousness.

**Gurument** slang for secret governmental paranormal institution created to monitor and control special mentals.

**Inner Nest** the inner mind.

**invocative** a stimulus that invokes a previously unrealized characteristic.

**love** connective intimate energy.

**low-con** as in low consciousness.

**mind control gradient** the use of mental power to manipulate the mind of another.

**mind field** relative position and overlap of singular and collective minds as determined by a comprehensive sense mapping; a thought activity that extends beyond the physical body.

**mind-read** non-verbal and non-physical thought discernment of another being.

**multisensory** involving all senses.

**non-ballistic motion** non-projectile flight characteristic as in zigzagging UFO's.

**occulted** blocked from using a sense by a person with special mental powers.

**omnipresent** present throughout eternity.

**Outer Sanctum** external thought form continuum; alternative name for outer space; implied hierarchal alignment with off-world conductor and non-local law.

**protect** conscious mental defense of the energy body.

**sense-map** to reach out with the mind's eye to view unimpeded forms in multi-dimensions.

**siphon** a servant whose energy and mind is used by a more powerful person.

**space domains** the Earth transit of phased boundaries consisting of either electromagnetic waves, time space, space time, or gravity waves.

**special mental** person exhibiting extra-normal mental powers.

**squinting** eyesight mannerism pointing mind control focus at another being.

**step aside** move from physical body to transient body in order to temporarily dismiss subjective physical feelings so that a clear consciousness may dominate.

**sub-conduit** a person who does not practice special mental powers.

**telepathize** \ta–le-pa-thize\ act of mind to mind communication.

**thought form** mental or psychic energy as an intermediate substance between matter and consciousness; the mechanism by which consciousness modifies a set of circumstances (definition extracted from "Pole Shift" by John White 20th printing, February 2006, page 186); the whole content of an idea received all at once; like logogram, which is a symbol representing a concept rather than a word.

**thought voice** a voice heard without the use of an auditory system.

**transdimensional** transit between dimensions; a being who _transits_ dimensions.

**trans-evocative wall art** an art form that evokes spontaneous spiritual attunement.

**vortex** a energetic whirlpool having angular velocity.

**walk-in** dynamic where one spirit occupies the physical body of another.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Stanley Thomas lives in Northern California and is a freelance artist and professional archivist. Conductor is the first novel in the CIA Trilogy, to be followed by Instrument and Audience.

